23. June
Chapter 23
June
T he time capsule labeled ‘knickknacks’ sat in the middle of the spare bedroom. The scent of aged wood and musty papers permeated through a wave of air as I flung open the top.
Dust particles danced in the rich shafts of sunlight that pierced through the bay window as I rummaged through the box. My fingers skimmed over brittle papers and old memorabilia, each one a relic of a time before me.
The rough texture of an old quilt swept against my knuckles as I pulled it out and spread it across the seating area Mom designated as her ‘crafting nook’, then dove in for more. I placed photographs, trophies from my dad’s bowling days, and various other medals on a shelf.
“Junie, I’m going out for some milk. Did you want anything?”
I raised a brow and glanced at my mother dressed in flowing pants and a floral shirt. “How are you out of milk already? I bought you a half gallon.”
“We use it in so many things: coffee, cereal, drinking.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know.”
She waved me off with a pfft. “ It’s not a big deal. I’ll be right back.”
Turning back to the box, I dug out a hand-sewn pillow from the bottom. “Okay.”
“Great-Aunt Rosie made that.” She took it from my hands with a megawatt smile. “It was my nursing pillow when you were a baby. It came in handy so many times.”
She held it in two hands and stared down at it as though memories flipped through her mind, then placed it on her chair. “Okay, now I’m going.”
“Bye, Mom. Call if you get lost.” I glanced at her and waved as I dug my hand into the box.
Smooth wood box tickled my fingertips.
“I’ve been around long before GPS. I can find my way around just fine.”
Snorting, I turned back to the box and pulled it out. The wood was old, with a tarnished latch and lock that had seen better days. I put it beside me, a faint pulse of curiosity eating away at my insides as I emptied the cardboard box of the signed baseball in a plexiglass cube.
Dust tickled my nose, causing me to sneeze, my body coiling into a tight ball and releasing in a violent flail, causing the ball to fly from my hand and hit the wooden box, the plexiglass breaking open. The ball rolled free of its protective casing and under the chair.
Crap.
On all fours, I crawled under the chair, picked the ball up with two fingers, careful not to touch the ink, and sat back down, putting the ball beside me.
Dad is going to kill me.
I sat back in my seat, set the ball beside me, picked up the plexiglass pieces, and put the parts back like a Rubik’s Cube. The glass fell apart in my hands.
Double crap.
Nothing a little super glue can’t fix...
I put the pieces aside and moved to stand, then paused as the wooden box fell into view. A large scratch across the top where the box must have hit it gouged the top and broke the lock.
Triple crap.
Picking up the box, I brushed my fingers over the rough, scarred surface—the old wood heavy for its size—antique, almost—like it had been hiding in the shadows of forgotten years.
They never lock things away .
We weren’t that kind of family.
Everything was out in the open and shared .
But this... this box, the very fact of its existence, shattered everything I’d grown up believing. It was a secret that contradicted the foundation of my memories.
The tarnished, lifeless gray lock, laid to the side. I squeezed it, hoping it would hold tight, but it didn’t. The thing flopped open like it was as tired as I felt. I let out a frustrated breath, shaking my head. “Why can’t things ever be easy?”
I twisted the lock off and flipped the latch. The lid creaked open like a coffin in an old horror movie, making my skin prickle.
Yellow tissue paper lined the inside like it’d been untouched for years. I peeled the paper back with trembling fingers and frowned.
In the center of the box was a gold heart-shaped locket, a chain ring, and a postcard from the Garden of the Gods covering the bottom. I opened the locket and rubbed my finger inside the picture frame—a small piece of paper stuck in the corner as though the owner tore a photograph from it.
I raised a brow, swiped it aside, fondled the chain ring, and picked up the postcard.
When did we go here?
We had traveled little since Dad had to maintain the knife shop, so family vacations were minimal except for his trips to the expos where he’d meet with other vendors and learn their craft. We were lucky if it lined up with school times, and it was always an issue with Mom that I missed school.
I dropped the postcard and froze dead in my tracks, my hands hovering over a photograph with worn edges as though someone handled it a thousand times before.
Amber?
Why is this in here?
Her smile—bright, wide, full of life—radiated from the image. Behind her, a stage loomed, bathed in neon lights, and the blurry movement of a crowd swirled around her like a chaotic halo. I stared at it, my mind reeling.
Where was this taken?
Something dark and heavy twisted in my gut.
Why the hell was this hidden under lock and key?
A concert?
What concert?
When was this?
I flipped the picture around, searching for a date.
That’s Amber’s handwriting.
My heart thudded in my chest as I studied the photo.
She’s so young .
Tears puddled along my lashes as I stared back at her light blue eyes, a stark contrast to Carters. She’d inherited them from her father, a Brit by heritage, American by birth, whose icy gaze could strike a man dead without a single word.
Chilly air prickled against my skin, creeping along my arm as if her ghost reached out and stared back.
This is silly.
