It was amazing the amount of stuff one person could accumulate. Amazing how much of it must have seemed important at some point and now just looked like junk.

Today I was tackling the sewing room. I stood in the doorway, taking in the shelves stacked with all kinds of objects that had nothing to do with sewing. There was an ancient sewing machine on the table by the window, one I remembered Gran hemming new shirts for me with when I’d been a kid. I could still picture the way she’d grinned as I picked out fun color combinations for my next custom outfit.

About ten years ago, her arthritis had gotten so bad she couldn’t do much with her hands anymore. And then once the Alzheimer’s had crept in...

I shook my head, dismissing the wrenching memories that came with that thought, and stepped into the room. One shelf at a time, one box at a time. That was how I’d managed so far. The house was mine now. After lingering in the mess of Gran’s belongings for almost a year, it was about time I got the place organized. One small step toward having a real life of my own.

The only problem with cleaning up was it was hard to focus on the future and not the past when I was digging through all these relics of my grandmother’s life. She’d been in my life from the beginning and my only real “parent” since I was five. I’d thought I’d known her pretty well. But so far my excavations had unearthed sides of her I never would have expected.

She’d never expressed any interest in traveling—but she had a stash of clippings in a box under her bed of exotic jungles and beaches from around the world. She’d always tsked her tongue playfully when she caught me reading any of the popular books she’d call “pulp novels”—but I’d stumbled on a stack of Harlequins hidden in the back of her bedroom closet.

I’d thought sorting through her things would make me feel closer to the woman she used to be before the disease ate away at her mind, but sometimes it only made me question how much I’d known her at all.

I hunkered down on the floor beside the first bookcase. Dust tickled my nose as I pulled out the basket on the lowest shelf. Various colors of yarn—I could donate that. Lord knew I was never going to knit anything wearable.

Next to it was a tub full of spools nearly bald of thread. Garbage. Then an old pendulum clock Gran had said Grandpa had bought when they’d first gotten married. I’d never met him, but he’d obviously meant a lot to Gran. She’d kept meaning to find someone to fix the clock. It went in the to-keep pile.

I worked my way on through the shelves, trying to focus just on what was in front of me. Trying to tune out the blaring silence of the house.

Gran used to always have the radio on. There’s nothing you can be doing that’s not better set to music, she used to say. Toward the end, it’d been multiple radios on multiple stations in various parts of the house. The cacophony of voices and melodies had started to drive me crazy. I didn’t miss the racket. But the rustle of her moving from one room to another, her clear voice calling out to me that dinner was ready... I’d have given anything to have that back.

Nope. I pressed my mouth into a firm line and tossed a tin can of stubby pencils into the garbage bag with a rattle. That was not how I needed to be thinking. I didn’t have anyone else in my life because I hadn’t let anyone else in. Always shying away from making friends, always worried about how people would judge me because of my family situation. As if there was anything strange about absent parents these days.

Although most people had at least one who’d thought they were worth sticking around for. I had no idea who my dad even was. And Mom, well… Mom hadn’t been cut out for motherhood, as she’d like to remind me at least once per conversation back when we still talked. She just couldn’t stand to be tied down to any one place, to any one person. Even her own kid. I was happier with Gran anyway, wasn’t I?

I had been, but there’d still been plenty of times I’d wanted to grab her through the phone and scream something at her about proper mom behavior.

Not anymore. Now we just didn’t talk. It was easier that way.

I moved to the next shelf. These two wool blankets could go to the shelter. I set them by the door. Britta would probably make fun of me for bringing them in, but that was fine. That was just the way she was. I was learning how to laugh along with her jokes like a normal person.

The next shelf up was cluttered with china figurines. A layer of dust coated their glossy faces. I picked up one, rubbing my finger over the polished surface. These might be worth something. I should at least check. If they weren’t, I’d keep one or two favorites and haul the rest of the lot to the charity shop.

My gaze caught on one figure that showed a young man dipping a woman by the waist. They were supposed to be dancing, but my mind immediately leapt back to Jeremy’s hand on my back when I’d nearly toppled off the stool yesterday.

God, he must think I was the klutziest person ever. I’d like to have at least one interaction with him that didn’t include him rescuing me.

Well, really I’d like to have at least one more interaction with him, period. I thought about my phone, which I’d left sitting on the table. It was too early to call him and nudge him about the photos, right? He’d said it’d take him a couple of days to do the editing and deliver the final set. I wasn’t going to win any points by nagging.

I grimaced at myself as I hefted a stack of old magazines off the top shelf. Garbage. Just like my last few relationships. Anthony, the jock in college who’d ditched me as soon as I’d slept with him. Lloyd, the guy from the bank who’d gotten increasingly distant over the months until I’d had to break up with him.

And Kevin, who’d seemed like he might be in it for the long haul until Gran had one of her early spells while he’d been having dinner here. He’d broken up with me by text a week before what would have been our one-year anniversary. That memory still stung a little.

It’s not you, they always said. You’re great. Right. That was why they couldn’t be bothered to stick around either.

If that was how they felt, I was better off without them anyway.

I made it through half of the sewing room before my mind and my stomach startled to grumble for a break. I could finish the rest of the room this afternoon.

In the kitchen, I threw together a quick ham sandwich and sat down at the kitchen island with my laptop. My life might be better without Mom in it, but I couldn’t help still being curious what she was up to.

I didn’t even care that much anymore. I hadn’t seen my mother in person in nineteen years. Hadn’t talked to her on the phone in nine. That last birthday conversation when I was fifteen had put an end to regular contact between us. I just can’t deal with this anymore, she’d said when I’d teared up, because she’d promised she’d come back to visit for my birthday and then changed her mind. You’re always so dramatic. As if her broken promise was somehow my fault.

