Chapter Twenty-Two
GRACE ROLLED ONTO Reed’s side of the bed Thursday morning expecting to feel the tickle of his leg hair and his hard, muscular frame as he gathered her close. Instead, she landed on an empty mattress. Blinking the fog of sleep from her eyes, she said, “Reed?”
“Right here, babe.”
She crawled to the other end of the bed. Reed sat against the wall wearing only a pair of jeans, his long legs crossed at the ankle. The shoe box lay open beside him. He met her gaze with a pained expression, and her heart pitched.
“Are you okay? How long have you been up?” She climbed off the bed, wearing one of Reed’s T-shirts over her panties, and sat down beside him. His hair was damp, and the scent of soap clung to his skin. How had she slept through him showering?
He draped his arm around her and kissed her temple. “I’m okay. I’ve been up for a few hours, I guess.” He waved a photograph he was holding. “I just started going through these.”
“You should have woken me so you didn’t have to face them alone.” She rested her head on his shoulder, and he held her a little tighter.
He laid the picture on his thigh, and her breath caught in her throat at the young pregnant woman in the picture. She had thick dark brows and long lashes, green eyes that seemed almost too big for her slim face, full lips, and an angular nose, like Reed’s. Her hair was a few shades lighter than his, cut just past her shoulders. She was lying on a sofa wearing a red-and-white flannel shirt, which was buttoned only between her breasts and fell to the sides of her round belly. One hand rested over her chest, the other on her baby bump. She had a wondrous look in her eyes, as if she were having a secret conversation with her unborn child. She looked so young, so alive, it was hard to believe she had died giving birth.
“It’s Lily, my mom, pregnant with me,” Reed said softly. “I’ve seen dozens of pictures of her, but never anything like this. Look at her face. It’s like she didn’t know the picture was being taken, and yet whoever took it must have been right there.”
A lump formed in Grace’s throat. “Or she was too caught up in thoughts of you to care.”
A half-happy, half-sad expression came over him. He picked up a few pictures from the box and said, “Look at her jacket in this picture. Suede collar, black fringe on yellow shoulders, and that choker…” He smiled and ran his fingers over the thin black choker circling her slender neck. A single jewel hung from the center. She was looking over her shoulder at the camera, and her hair was blowing across her face. In the sunlight her hair had a reddish tint. “She sure wasn’t boring, was she?”
He set that picture down and studied another. His mother was laughing, her lips painted bright red, her eyes faintly lined. She stood with a man who could have been Reed’s brother, the same toffee-brown hair, serious, thoughtful midnight-blue eyes. His mother wore a fancy black dress with a white collar, and he wore a suit. Her hair was longer, and she looked younger than in the first picture. Eighteen, nineteen maybe?
“I guess that’s Frank,” he said tentatively. “He looks nothing like that now.”
She knew his parents had met at college and wasn’t surprised when he handed her another picture of the two of them sitting on the grass with a bunch of other college-aged kids in front of an academic-looking building. His mother’s expressive eyes were hauntingly carefree.
He set that picture down and picked up the last two. One of his mother with a bowl of popcorn balanced on her pregnant belly, reading a book as she leaned against a tree.
“I wish so many things right now,” Reed said quietly, “and it’s crazy knowing none of them can ever come true.”
Grace hugged him. “I’m sorry.”
Reed studied the last picture for a long time. It was a photograph of a tiny baby in a man’s arms. The picture covered the man chest to belly, the only identifying marks the scars on his arm.
“Do you think that’s you?” she asked.
He nodded. “I saw Frank’s scars.”
“What happened?”
Reed shrugged. “Who knows.”
He set the picture down and picked up a faux-leather journal, his uneasy gaze shifting to her. The world seemed to still around them.
Reed inhaled deeply and opened to the first page. They both silently read the inscription.
Lils, thank you for bringing our love to life. Here’s to forever and a day, Frankie.
Reed’s eyes misted over, and Grace was right there with him. She cuddled closer, hugging his arm and trying not to let her emotions swamp her. She needed to be strong for Reed. She was so glad he was going through the box. She knew how much courage it took, but as much as she wanted to tell him so and praise him for his strength, she didn’t want to break the spell and interrupt his search for answers.
He turned the page, and Grace looked away, wanting to give him privacy. “I’m going to shower.”
Reed pulled her closer and kissed her. “Thank you,” he whispered in a tortured voice, making it harder for her to walk away.
She tried to shower quickly, but as the shower rained down on her, the ache inside her bloomed, making her chest feel full and sore. She hurt for Reed and all he could discover, for the pain of never knowing a mother who clearly loved him, and that pain morphed to guilt. She had a family who adored her. A mother who wanted nothing more than to continue having her children come and go from her house at all hours. A father who cared enough to be overprotective. And she had run far and fast at eighteen years old and had rarely looked back.
Until now.
Guilt sank deep into her bones as she leaned against the tile wall, sobbing into her hands, her tears mixing with the shower spray. And then that guilt shattered into a million pieces, slicing her like shards of glass, and she was no longer crying over what she had but for what Reed never would.
After her shower, she found Reed pacing the living room, red-faced, swollen veins mapping his body, neck, and arms, and his eyes—those serious, loving eyes she fell head over heels for day after day—were dark torrents of grief. She went to him, and he stopped cold, eyes drilling through her.
“DON’T COME NEAR me, Grace,” Reed warned.
“Why? What happened?”
“What happened? That’s what I want to know.” He flipped open the journal and read from it. “‘I can’t wait to meet our baby. Frankie is beside himself, talking to my belly, telling stories about when he was a boy and about how we fell in love the day we met. He’s as in love with our unborn child as I am.’” He flipped angrily through a few more pages and continued reading. “‘Some days I don’t think I could breathe without Frankie. When my feet ache, he rubs them. When I’m sad, he dances with me. Dances! Our baby is the luckiest child in the world to have him as a father.’” Reed snapped the journal closed, gripping it tight.
“But that’s all good, right?”
Grace’s worry and confusion were as palpable as the fucking journal in his hand.
“Good?” He scoffed. “It’s fucking wonderful. What happened to that guy? Where’d he go when she died? Because that man? That Frankie? He can’t be the man who left me behind.”
“W-wha…?”
“Exactly,” he seethed, and took the stairs two at a time, with Grace rushing after him. He grabbed a shirt from his drawer and tugged it on. Then he jammed his bare feet into his boots and headed downstairs.
She followed him. “Where are you going?”
“To get some fucking answers.”
“Give me a sec to get my shoes on.”
“You’re not coming, Grace.” He grabbed his keys.
“You shouldn’t do this alone,” she pleaded. “You’re too upset.”
“That’s exactly why I have to do it alone.” He reached for the doorknob, his hand fisted around his keys, and hesitated only long enough to say, “I love you, Gracie,” before storming out the door.