Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
T he house was unusually quiet, except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Romy stood in the center of the living room, hands on her hips, surveying the clutter that had slowly accumulated in the corners of the house. Pamela had gone to lie down for a nap, something she seemed to do a lot since Romy had arrived. The thought nagged at Romy as she picked up a stack of magazines from the coffee table.
It had only been a few days since she’d moved back, but Romy was starting to notice things she hadn’t seen before. Pamela’s energy seemed to wane faster these days, her laughter quieter, her movements slower. It wasn’t just the clutter—it was the way Pamela winced when she thought no one was looking, the way she held on to the banister just a little too tightly when climbing the stairs.
Romy pushed the thought aside and got to work. She started with the magazines, stacking them neatly in a basket by the bookshelf. Then she tackled the kitchen, scrubbing the counters until they gleamed and organizing the mismatched collection of mugs and plates in the cabinets. She vacuumed the living room rug, wiped down the windowsills, and dusted the bookshelves, careful not to disturb the delicate figurines and trinkets Pamela had collected over the years.
By the time she finished, the house looked brighter, more like the home she remembered from her childhood. She collapsed onto the couch, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead, and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. That’s when she noticed the photo album tucked under a pile of old newspapers on the side table.
Curiosity got the better of her. She reached for the album, its leather cover worn and soft to the touch. Flipping it open, she was greeted by a photo of her parents, beaming at the camera, her father’s arm wrapped protectively around her mother’s shoulders. They were standing on the beach, the waves crashing behind them, their faces lit up with joy.
Romy’s throat tightened as she turned the pages. There she was as a baby, cradled in her mother’s arms, her father looking down at her with a proud smile. Another photo showed her as a toddler, perched on her father’s shoulders, both of them laughing as they played in the surf. The next was a family picnic, her mother wearing a wide-brimmed hat, her father grilling burgers, and Romy sitting cross-legged on a blanket, her cheeks smudged with chocolate.
She traced her fingers over the images, memories flooding back with each turn of the page. Her parents’ laughter echoed faintly in her mind, mingling with the scent of salty air and sunscreen. She hadn’t allowed herself to look at these photos in years, afraid of the pain they might bring. But now, sitting in the quiet of her aunt’s living room, the ache felt bittersweet rather than unbearable.
Lost in thought, she didn’t hear Pamela shuffle into the room until her aunt’s voice broke the silence.
“Well, this is a sight for sore eyes,” Pamela said, her voice warm but tinged with surprise. She leaned against the doorframe, taking in the spotless room. “You’ve been busy.”
Romy closed the album gently and looked up, a smile tugging at her lips. “It needed doing. I hope you don’t mind.”
Pamela waved a hand dismissively as she made her way to the couch and eased herself down beside Romy. “Mind? I should be thanking you. The place looks better than it has in months.”
Romy hesitated, then held up the photo album. “I found this while I was cleaning. I hope it’s okay that I looked through it.”
Pamela’s gaze softened as she reached for the album, her fingers brushing the cover. “I haven’t looked at those photos in a long time.”
They sat together and flipped through the pages. Pamela pointed to a photo of Romy as a little girl, her face smeared with frosting from a birthday cake. “That was your fifth birthday. You insisted on helping decorate the cake, and half the frosting ended up on your face.”
Romy laughed, the memory as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. “I remember. Mom was so mad at me for sneaking bites of the frosting.”
“And your dad just laughed,” Pamela added, her eyes twinkling. “He said it was your cake, so you should get the first taste.”
They turned another page, and Pamela’s expression grew wistful. “Your parents were so proud of you, you know. Every little thing you did, they celebrated it like it was the greatest achievement in the world.”
Romy swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. “I miss them every day.”
Pamela placed a hand on Romy’s knee, her touch steady and comforting. “I know you do, sweetheart. And they’d be so proud of the woman you’ve become.”
Romy looked down at the album, her vision blurring. “I don’t know about that. I feel like I’ve been running in circles for years, trying to figure out who I am.”
Pamela squeezed her knee gently. “That’s just life, Romy. We all spend our time trying to figure things out. The important thing is that you keep going, even when it’s hard.”
They sat quietly for a while, the sound of the waves in the distance filling the space between them. Romy leaned her head against Pamela’s shoulder, the photo album resting on her lap.
“You know,” Pamela said after a moment, her voice low, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”
Romy lifted her head, her brow furrowing in concern. “What is it?”
Pamela hesitated, her gaze drifting to the window. “It’s nothing urgent. Just…things I’ve been thinking about lately. But it can wait. For now, let’s just enjoy this.”
Romy didn’t press, sensing her aunt wasn’t ready to share whatever was on her mind. Instead, she reached for Pamela’s hand, intertwining their fingers.
“Thank you for letting me stay here,” Romy said softly. “I know I don’t say it enough, but it means the world to me.”
Pamela smiled, her eyes glistening. “You’ll always have a place here, Romy. Always.”
Romy nodded. “I know. Thank you.”
“I forgot to tell you. Lucy Adams stopped by the other day. You were resting and I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
Romy’s heart raced. Lucy was the last person she wanted to see. “What did you tell her?”
Pamela shrugged. “Not much, just that you were resting and that I’d let you know she had come by. Was that not the right thing to say?”
Romy shook her head, “No, you did the right thing. I was tired and not ready for visitors.”
“Well, I’ve got a few errands to run. Can we talk more later?” Pamela asked.
“Yes, of course.”
Romy watched Pamela shuffle toward her bedroom, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the quiet house. She sank onto the edge of the couch, her hands trembling slightly as she pressed them against her knees. Lucy had been here—so close, just on the other side of the door—and Pamela had sent her away. Relief mixed with guilt, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
She wasn’t ready to see Lucy, not yet. Too much time had passed, too many memories buried under layers of hurt and regret. But even as Romy tried to push the thought away, she knew it was only a matter of time. She knew Lucy wouldn’t let this go. The past had a way of catching up, no matter how far you ran. And Romy wasn’t sure she had the strength to keep running anymore.