Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mira
I cough, brushing the warm air away from my nose as I reach the top of Lolly’s attic stairs.
“Any of them will do,” Lolly calls up to me. “Just me and Pop at a Christmas party in 1998. I have a gorgeous green ball gown on. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“1998. Green dress. Got it.”
The attic is fairly organized with neat rows of boxes, most of which are labeled. Granted, many just say photographs or decorations, but it’s better than nothing.
“Holler if you need anything,” Lolly says.
“I will.”
“And if you happen to come across a small cedar chest—it would fit in your hands—bring that down, too, please.”
My hands go to my hips. “Anything else?”
“No. That’s it. Good luck.”
I scan the room again. I have my work cut out for me.
The floor creaks as I walk across it, and I find the pull cord for the large light in the center of the room. The bulb flickers before fully turning on. It doesn’t give the best light, but it’s better than the single light by the entrance.
I peek over the rows of boxes, looking for the right year.
My body aches as I move, and my knees are a mess. Despite the shower I took before I left for Lolly’s, I can still smell Hartley on my skin. Sweat. Soap. A dab of cedarwood. Just thinking of the sultry combination makes me shiver.
“Whatever makes you happy.”
His words from this afternoon filter through my mind. I know he means them. In whatever situation I apply them to, that’s his answer.
And that makes me smile.
He makes me happy—ridiculously, wildly happy. Most days, I wake up and can’t believe that this is my life. It almost feels too easy. Unearned. It’s illogical to believe that life just hands you someone so wonderful and you live happily ever after.
That’s what scares me.
“Any luck?” Lolly asks
I roll my eyes. “I just got up here, and there are a ton of boxes.”
“Well, you’ll just have to dig.”
“Wonderful,” I whisper, surveying the scene.
Nothing written on the outside of the boxes guides me toward the photos, so I pick a box and remove the lid. It’s filled with a menagerie of items—Halloween costumes, an old church directory, and a baby doll that looks slightly possessed.
“Oh, great,” I grumble, closing it up.
I make my way through a slew of holiday decorations, most of which I haven’t seen since I lived here as a teenager. Why doesn’t she put these out anymore? She used to love holiday yard decor.
I reach for another box when something catches my attention. It’s a clear plastic tub—newer than a lot of this stuff—with the names Margot and Tim scrawled on a piece of tape stuck to the front of it.
My throat tightens. My parents.
The blue lid pops off with ease, and I sit on a footstool beside it. My hand shakes as I pull out picture after picture—memory after memory. Most of them are Lolly’s memories, because they were before my time.
My parents on their wedding day. Mom pregnant with a hand on her belly, posing for the camera. Dad holding Markie by a Christmas tree with the worst silver tinsel.
It’s holidays and birthdays, summer vacations and afternoons by the pool. Ordinary moments that suddenly feel like huge, precious ones to me.
I spot an old-fashioned videotape with Mira, age 2 written on the outside. The handwriting is unmistakable. Mom.
My heart pounds as I hold the tape in my hand, wondering what’s on it. It could be anything, as Dad always had a video camera close by. I start to put it away, but find a number printed on the back in marker.
What does that mean?
I set it down as the answer hits me.
Digging in my pocket, I pull out my phone and find the app Lolly had Markie and me download a couple of years ago.
She saw a television advertisement about digitizing her old home movies.
Markie and I thought it was a scam. Lo and behold, six weeks later, all our memories were at the touch of a button.
I find the corresponding numbers on the tape. Tenth row down, fifth video over. I hit play.
The quality is grainy and the color washed out, but the little girl in the frame is clear. It’s me. I’m bending down to pick up a flower while Markie swings on the playset behind me.
My cheeks are round, and a piece of yellow fabric covers my hair. I can’t help but smile as I watch my chubby little fingers grab the dandelion. The delight on my face is hilarious.
The camera moves to capture Markie, but just outside of the frame, I hear Mom’s voice. It catches me off guard, and I gasp. Seeing pictures and movies of our family is one thing.
Hearing their voices is quite another.
Tears dot my eyes as a smile shapes my lips.
“No, Mira,” Mom says gently. “Don’t touch.”
The video shakes before I come into view again.
“Honey, that’ll sting you,” Dad says, moving closer to me.
But it’s too late. Before he can get to me, I’m jerking my hand back and wailing.
“Let me see,” Mom says, crouching down to my level. “Oh, that got you good.”
My bottom lip trembles with all the drama of a two-year-old. “Hurts.”
“You’re gonna be okay,” Mom promises. She scoops me up in her arms, pressing her cheek to mine despite my cries. “It’s okay, sweet girl. Just an ouchie.”
“We go home,” I say, as clear as a bell.
Dad chuckles behind the camera. “I think this is the only time that Mira’s ever asked to go home.”
Mom gazes up at my father and grins. “At least she knows where to go when she’s hurt.”
The video abruptly ends.
I stare at the dark screen, almost willing it to come back on. Sure, I could press another, but that would reinforce that they’re memories. I want to jump into the scene and hug my parents.
“This is why I don’t watch these,” I say, my eyes blurred by tears. “This is the most beautiful torture ever.”
My heart is tender as I rewind the video in my head and play it back.
I press a hand against my sternum, feeling my heartbeat thump beneath my palm.
When Mom gazed up at Dad and smiled, it was me.
I could see my nose on her face, my eyes as she looked at the camera.
The love shining in them is exactly how I feel when I look at Hartley.
No wonder Lolly had tears on my wedding day. How does she look at me and not feel pain?
And then there was Mom’s pretty smile that I see reflected on Markie’s beautiful face every time I look at her. Dad’s chuckle … I’ve heard that from Miles, too.
