Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
florence
Life sure has a way of gifting you lemons and then squirting you in the face.
It’s my first Saturday night in the A-frame. Most of my belongings are unpacked, making the small space feel homier. The interior is a condensed version of Dex’s, with deep red accents and neutral tones and a small bedroom up in the loft.
I’m staring at my online basket filled with decorative pillows and throw blankets, knowing full well I don’t need them. The temptation to click Checkout is strong. I slam my laptop shut right as there’s a knock on the door, saving me from an impulsive purchase.
“I’ll get it,” I call out of habit and jog toward the front door to find an unexpected guest.
“Booth!”
“Your favorite brother’s returned!” He grins, arms spread wide.
I’m swept up into a hug before he strides into the cabin.
“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t home until the rehearsal dinner?” I follow him into the small kitchenette.
Booth is thriving in New York, working alongside a renowned chef. Aly is still in Germany for a project, and I know they’re counting down the days until an ocean doesn’t separate them.
“Pedro gave me the weekend off while the restaurant gets some reno work done. Thought I’d come and annoy you.” His smile is soft, nothing like his usual smirk. He felt awful not being able to attend Dad’s anniversary meal, and I know his surprise visit will mean the world to our mom.
“Where are you staying? Mom’s?” I ask and pull out two bottles of water, offering him one.
“Yeah. She doesn’t know I’m here yet, though.”
My brow furrows. “Why?”
“I wanted to visit my little sister at her new digs first and hear all about her job.” He moves toward the small sectional sofa, posture stiff as he sits. Joining him, I tuck my feet under my legs. Out of my three brothers, Booth is the most relaxed, so his uneasy disposition is suspicious.
“You’re acting weird. Is everything okay?”
He scrubs a hand over his messy, brown hair. “Don’t be mad at Aly…”
Worry swirls in my stomach. I’ve confided in Aly a lot since our phone call the other month. I love Jo and Quinn, but Jo is busy growing a human and planning a wedding, and Quinn and Graham are house hunting. Plus, they’re too gentle with me. Aly is honest.
Apparently, too honest.
“What did she say?” I gnaw at my lip.
Booth notes my distressed expression. “Nothing. Only that you could do with a visit.” Concern etches his face. “Is that true?”
Things have taken a turn since Dex hired me, but there’s still some doubt lingering overhead, like a small rain cloud following me around.
“Things have been a little rough.”
He tilts his head, waiting.
Lying isn’t my strong suit, and under Booth’s watchful eye, the trust floods out of me.
“I’m a disaster. I thought coming home would be the solution to my problems. Everything I do, I fail at.”
“Flo, that’s not true.” He shuffles closer. “You’ve got a new job. You went off and did your own thing at twenty-two, traveling to places I can only dream of visiting.”
“A job I’m underqualified for.” My voice wobbles. “Did you ever wonder why I came home early?”
He thinks for a second. “I presumed you wanted to.”
I suck in a breath. “I ran out of money.” Tears burn my eyes. “I had to take out a loan to pay for my flight, and now I’m struggling to pay it off.”
“Florence, why didn’t you call us? We would’ve helped. With the money from Dad, Mom could—”
“No. I’m not touching that money.” Our father left us all a substantial amount of money in his will.
Because I was only sixteen when he died, my inheritance was in a trust until I turned twenty-one.
I didn’t take all of it for my travels, and when it ran out, the last thing I wanted to do was drain my inheritance completely.
“I’m so fucking tired of disappointing you all.
It’s my mess, and I’ll sort it. That’s why I didn’t want to take the job at the restaurant. ”
Guilt paints his face. “I’m sorry for pushing it on you. I was trying to help, but I get it.”
“It’s not your responsibility.” I cast him a pleading look.
“Please don’t tell Graham or Pat. The last thing I need is their pity.
Sometimes, it feels like I’m the runt of the litter.
” I slump into the cushions. “You’re all so put together, your lives mapped out, and I’m just going around in circles.
This job means everything to me, and I’m so grateful, but there’s a part of me waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Dex is all serious, and I’m just…not. It’s only a matter of time before I screw up, and he comes to his senses.
