Page 41 of Mic Drop (Passionate Beats #3)

My sister agrees, and holds up another book, this time with Fabio as a pirate. “Seems like it.”

Wearing a smile for the first time, I toss everything but the passport and go into the third, larger drawer.

This one is filled with Kara’s schooling, from elementary school report cards to high school book reports, college tuition bills, and photos from her graduation from medical school.

She also squirreled photos in here from Kara’s wedding, the birth of her two kids, and other family photos.

Seeing as this drawer was all about Kara, I glance to the matching drawer on the other side and take a deep breath. If past is prologue, I’m going to be diving into my life’s memories. Or the ones she kept through the years.

I open the drawer and, sure enough, I’m transported into the past. She has the same documents for me as she did for my sister, until you get to grad school.

Then, she kept the program from my graduation ceremony.

Followed by press clippings that followed my progress from physical therapist to clinic owner. Then two clinics.

She also kept the photos I sent her featuring Darren and me. I stop sorting and flip through these memories. There’s one of us kissing. Him performing on the keyboard. Me backstage screaming for the band. A sad smile crosses my lips.

The next picture makes me drop the stack.

UC is onstage performing at a smaller gig, judging by the setup and how close the fans are to the stage.

That’s not what has me gasping for air. No.

It’s the way Darren’s playing the keys, with this head thrown backward.

Standing next to him, singing into the mic while looking directly at the camera, is Bennett.

Kara’s at my side in an instant. “Are you all right? What are you looking at?”

I can do no more than point to the photo. I don’t want to shed anymore tears, yet I feel the all too familiar pricking at the back of my eyeballs.

She picks up the picture, letting it drop onto the desk. “Oh, sweetie.”

I turn tearful eyes up to my sister. “Why?” Three little letters packed with so much punch. Why did Darren have to overdose? Why did Bennett barrel into my life? Why did we go through with the farce of our marriage?

Her arms go around me. “You’ve really had it rough.”

“I miss Ma.” A tear overflows. “And Darren.”

“Bennett’s a good man. Where is he? He should be here with you.”

I rest my forehead on her shoulder. “We’re getting a divorce.”

Kara stiffens, then steps back, her hands on my shoulders. “Excuse me?”

I gather myself. “We got married because Ma was dying and we wanted to give her a happy memory. Now she’s gone, there’s no reason for us to stay together.”

“That would be all well and good,” my sister replies.

“Except for the inconvenient fact that you love each other.” When I remain silent, she continues, “Don’t forget.

I’ve seen you two together. The way he looks at you, and you at him.

How he sang at Ma’s graveside. He didn’t do that to make her happy. He did it to make you happy.”

In a feeble voice, I say, “He was playing a part.”

“I don’t believe you,” her head shakes. “You don’t believe you.”

“I have the divorce papers to prove it.”

“Until they’re filed, there’s still time to come to your senses.” She looks down. “What are you going to do with these pictures?”

At least my sister’s efficiency is returning. I glance at the photos. “I don’t think I can throw them away.”

“Then put them in the ‘keep’ file, and let’s get moving.” She walks toward the filing cabinet. I stack the photos into an orderly pile with Ma’s passport, and return to the desk. There will be plenty of time to cry over them later.

The rest of Ma’s desk isn’t as heart-wrenching, so I make pretty quick work of the remaining drawers. I open the last one, holding a bunch of random papers, with two fancy envelopes on top. I pick them up. One’s addressed to Kara. The other, to me.

“Kara,” I whisper.

“Found something? ”

I hold up the envelope with her name scrawled across it. “I think Ma left us each a final note.”

She crosses the room. We both stare at the envelopes as if they’re going to get up and dance. After a moment, I pass hers to her and stare down at mine.

She asks, “Are you going to open yours?”

“I’ll read it soon. You?”

“I’m almost done with the filing cabinet. I think I’ll finish it and call it a day. I want to be with my husband when I read this.”