We’re their living memory.
I hold my phone to my chest as more memories spring through my mind.
Mom’s lipstick always looked slightly orange. Dad loved striped shirts. They took us to a little park with old equipment, and Markie would go down the slide headfirst. Dozens of happy times flood my mind—memories I’ve been too scared to remember.
We were happy. There was so much joy.
I wipe the tears from my cheeks. They’d want me to know that joy.
And, by not letting myself be completely free of this hidden grief, I’m not honoring them well.
I’m not being the person they raised. Two-year-old me was braver than I am now, it seems. I felt the sting in my finger and asked for help. I wasn’t afraid to cry.
I accepted their lot with my whole little heart.
I sit on the stool and stare at my phone, feeling a peace that I haven’t felt in years. It’s like a piece of me that I lost somewhere down the line has been snapped back into place. The little hole in the bottom of my heart that slowly drained my confidence and let fear seep inside me closes.
“At least she knows where to go when she’s hurt.”
A slow smile splits my cheeks as I recall my mom’s words.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You go home.”
A warmth fills my chest as I consider what this means.
I haven’t felt at home anywhere since the day Lolly and Pop packed Markie and me each with a suitcase, put us into their Buick, and drove us to their house.
Until now. But this time, home isn’t a place.
It’s a person. It’s the great, the only love of my life.
Tears splash against my cheeks as I realize that I knew what I needed to do all along. I needed to let him love me.
Hartley is who I call when something great happens. I reach for him as soon as my eyes open each day, and he’s the last thing I see before I fall asleep at night. He’s where I go when I screw up and buy a piglet. And he’s my safe place when I’m scared.
My entire world shifts as things become devastatingly clear.
He’s home.
He’s what my parents would want for me. There’s no doubt about it. In a way, it feels like that’s what Mom was saying to me in that video. A little advice from beyond.
I’ve known that I love him for a while, but not like this.
Not like I feel today. Not so encompassing that it steals my breath.
He’s my past and present, and I want to be his future.
Babies and baseball games. Wrinkles and gray hair.
Porch swings and matching mugs and late-night fights with makeup sex.
But as I glance down at the box full of my parents’ things—all I have left of them—another realization hits me: I could lose him, too.
I pick up a few more pictures of my parents, trying not to let my tears hit them. Losing them was the worst moment of my life, and it’s colored every day since. I don’t know that I’d survive another loss again. And it’s never been worth the risk of getting close to someone, just in case.
But I’m already in love with Hartley. The man has my heart and soul. And for the first time in my life, my first instinct isn’t to run. It’s to stay. To really stay.
I grab my phone and find his name.
Me: Are you home?
Hartley: Yup. I just put a pizza in the oven and am going to jump in the shower. Didn’t know when you were coming home, so figured it’d be nice to have dinner waiting for you instead of having to go to town to pick it up.
What a good man.
Me: Perfect. I’ll be home soon. Xo
Hartley: Can’t wait.
I put everything back in the boxes and turn off the lights. My feet hit the steps of the ladder, tapping their way down to the floor.
“Hey, honey,” Lolly says, coming around the corner with a dishrag in her hand. “Did you find the pictures?”
Instead of answering her, I pull her into a tight hug.
“Well …” She laughs softly, hugging me back. “I didn’t expect this.”
My cheeks are wet again as I pull back. I smile at her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know. Everything. For taking care of Markie and me. For loving me when it probably wasn’t easy. For giving me room when I asked for it, and then doing what was best for me, even if I didn’t know it yet.”
Her eyes narrow. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”
My chest swells with love for my mischief-making grandmother.
“Thanks for manipulating me into marrying Hartley,” I say, grinning. “Thanks for knowing me better than I knew myself, even if your methods are probably illegal.”
“Not in this state. I checked.”
I laugh from the bottom of my belly. “I want to thank you, too, for not letting me sell this house. I don’t know what I’ll do with it someday, but there’s so much love in these walls.”
She nods, grinning.
“I used to look at this and see only a painful container of memories,” I admit. “But now, for some reason, I understand that isn’t the case.”
She takes my hand. “You’re allowed to grieve however you please, and I know you’ve struggled with that.” She smirks. “But time was up, and you needed to get on with it so I could have great-grandbabies.”
“Lolly!” I say, giggling.
“What did you want me to do? Just sit here and watch you and Hartley pass each other like ships in the night?” She makes a face. “I’m a doer, Mira. And now he’s doing you, and we’re all happy.”
My cheeks flush as she stands proudly.
“Now go home,” she says, tapping me on the butt. “I think you probably have some things to talk to your husband about.”
How does she know? She always knows.
I head for the door. “Oh! I didn’t find your photographs. I’ll come back tomorrow and look again.”
Her smile stops me with my hand on the door. “I think you found just what you needed to find.” She winks. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Night, Lolly.”
I push open the door and jog to my car. The night air is warm with frogs croaking everywhere. It reminds me of being a kid, running these hills with Hartley, Brooks, and Gray.
Maybe soon our children will be doing the same.
“If you want to love someone the way they deserve, you have to hand them every part of you.”
I back down the driveway, but stop just before I get to the road. Sitting in my car, I stare back at the house, allowing emotions I usually block to touch me.
I miss you so much.
I hate that I lost you when I was so little.
The intensity of losing my parents is crushing, like my body is too small to hold all the pain.
But something is freeing about it, too—a lightness in my heart, a feeling of gratitude that I had them in the first place.
That I had two parents who loved me endlessly.
I had two grandparents who selflessly gave us a safe place to land and live.
And now a husband who does the same. Loves me endlessly, selflessly, always giving me a safe place to land and live.
It’s time to tell him just how much he means to me, too.