brought it up t o my nose.
There were other things inside the box, hidden beneath this sweater. My journals, the pipe my father used to keep on a shelf in our living room, and the baby blanket I’d found discarded beneath Christopher’s crib the day he died. Things I knew I needed to keep but never really wanted to s ee again.
I picked up the soft baby-blue blanket that my mom used to wrap Christopher in. I remembered him being a small baby who cried a lot. Mom used to bundle him up tight in the blanket and rock him to sleep. His bedroom had been on the other side of Charlie’s and mine and I could still hear the creak of the old rocking chair in my dreams, along with his cries.
It was why I hated to hear Grace cry.
I used to wonder whether our lives would have been different if our father had stuck around after everything happened. Days after my mother killed herself, he dropped Charlie and me off at Aunt Mags’s with a suitcase full of our stuff. We sat in the car while he knocked on her door. I remember him pointing at us and then at himself. I have no idea what he said, but he handed her keys and then came back to us. He opened our door, got our suitcase out of the trunk, and then before we even had the chance to walk into the house, he was gone.
We never heard from h im again.
It was Aunt Mags who cleaned out the apartment before the landlord confiscated all our stuff. She let us pick out the things we wanted to keep the most while she packed our clothes and the rest of our toys. I chose my mother’s sweater, my dad’s pipe, and Christopher’s blanket. Charlie took a picture of all of us after Christopher had b een born.
Wrapped inside the baby blanket were journals. My journals. The ones Mags gave to me to write down everything that I couldn’t say. I would sit in my bedroom for hours writing in these books. I bet I filled more than a dozen of them in the first year we lived with Mags. I didn’t keep them all. In fact, I thought I had gotten rid of all the journals when I went to college, only to find out that Mags had rescued some of the earlier ones from the garbage. She knew one day I’d want to read them, to remember, and mayb e to heal.
If it weren’t for Charlie, I wouldn’t be doing this. These weren’t memories I wanted to lose myself in. I was okay with keeping them padlocked i n my mind.
But I hated to see her so sad. She belonged with Marcus. His strengths built up her weakness and vice versa. She was happier with him, and I didn’t like to see her so torn.
I placed the journals on the ground and refolded the blanket before placing it back in the box. Later tonight I’d go through my memories and reawaken the o ld demons.
CHAPTER SEVEN
W hat a nice surprise to finally meet Charlie.” Nina poured me a cup of tea as we had our nightly chat be fore bed.
I played with the pills on the table, rolling them in circles before placing them one by one on my tongue and s wallowing.
“Did you two have a nice talk? ” I asked.
I’d overheard the low murmur of their voices as I rocked Grace to sleep earlier. I couldn’t make out their entire conversation, but I got the gist of it. And I didn’t like wha t I heard.
“She’s worried about you.” Nina looked at me out of the corner o f her eye.
“I know. But she doesn’t nee d to be.”
“Of course she does.” Nina raised her teacup. “She’s your sister. It’s her right to be worried.”
“You do realize she’s my younger sister, right? I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care of her. She looks like a mess.” Even after her shower, Charlie had looked like she needed to sleep for at least a week. “Can you do some extra baking while she’s here? She’s lost a lot of weight since I last saw her.”
Nina scribbled something down in her notebook. That blasted notebook. One day, I was going to lay my hands on it and read what she wrote down every day about me.
“I noticed the pile of notebooks on your desk
There were other things inside the box, hidden beneath this sweater. My journals, the pipe my father used to keep on a shelf in our living room, and the baby blanket I’d found discarded beneath Christopher’s crib the day he died. Things I knew I needed to keep but never really wanted to s ee again.
I picked up the soft baby-blue blanket that my mom used to wrap Christopher in. I remembered him being a small baby who cried a lot. Mom used to bundle him up tight in the blanket and rock him to sleep. His bedroom had been on the other side of Charlie’s and mine and I could still hear the creak of the old rocking chair in my dreams, along with his cries.
It was why I hated to hear Grace cry.
I used to wonder whether our lives would have been different if our father had stuck around after everything happened. Days after my mother killed herself, he dropped Charlie and me off at Aunt Mags’s with a suitcase full of our stuff. We sat in the car while he knocked on her door. I remember him pointing at us and then at himself. I have no idea what he said, but he handed her keys and then came back to us. He opened our door, got our suitcase out of the trunk, and then before we even had the chance to walk into the house, he was gone.
We never heard from h im again.
It was Aunt Mags who cleaned out the apartment before the landlord confiscated all our stuff. She let us pick out the things we wanted to keep the most while she packed our clothes and the rest of our toys. I chose my mother’s sweater, my dad’s pipe, and Christopher’s blanket. Charlie took a picture of all of us after Christopher had b een born.
Wrapped inside the baby blanket were journals. My journals. The ones Mags gave to me to write down everything that I couldn’t say. I would sit in my bedroom for hours writing in these books. I bet I filled more than a dozen of them in the first year we lived with Mags. I didn’t keep them all. In fact, I thought I had gotten rid of all the journals when I went to college, only to find out that Mags had rescued some of the earlier ones from the garbage. She knew one day I’d want to read them, to remember, and mayb e to heal.
If it weren’t for Charlie, I wouldn’t be doing this. These weren’t memories I wanted to lose myself in. I was okay with keeping them padlocked i n my mind.
But I hated to see her so sad. She belonged with Marcus. His strengths built up her weakness and vice versa. She was happier with him, and I didn’t like to see her so torn.
I placed the journals on the ground and refolded the blanket before placing it back in the box. Later tonight I’d go through my memories and reawaken the o ld demons.
CHAPTER SEVEN
W hat a nice surprise to finally meet Charlie.” Nina poured me a cup of tea as we had our nightly chat be fore bed.
I played with the pills on the table, rolling them in circles before placing them one by one on my tongue and s wallowing.
“Did you two have a nice talk? ” I asked.
I’d overheard the low murmur of their voices as I rocked Grace to sleep earlier. I couldn’t make out their entire conversation, but I got the gist of it. And I didn’t like wha t I heard.
“She’s worried about you.” Nina looked at me out of the corner o f her eye.
“I know. But she doesn’t nee d to be.”
“Of course she does.” Nina raised her teacup. “She’s your sister. It’s her right to be worried.”
“You do realize she’s my younger sister, right? I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care of her. She looks like a mess.” Even after her shower, Charlie had looked like she needed to sleep for at least a week. “Can you do some extra baking while she’s here? She’s lost a lot of weight since I last saw her.”
Nina scribbled something down in her notebook. That blasted notebook. One day, I was going to lay my hands on it and read what she wrote down every day about me.
“I noticed the pile of notebooks on your desk
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