I set it aside, rubbed my arms free of gooseflesh, wiped the tears from my eyes, and placed everything back in the box, minus the photograph. My stomach flipped as I set the box inside the dresser, picked up the shattered plexiglass pieces, and put them on top of the dresser. I’d glue it together later, then set the ball beside it.
The sun fixed on the horizon as I broke down the last box, my lower back screaming mixed with sweat, my shoulders tensed, and a crook in my neck kept me from looking to the right.
I could use one of Carter’s famous massages right about now.
Snagging the flattened boxes, I carted them to the trash bin in the backyard and stuffed them down inside, then walked back into the spare room, grabbed the photograph and glass, scuffing my feet against the carpet into the living room.
Dad sat in his chair as though he’d never left, flipping through a magazine, the pages rustling.
“I’m all done.” I settled on the armchair beside him. “Whatchya reading?”
He shrugged and turned the magazine to the front and then went back to his saved page. “Blade.”
“Some things do never change.”
I wiped the perspiration from my brow, my hair sticking to my skull despite the cooling temps .
He huffed and stared at the page, highlighting a Damascus Steel knife.
“Is Mom back from the store yet?”
“No.” He closed the magazine and sighed.
“Okay. I need super glue. Do you know where there might be some? I don’t remember unpacking any.”
He shook his head. “Why?”
I held my hand out with the glass, and his eyes glazed over, staring at the photograph in my hand. “I accidentally broke the case for the baseball and was going to fix it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice trailing. “What’s that?” He raised a brow, his gaze never leaving the photo.
I glanced at it one more time, then handed it to him. “It’s a photo of Amber. I found it in the boxes in the spare room.”
He squinted at it, his brow furrowing as he took it from me. Long shadows drew across his face as he studied the image, his eyes glistening.
“Do you remember me going to this concert?”
“ Hmm ?“ He looked up and handed the photo back, then opened his magazine again. “Yeah, I think I remember that. You girls were so excited.”
I frowned. “Weird. I don’t remember it at all.”
He shrugged, flipped a page, and crossed his ankles on the coffee table. “Guess it wasn’t as fun as you thought.”
“Maybe.” I stared down at the forever young version of Amber, tears brimming in my eyes as though she’d died yesterday. Blinking, I sniffled and dropped it in my lap, turning her image over, my stomach turning to ice. “I found it in a wooden box with a necklace and stuff.”
“ Hmm. ”
“Do you know which one I’m talking about?”
He shrugged. “We have lots of boxes around here.”
Not like this.
Not filled with girl stuff.
Not with a lock and key.
“Do you know why it would be there?”
He shrugged and turned his head, glancing at the other page. “I don’t know June-bug. I’m sure the movers got it mixed up when stuffing things in boxes. You know they broke my shavers? I spent a fortune on those, and they just tossed them into a box.”
I cringed. “Sorry, Dad. We can file a claim with the company once you have a list of items. Is there anything else?”
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s not worth the time.”
We sat in uncomfortable silence as though I annoyed him. “Are you guys coming to dinner tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
I nodded and stood. “Let me know so we can plan enough food.”
“ Hmm .”
My eyes found the photo again, and I jerked them away, flipping the painful photo down against my leg. “I’m going to go then. Carter is going to be waking up soon and heading into work. I want to eat—“
“ Mhmm . Yep. See you later, June-bug.”
I hung my head, grabbed my purse off the hook, and walked out the door, tucking the photograph into my purse pocket.
The drive home went by on autopilot, my stomach roiling. I shut the garage door, the familiar tranquillity of the house settling around me like a soothing blanket. Tossing my keys onto the kitchen counter, the metallic clatter echoing in the silence, I dropped my purse beside them. My legs moved like lead to the barstool, collapsing onto it with a sigh, my head in my hands.
Amber’s face haunted my thoughts. Seeing her again—alive and smiling—tore open a wound that had long since scarred over.
God, I miss her.
Where would she be now?
Would she be married?
Have kids?
Would she have gotten her arts degree?
Tears dripped down my cheeks, the sadness like a jagged piece of glass lodged deep in my chest.
I rubbed my temples, pushing away the pain, but it clung to me, gnawing at the edges of my mind. My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay back.
Footsteps slapped against the marble flooring as they descended the stairs. I looked up as Carter entered the kitchen, dressed in his deep blue scrubs. They clung to his broad shoulders and lean frame-his eyes alert.
“Hey.” He crossed the room in a few strides, his hands finding my shoulders with practiced ease.
“Hey. How’d you sleep?”
His thumbs kneaded into the tense muscles at the base of my neck. “Would have been better if you were there.” He dropped his chin to the crown of my head.
“I’ll be right there when you get off the night shift.” I sighed, his touch a comforting normal. Turning in my seat, I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.
“Is everything okay?” He dropped his hand to my back. “What’s wrong?”
The words tangled in my throat, sticking like burrs to socks. I shook my head, focusing on the soothing motion of his hand rubbing down my back, his warmth seeping into me, grounding me in the present.
