Raine looks at me, her eyes growing larger, taking my words in. “Maybe so,” she whispers before turning and making her way toward the sunroom.
I try to stop her, at least give her a warning, but I’m too late. Raine sucks in a breath as she looks around the untouched room. Originally, Earl and Johanna requested that the only room that we wouldn’t renovate was Raine’s old bedroom. However, since Johanna passed, I can’t bring myself to even think about touching the sunroom.
Raine takes a step inside, the sunrays coming in through the windows casting golden light against her fair skin as she walks over to the easel holding an unfinished painting. It’s a piece that Johanna was working on slowly, before she got sick. Raine’s fingers reach out and trace the swirls of paint that form what I think is the start of an iris flower.
Raine’s fingers are trembling as she brings them to her lips. She bows her head, and a sob escapes. I rush to her, ignoring the warning bells in my brain telling me to give her space and, instead, follow my heart that’s desperate to comfort her. She turns away from the painting and buries her face into my chest. We stand there in the memorial room, clutching each other for support until her crying slows.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, coughing away the emotion lodged in her throat, and pulls away from me.
My body reacts naturally to her as my hand reaches over andwipes the tears away from her cheek. Since I’m already touching her, I place my fingers onto her chin and urge her to look up at me. “You don’t have to be sorry for your grief, Rainbow.”
Her eyes widen at the sound of my old nickname for her. I clear my throat, reminding myself that Ineedto move away from her. But it’s hard. Even with all of the years separating us, I still find myself feeling as if I’m right back where she and I once were, especially standing here in this home together.
“Come on, want to see your old room?” I add, hoping she’ll take the bait for a distraction, and motion for her to follow me.
We walk up the stairs, through the hallway, past the guest room and bathroom, until she stops in the doorway. “They refused to change my room.”
“Yup, that was their one rule,” I add as I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms, watching her closely.
She sits down on her old pink comforter, patting its softness, and studies the posters and collages of photos that line the walls. “I’m glad they didn’t.”
I reach over and point to an old photograph of her and me sitting on the boat dock by my house.
“That was a good day,” I say. Her eyes drift to where I’m pointing, and a small smile pulls against her lips. I move my finger to another photo of Olivia with a chicken sitting on top of her head, a look of terror sculpted onto her face. “And this was when Olivia knew she wasn’t cut out for the farm lifestyle.”
She chuckles and adds, “Especially after the hen pooped in her hair. I never heard her scream so loud in my life.” She points to a photo that’s close to her bed. I study it, seeing that it’s a photo of me standing next to my grandparents’ cabin. I feel like that photo was taken a lifetime ago. Maybe it was. “It’s hard to believe this kid has a kid of his own.”
“Yeah, I can’t grasp it some days either.” I grin and scan her room.
Twice in one day, I feel like I’ve stepped into a time machine. Johanna and Earl kept everything the same in Raine’sold bedroom, from the white dresser to the matching vanity that’s covered with her old notebooks and makeup bags. Her fingers reach over and trace a line of dust that sits on top of its surface before her eyes find mine again.
“Olivia told me everything.”
“Everything?” I ask and take a seat next to her on the bed. It’s a bad idea. I forgot how small this bed is, and I’m sitting so close that I can see the hint of freckles lining the bridge of her nose, and our knees press together. I don’t feel uncomfortable, but it’s hard to not want to reach out and hold her hand like this.
“I guess not everything, but she told me when you became a father. It sounds like Mamaw was pretty smitten with your daughter too, and I know Papaw is too. It’s sweet, knowing there’s a miniature you in the world.”
I smile at her words. “Maybe you can meet her while you’re here.”
She shifts on the bed and reaches down to pull out an old shoebox that I know is full of Polaroid photos. “Yeah, maybe,” she adds, returning her eyes to mine for a brief moment before sorting through the stack of photographs.
I see the ghosts appear in her eyes as she sifts through the memories. I’m reminded of a hazy gray morning, a storm rolling in on the other side of the lake, sinking to my knees as I realized she is gone. I shake my head, willing the memory to fade.
“We could talk about that night…if you want to.”
She nods her head, but I can tell she doesn’t want to—not yet, anyway. There are two reasons why people don’t talk about things: either it doesn’t mean anything to them, or it means everything. And by the way she has been looking at me, I know the past is still everything to her.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I quickly add, and relief washes over her with my words.
We sit in silence for a moment, and I feel the uncomfortable shift in the air between us. I rub the pads of my fingersthrough my beard and say, “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I need to get started on those floors.”
“Yeah, okay,” she replies, keeping her eyes down on the box of memories in her hands. It’s the lock of hair that keeps slipping from behind her ear, the hue of pink on her cheeks, the weight of her knee that’s been pressed against mine that has my heart warning me that I still care for Raine. I always have. I always will.
Chapter Seventeen
Twelve Years Before
Raine