Typical Mom.

She’d blocked me on Facebook back then, but that wasn’t hard to work around. Mom loved attention. So when I’d created a fake account with just enough borrowed photos to look legit, she’d happily friended “Sunny Williams.” I didn’t comment on her posts or use the account for anything else. Just to check in on her every now and then.

This morning she’d added a couple pictures on a beach with leaning palm trees. I downloaded the images and ran them through a handy piece of software I’d picked up, back when I was fifteen and as pissed off as I was heartbroken. There were all sorts of ways to stalk people online if you found the right tools.

Bermuda. She was hanging out in Bermuda. Probably the Grand Island hotel, based on the geo-coordinates imbedded in the photo. Not a surprise. There was no one with her in the photos, but they weren’t selfies. They must have been taken by whoever her latest guy was. He’d be the one funding the vacation.

I could find out who he was too if I really wanted to. But I’d learned a long time ago that delving into that part of my mom’s life just made me feel sick. I’d never found out who my father was... I wasn’t sure she even knew.

It was easier this way anyway. Watching her from a distance. Knowing she was out there somewhere if for some weird reason I suddenly needed to reach out to her. These days I couldn’t imagine any scenario like that, but it still comforted me a little knowing I could.

My fingers twitched. Without really thinking about it, I typed in Jeremy’s name. It wasn’t that weird to look up random cute guys on the internet these days, was it? Anyway, he wasn’t some random. He’d done work with me. He’d saved my freaking life.

Of course, you could only internet stalk someone who was on the internet to stalk. A few profiles for Jeremy Lowe popped up, but none of them were my Jeremy. Frowning, I switched to Google. Maybe he just wasn’t into Facebook?

A whole bunch of search results spilled out. I clicked through them, one after another. None of those was him either. I tried cross-referencing with the city, and then with “photographer.” Did he not even have a website for his business? How weird was that?

I nibbled at my lower lip and stopped myself before I broke the skin. Chewing on my lips was a bad habit I’d worked hard to break.

Jeremy’s lack of online presence was pretty weird in general. Even an intensely private person usually left some traces.

Oh well. So he was a mystery. I didn’t even know if I’d get to see him again.

I swallowed the last of my sandwich and closed the laptop. My hand went to my wrist to twist the silver beads on the bracelet Gran had given me, on my last birthday when she’d been lucid enough to remember things like birthday presents. My fingers touched bare skin.

I’d forgotten to put it on today. Too distracted thinking about Jeremy and his gorgeous eyes, probably.

I wandered into my bedroom to grab the bracelet, but the spot in my jewelry box where I usually left it at night was empty. I stared at the vacant velvet-lined square for a few seconds.

What had I done with it? I knew I’d been wearing it yesterday. When I’d grabbed Pepper the kitten for Jeremy’s photoshoot, she’d hooked her claws into the—

Oh. I’d been worried one of the animals might squirm enough to break it, so I’d taken the bracelet off. And then obviously I’d forgotten to put it back on. It was still lying around somewhere in the shelter.

My stomach twisted. Going without it wasn’t that big a deal. I had another shift tomorrow. But a lot of people went in and out of the shelter, and the animals got to run around to stretch their legs... That bracelet was the last piece I had of my grandmother as her normal self. I couldn’t lose it. Why hadn’t I been paying more attention?

I’d just catch the bus over there and find it. No big deal. I could even grab dinner downtown while I was there. It was good for me to get out of the house.

* * *

The bus dropped me off three blocks from the shelter. I speed walked the rest of the way there.

Britta was at the counter when I came in. She gave me an odd look. “You’re not scheduled for today, kiddo.”

It grated at me that she called me that even though I was a year older than her, but I reminded myself that the nickname was just her sense of humor. Almost everyone seemed to like Britta. She got the people who came to look at the animals chatting and laughing with no problem at all. I had an easier time talking to the dogs and cats. Maybe I’d pick up a little of her confidence hanging around her.

“I know,” I said. “I realized I forgot something here yesterday. Have you seen a bracelet with silver beads? They’ve each got a different pattern on them.”

Because we all have so many things that make us beautiful, Gran had said.

“That one you’re always wearing? No, I don’t think so, but go ahead and take a look.” She shrugged and went back to typing up a drop-off report on the computer.

I walked along the aisles of cages, checking the floor and the cage tops. No sign of it. Well, it was more likely to be in the visiting room anyway. That was where I’d been when I’d decided I should take it off.

The sheet and blanket we’d used were sitting folded on top of the cabinet just outside the door. I patted them down, but the bracelet hadn’t fallen into their folds. Then I slipped into the room.

I drew in a deep breath. A trace of Jeremy’s presence hung in the air: that scent like a summer forest, all warm green leaves, that I’d caught a whiff of when he’d steadied me on the stool. The guy even smelled amazing.

That thought had only just passed through my head when a memory darted up. Oh. I remembered now. I’d looked around for somewhere to set down the bracelet, but Britta had been sitting on the chair, and I hadn’t wanted to set it right on the floor where it could get stepped on... so I’d laid it on Jeremy’s camera bag. I’d assumed it’d stand out against the black canvas so obviously it’d be impossible to forget it.

If he’d seen it, he wouldn’t have taken it with him. It must have fallen inside. Crap. He had my bracelet.

I rubbed my hand over my face, a flush of embarrassment already warming it. I was going to have to go asking him for help again.

Look on the bright side, Grace: At least now you have an excuse to talk to him sooner rather than later.