It’s the first time in my life I feel I have something worth being proud of, something to call my own. ”
“Listen, I haven’t spoken to Dex, but he’s not one to do anything without thought.
He knows who he hired.” He might be a goofball with an ego the size of a semi-truck, but Booth cares immensely.
“We’re proud of you no matter what. Dad would be too, and he’d hate to hear you talk about yourself this way. ”
“It’s my brain. My stupid, mean brain.”
Booth rubs slow circles on my back. “Don’t listen to it.”
Swiping at my eyes, I stare at him. “Easy for you to say. You’re living your best life in New York with your dream job and dream girl.”
“And you think it came to me like that?” He snaps his fingers. “For years, I buried my head in the sand because I was too chickenshit to step out of my comfort zone.”
“How did you overcome it?”
Booth’s gaze drifts, sending him far away as he fixates on the refrigerator. He pats down the front of his jacket, and a sad smile surfaces. “You’re not alone in feeling a little lost. Even Pat and Graham need guidance. We all do.”
“Can I get some of this guidance?” I ask sarcastically.
“I’m not sure I’m the best person to give it to you, but I can give you this.” A white envelope materializes from his pocket.
Scrawled on the front is my name, in handwriting I’d recognize anywhere.
“Booth,” I whisper. “Is that from…”
He nods, eyes bright with tears.
Grief takes no prisoners; it raids your heart, pillaging and ransacking, leaving you hollow. Even seven years on, you think you’ve overcome the worst of it, and then it returns with a vengeance.
Like right now, as Booth silently places the envelope on my lap.
“Last spring, Patrick found a bunch of envelopes with all our names on them. When he opened his, it was a letter from dad written over ten years ago,” Booth explains.
My hand flies to my mouth. “Why am I only getting mine now?”
“Pat gave Graham his in December, Graham gave me mine in February, and I’m giving you yours.
It’s not that we wanted to keep it from you, but we’ve all received them exactly when we needed them.
Something tells me you could do with Dad’s sage words.
” He swallows, a sadness sweeping through him.
“If not for Dad, I’m not sure I would’ve taken the dive to move to New York or be lucky enough to call Aly mine. ”
A kernel of hope grows in my chest as I trace the tail of the e.
I blink up at Booth. “Will you stay with me while I open it?”
“Of course.”
The tear of the seal is loud, drowning out the roaring in my ears. I don’t overthink it or hesitate, just slip the piece of paper out of the envelope and unfold it.
Excitement, sorrow, anticipation blend until my eyes take in the words. Then, they come crashing down, splintering on the floor and slicing through my last shred of hope.
It’s not a letter.
No sweet words of encouragement or reminisced memories from the first man I ever looked up to.
There are barely thirty words.
The corner of the paper flops, a lot like my heart.
“Flo…” Booth whispers.
I picture the universe tutting and calling me ungrateful. Of course, I’m amazed I’m holding a piece of my dad, but this is cruel.
From a young age, my brain struggled to retain information. My dad noticed this and suggested I write things as a way of remembering. It became a form of therapy, using fancy, colorful pens to write goals, chores, or important dates.
It was our thing until it wasn’t. Now, it’s just mine.
The list in my hand is one I wrote the summer before he passed, one he helped me curate.
I stomp down the porch steps, flustered and fed up.
“Florence,” a deep voice calls. I ignore it and march toward the tire swing.
The branch of the oak tree groans as I dump myself on the old rubber ring and stare angrily at the blades of grass, rocking back and forth.
Dad’s footsteps draw closer. “Florence Abigail, you owe your mother an apology.”
The world spins below me. “She started it.”
“Florence,” my dad warns, and I glance up, pouting. “When you live in your own house, you can do whatever you want, but today, you live with us.”
A soft growl escapes my lips, and I vault off the swing, arms flying. “I can’t even explain it, Dad, but the feel of the water mixed with bits of food...” I shiver remembering the slice of cooked onion wrapped around my fingers, all slimy and gross. “It makes me want to crawl out of my skin.”