“Hey, why are you crying?” He leaned back and lifted my chin, his gaze clashing against mine, then wandered around the room. “What happened?” His hands stilled as he leaned forward over the counter. “What’s this?”
I turned as he reached toward my purse.
The edge of the photograph peeked out from the pocket, Amber’s handwriting visible to the naked eye.
No.
No.
He slid the photograph free and stared at it, his brows drawing down. His jaw ticked, the darkness swallowing his eyes as if shadows danced behind them—the photo quivering in his grasp .
A pang hit my belly. “I’m sorry.” My throat clenched. “I didn’t mean for you to see that. I just wanted—“
Carter shook his head, his eyes locked on the photograph. “You don’t have to apologize, June.” His gruff voice twisted. He licked his lips and put the photo on the counter. “I miss her too.” The words hung between us, heavy with shared grief.
I wrapped my arms around him, lost in the memories of a girl who had been taken too soon. “I found it in a box of my parents’ things.”
“Def Leppard?” He chuckled, and I sat back, swiping at my eyes.
“Right? I didn’t know she was into that.”
“Me either.”
I drew in a heavy breath. “But I guess I was the one who took this photo.”
He raised a brow. “You guess?”
Swallowing, I shrugged and ran my finger down the fading photo. “I don’t remember going, and I sure as hell don’t remember being a big enough fan to want to go.“ A small chuckle rumbled in my chest. “I don’t even know one of their songs.”
“Well, that’s shameful. Pour Some Sugar On Me was a classic.”
I sat up in my seat. “I recognize that one. But don’t you think I’d know more than one song if I bought tickets to their concert?”
He gave me a lopsided shrug and moved to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water. “Maybe you didn’t purchase the tickets. Maybe Amber bought them and wanted you to come.”
My forehead creased, brows knitting together. “She wasn’t into this kind of music either.”
Carter paused, his hand hovering over the half-opened bottle. “Now that I think of it—“
“Right?” I cocked my head to the side. “Seems weird.”
“Maybe she went with my dad.”
“But why would I have the photo?”
He put the bottle on the counter. “To make you jealous? She liked to do that with people. To give you a reason to talk about her.”
I inclined my head. “Like the time she wore fiber tape around her arm in third grade and then told everyone she broke it on the dirt bike because I was getting everyone to sign mine.”
“Dad threw a fit when she got home because she’d used the entire roll and left glue in the bathroom sink.” Carter laughed, his eyes brightening. “He had to call a plumber to replace the sink drain because it hardened and clogged it.”
“Or that time she tapped the four-wheeler into the tree, smeared wild gooseberries all over her forehead, and said she crashed the four-wheeler.” A wide smile formed on my lips, her memory alive between us.
His head sagged as he smiled and then nodded. “She was always doing something stupid for attention.”
“Right?”
I spun her photo around, staring back at her, the sadness depreciating. “I miss her.” My teeth bit into my lip. “I didn’t realize how much so because we eventually go on with our lives, but seeing her like this, all happy and vibrant, just did something to me.”
He rounded the counter and took me in his arms. “If there’s one thing this whole experience has taught me, it’s that holding on to grief, rage, and the desire for vengeance only deepens the pain, and it never brings healing.“ He kissed my forehead. “Besides, Amber wouldn’t have wanted us to feel like this.”
I laughed and swiped my tears. “Are you kidding? She’s in heaven jockeying with God for attention.”
Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Okay. You’re not wrong. She’d love everyone talking about her.”
Sucking in a sharp breath through my nose, I wiped away my tears. Dark circular splotches stained his scrubs—my tears soaking into the fabric. “Oh, crap.” I washed my hand down his front as if it would make them go away.
“It’ll dry. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t had bodily fluids on my clothing before.”
I grimaced. “Charming, Carter. I prefer to think you sit in an office all day, not handling dead bodies… on purpose.”
Carter picked up the photo and walked to the kitchen entry, where a photo of his parents hung on the wall. He tucked the edges of the photograph into the frame and put his hands on his hips. “There. After everything that’s happened, I think it’s time we moved on. Don’t you?” He walked back to the counter and took a swig of his water.
I nodded. “I thought I had. ”
“The sadness will always remain, but we can’t dwell on it anymore.” He sighed. “We’ll only lose more if we do. Just like I almost lost you.”
I pressed my lips into a smile, the horrors of that night on constant replay when I slept. “You better get going, or you’ll be late.”
“We still need dinner.”
I glanced at the clock and hung my head. “Oh, right.”
The whole reason I came home.
“I realize this was a hard conversation, but you don’t have to kick me out the door.” A lopsided smirk spread across his face, his eyes lightening.
Snorting, I tossed the salt shaker at him. “Shut up.”
He caught it at his chest and glanced up, his smile morphing into a sinister grin.
“Oh, no.” I slid off my chair with a hidden smirk. “Not tonight.”
“Now you’ve done it, dollface.” He growled and lunged for me.
Turning, I sprinted across the house, a grin brimming on my lips, my squeals turning my throat raw.