I hadn't before made the parallel between the lively little girl my sister once was and the effervescent teenager that stared back at me from my mother's book. But of course, when I thought about it, Lauren was quite like my mother in many ways. Her manner, her looks, even her name was derived from my mother's maiden name: Laurence. So, it didn't surprise me that, like my mother, Lauren allowed her shine to be dulled by the wills and wants of people around her. Instinctively, I blamed my father. Aside from genetics, which I doubted deserved any blame, the only common influence between mother and daughter had been him.
We continued to sort through the remains of our mother's life. It felt like hours among the silence that had fallen between us. A warm breeze came in from the east, causing the sheer bedroom curtains to billow. It reminded me of when I would help our mother hang sheets on the line — the wind causing the white linen to wave back and forth like flags of surrender. I felt our mother's presence, almost tangible, like humidity in the air. Surrounded by her clothes, her jewelry, her photos and my memories of her, I half expected to hear her voice calling us to join her outside. Although, I wasn't sure I would have even recognized it. It had been a decade since I'd heard it.
It was late afternoon when we loaded the final, sealed box into Lauren's car. Most of them were labelled donate with a thick, black marker, but Lauren had nestled a few crates of more sentimental items in the passenger seat.
"You're certain you don't want to take anything else?" she asked, shuffling the boxes around to make room for one more.
I shook my head and clung the yearbook a little closer to my side. "No, this is enough. I don't have much use for women's jewelry or recipe cards."
She nodded understanding and shut the car door. "If you don't mind, I'm going to skip dinner tonight. The boys won't be back until late tonight, and there's no sense cooking for the two of us." She looked to me, as though asking for permission.
"That's fine. You've been so generous with preparing all these dinners. You deserve a night off." I then added, "If you're up for it, I'd love to take you out for dinner."
She shook her head. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry. And if I can be frank, I could use a night alone."
I understood. "Of course. Today has been very draining." I reached a hand out to touch one of her folded arms. She let it linger only a second before drawing away.
"Thank you for your help today." I nodded. "I have a few things left to finish up here, but I'll call you tomorrow."
"Do you need any help?"
"No. I'm going to take out the garbage and vacuum. Daddy will rage if we leave a mess."
"You're sure?"
She didn't answer my question. She turned away. "I'll call you tomorrow."
I watched her until she disappeared inside the house before I began walking to Bryce's car. I tossed the yearbook into the backseat and had turned on the ignition. Then I heard a wild cry of anguish coming from the open bedroom window. Lauren. I looked up at the window, feeling the urge to run back inside to comfort her. She was broken, but she was also proud, and I told myself she would be more upset if I interrupted her private moment. So instead, I put the car into drive and pretended the screams I heard were engine sounds, rather than the breaking of Lauren's heart.
When I returned to the ranch, I was relieved to discover it empty. Either Bryce had gone fishing with Oliver and my dad, or he was out doing, whatever it was Bryce did. I tried not to dwell too long on what exactly that might have been, or who he might have been doing it with. An image of him and Jack together flashed through my mind. I was still trying to digest that they had once been a couple. I shook the thought away, but instead of clearing my mind, a new image replaced the old one: Bryce and I naked and glistening with sweat, thrusting together.
Dammit! Why did I sleep with him? It was a stupid question, to which I already knew the answer -- because I had wanted to. Now, I had to deal with the fallout. Perhaps there wouldn't be any, I thought hopefully. We were both mature adults. One tryst - delicious as it was - shouldn't lead to painful awkwardness for the rest of my stay. Then I recalled my reaction to his immediate regret and knew I was full of shit.
No one had ever made me feel like that -- like they had punched me in the gut with their words. 'We shouldn't have done that.' Sure, my father could be cruel with his language. Actual punches wouldn't be unusual either - but I had learned at a very young age not to care what he said or did. I had been taken by surprise when Bryce's words cut so deep, and I didn't like it.
Bryce's rationale and immediate second thoughts made sense, I supposed. But his timing had been dumb. That alone had sent me spinning, so I hadn't made time to listen to what he had been trying to say. We were in a tricky situation. We were practically family. We technically were family - but in-laws didn't really count, did they? Besides, we were both consenting adults. It was so frustrating! Why should we be concerned with how it could affect those around us? Because it's selfish not to be, I reminded myself.
I mulled around the house, trying to keep busy. Bryce didn't have much in his fridge or his cupboards in means of food. I guessed Lauren's constant dinner invitations left little need for grocery shopping. I was lucky enough to find a rogue can of vegetable soup and some crackers in the pantry, which managed to please my small appetite.
I washed my dishes by hand and returned them to where I found them. When I thought I had preoccupied my mind, without warning, it came back: flashes of Bryce's tongue slipping into my mouth, his warm fingers curling around the back of my neck. I shivered, then squeezed my eyes shut in frustration. I wanted to pound my fist against the wall until they bled.
Television would have distracted me, but Bryce was the only person I'd ever met who didn't own one. That which I'd found odd before suddenly filled me with deep annoyance.
It was seven-thirty. I went upstairs to my room, after first ensuring, several times, that the door was locked - an unfortunate side effect from years of city living. My jacket was lying across the bed, and I dug through the side pocket for my cellular. I retrieved it, and a folded piece of paper, now crumpled around the edges, fell out of my pocket and onto the floor. I picked it up and unfolded it on the bed — the news article from earlier. I didn't even remember placing it in my pocket. I must have done so when I had started thumbing through my mom's yearbook.
I crawled onto the bed, my phone in hand, and sat with my knees angled, and my back pressed against the stained espresso headboard. "Video call Felicity," I ordered my phone, and it complied without debate.
"Well, look who it is," she said in greeting, as her face pixilated into clarity. "I was starting to think you'd died."
Poor choice of words, considering the circumstances. I cringed a little on the inside but said nothing. Felicity was my best friend, but not always a tactful person.
"Sorry. I wanted to call you sooner, but there hasn't been time. This is the first moment I've had to myself since I got here."
"Likely story, but I'll choose to believe you. How are things down there?" She seemed concerned.
"More or less how I said they'd be."
She grimaced. "I'm sorry to hear that. You're going to come home right away then?"