Dad frowns. He’s here to lecture me, sent by my mom, but there isn’t an ounce of anger on his face. “We can get you some Marigolds. Pink ones.”
My nose wrinkles. “I can’t wait until I’m old enough to move out.”
There’s a hint of sadness in his laughter. He settles against the trunk of the tree and slides to sit. I join him, sighing dramatically.
“Don’t grow up too quickly, Buttercup. Enjoy being young—even if it involves dishes and nagging parents.”
“What’s there to enjoy at fifteen? Homework, chores, and a curfew? When I’m your age, I’ll have my own house, make my own rules, and travel the world.”
“Oh, Florence.” He loops an arm around my shoulders, tugging me close.
I pretend to hate it, before resting my head on his shoulder.
“There’s so much to do and enjoy, even in this little corner of the world.
Life will pass by before you know it. Don’t think about what you want to achieve when you’re old and gray like me.
What do you want to achieve before you’re… twenty-five?”
His question leaves me stumped.
“Think big and small,” he encourages.
“Well…I’d like to start learning how to drive.” He’s wanted to teach me since I turned fifteen, but I’ve given excuse after excuse. The idea of getting behind a wheel is nerve-wracking. “The usual stuff. Camping with friends. Get a boyfriend.” He shivers. “I don’t know. This is stupid.”
“Nothing you set your heart on is stupid.” He nods toward the house. “Let’s make a list. Run and get your notebook.”
I grin at his suggestion. Dad knows I’m a sucker for a list.
I’m on my feet in a flash. Three minutes later, I return, breathless and armed with my notebook and a handful of pens.
We sit under the shade of the oak. It’s nice.
Mom comes out, the dishes forgotten, and hands us both a glass of lemonade.
Dad steals a kiss, making her blush and me a little nauseous—and inspired.
He takes a nap while I scrawl in my notebook. Some things are silly, some typical of a teenage girl. Some are simply to prove to my stupid brothers I can do anything. Jotting each one down is exciting. When it’s complete, I nudge my dad awake.
He reads it over, grumbling his protests at two items and smiling at most. “What should we call it?”
I shrug.
His lips twist before stealing a pen and writing along the top. I giggle at the name.
The sun starts to set, and I begin collecting my things before pausing. “Hey, Daddy?”
“Yeah, Buttercup?”
“Please don’t be disappointed if I don’t complete the list before I turn twenty-five. Sometimes, I forget things or get mixed up.” My eyes fall. “I don’t do it on purpose. I swear.”
Dad sighs and clasps me by the chin. The same green eyes as mine glimmer when he raises my gaze.
“Nothing you could ever do would disappoint me, Florence. All I ask is you try, and if it doesn’t work out, that’s okay.
Your happiness is key. Whatever you do in life, I’ll be proud of you. Don’t forget that.”
I throw my arms around him. Nothing beats a hug from my dad, and today, it feels like he hugs me extra tight.
“Does this mean I don’t have to do the dishes?” I mumble into his shirt.
“Not a chance. Get in the house.”
One year later, he was gone.
I go to twist my rings and come up short. They’re lost. Fitting, really. The pain in my chest is excruciating. Each word and letter strikes me through the middle as I read them over and over.
The List of Florence
- Learn how to drive
- Dance in the rain
- Camp under the stars
- Go fishing and catch my dinner
- Watch the sunset from a paddleboard
- Bonfire on the beach
- Get a tattoo
- Watch a movie at a drive-thru theater
- Adopt a pet
- Buy my own house
- Find a love like my parents
“Florence, I’m sorry.” I’d forgotten Booth was here. “I thought it was a letter. We’ve all had letters.”
Months of pent-up frustration and sadness bubbles to the surface.
Money problems. Rejection emails. Dad’s anniversary.
Even attempting to fight my feelings for Dex.
An accumulation of events out of my control.
My emotions are as unpredictable as an earthquake, shaking the foundations and knocking me down the moment my feet find purchase.
Every time I get up, it becomes a little harder.
The real kicker? Not a single item is ticked off.