Mrs. Statham left, and I threw the cookies away. Along with the plate.
I made sure to put the guitar case by the door. I had no use for it anymore. It was time to return it to where it belonged.
I was a little sad to say goodbye to the inanimate object.
But it was never mine to keep.
I went into the living room and picked up the last of the pictures. The one Elian had never noticed. The one that sat behind all the rest. Out of sight.
But my eyes could always see.
Pretty, pretty girl with dark hair and lovely green eyes.
My family.
Amelia.
I kept them all with me.
Some may call it morbid that I surrounded myself with my father’s specters. And maybe they’d be right.
I loved them.
I hated them.
But in many ways they were all I had.
They were the memories. The recollections. They were whatever I needed them to be.
I wrapped Amelia up in paper so, so gently and put her in the box with all the others. Right on top.
The most important one of all.
I found my notebook underneath my purse and opened it to a clean, blank page.
No stories. I had all the time in the world for those.
These words were different.
These words were just for me.
Still, cool waters
So easy to drown
Your hand reaches out
But doesn’t quite catch
What it hopes to save.
Coaxed by promises
Soothed by smiles
When will you learn
To look before you leap?
Too late
All gone
I was never here.
My hand hovered over the page. Not quite sure if I was really finished.
Was I?
I closed the notebook. Slammed it shut. And then I shoved it in the box. My hands shaking as I taped it closed.
My phone rang and I answered it.
“Matt,” I greeted.
He didn’t say anything.
He was angry with me. I could tell.
“I know you’re upset. But understand. I had no choice,” I tried to explain. Out of everyone on this earth, his opinion mattered.
My little, little brother.
I was crying in my room. Daddy had been gone for a year. Things were awful. People were so mean.
Matty got it the worst.
He at least tried to fit in. To be normal. They were more cruel because of it.
But today I cried because I had seen his face in the newspaper. He was going on trial. And seeing the word killer hit me hard.
The Nautical Killer.
My daddy.
“Why are you crying, Lay?” Matt’s small voice snapped me out of my despair.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and glared at him. He was so annoying. He just never knew when to leave me alone.
“None of your business, booger. Where’s Mom?”
Matty shrugged, his face falling. “She’s sleeping again.”
I softened slightly. Mom slept all the time. Because it was easy to deceive yourself in dreams.
“Come here,” I said, calling him into my room. I never let him come in. He knew better. And he seemed hesitant now. Unsure.
“Come on. Stop being stupid.” I rolled my eyes and patted the bed beside me. Matty jumped up and got comfortable.
He looked at the newspaper in my lap. Daddy’s face large in black and white.
“I hate him,” Matty said and I couldn’t argue. I hated him sometimes too.
“But you love him still, right?” I asked. Hoping I wasn’t alone in these conflicting, confusing feelings for the man I called father.
Matty was quiet for a long time. He looked like me. Like Daddy. We took none of our features from our mother. I was glad.
“He doesn’t love me, Lay,” Matty said and I was startled. He was only nine years old but sometimes he saw more than most adults.
“Yes he does—” I began to argue.
“No. He doesn’t.” He sounded so, so sad. And maybe a little relieved.
We both looked at the picture of the stranger. I knew him better than anyone did.
“But I love him. I wish I didn’t.” Matty sounded morose and I knew that in him I had someone who understood. That we lived a life no one else could understand.
I hugged him. For the first time in years I felt..…connection. Something better…something pure. Something I never felt with Daddy.
Daddy.