I nod. Who do I have to hold my hand when I read Ma’s final words to me?

Not Kara, clearly—although I don’t blame her for wanting to be with her family.

Court pops into my mind, but I dismiss her.

She’s had enough to deal with about the whole Black Widow/Prostitution Ring debacle.

Bennett’s face comes into focus in the picture with Darren, but I dismiss him as well. After all, we’re getting a divorce.

“Let’s finish up.”

An hour later, both the desk and filing cabinet are cleared, with the important documents set aside. Kara brushes her hands. “I think we did a lot today. Thanks for the help.”

“We have to stick together. Four hands are better than two.”

“Hashtag true. Are you going to be okay alone with Ma’s letter?”

“I’ll be fine. Go home to your family. We should meet up here to keep going through Ma’s house soon.”

She stuffs her envelope into her purse. “I’ll let you know when I can come back.” She kisses my forehead and is gone.

I collect the photos and my letter and wander into the kitchen.

I make it as far as the living room, when I collapse into Ma’s chair.

Here, her presence surrounds me stronger than ever.

I flip through the photos one more time, stopping on the one of Darren performing with Bennett. Or the other way around.

I stare at it. Darren looks to be in his element, happy and.

..alive. It’s when my gaze turns to Bennett, though, that I’m hit with a punch to my gut.

He’s younger, clearly, but no less captivating.

He’s singing into the microphone and looking at me.

The camera, I correct myself. My finger traces the muscles on his arms and abs as my brain tries to forget how they felt wrapped around me.

That was before.

Before Ma died and the fairytale came crashing down.

Taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I place the photos, upside down, onto the tray that served as Ma’s dinner table. With shaking hands, I pick up the envelope.

I close my eyes and inhale. Then open the envelope and read:

My Dearest Sweet Pea,

By the time you read this, I will no longer be with you.

Please know you could not have done anything to stop this disease from taking over my body.

Even the miracles of modern science don’t extend far enough to stop the roll of cancer.

I’m at peace with this truth. I desperately want you to be as well.

My wish for you is to live a great, big, wonderful life.

Darren took you out of your head, and for that I’m forever grateful.

However, when he died, he took a large piece of you with him.

I know you blame yourself for his death, the same way you blame yourself for your grandmother’s death all those years ago.

If I’m being honest, I fear you may add my passing to this too-long list. Don’t . Please don’t.

As you know, I didn’t like Bennett at first. I thought you were using him as a substitute for Darren.

But when I got to know the man, I saw what you saw in him.

The goodness. Kindness. How he supports you above all else, even including his own wants and needs.

He is a good man. More than that, he’s the perfect man for you.

He doesn’t want you to abandon your profession, in fact he’s encouraging you to meet your goal to expand to ten clinics.

He’s not selfish. I’m saying a prayer for you and him to create a loving family, despite the crazies in the outside world. I have faith in you (ha! See my pun?!).

A choked huff comes out. Ma always had an awful sense of humor. My small laughter turns into a sob as I reread this paragraph.

Visions of our wedding day flit through my mind.

This time, though, all the feels from deep in my soul override the grief-fueled lies I’ve been telling everyone.

The love I felt for the gorgeous man pledging to be at my side forever.

Unimaginable joy when our lips met for the first time as husband and wife.

Our honeymoon night filled with pure bliss.

I shake my head. It’s over. It’s all over.

My eyes return to Ma’s note, and I force myself to read her final words to me.

Keep on helping people with your physical therapy, in whatever form it may take.

Live each and every day out loud, not hampered with the need for the control you always seek.

Control is good, but don’t let your desire for it overshadow your own happiness.

Spontaneity can be just as fulfilling ~ both in moderate doses. I believe in you !

Always remember that I am with you, in your heart. I’m so proud of you and your sister. What is it I always say? Leave footprints on others’ souls. Yours and Bennett’s will make marks throughout the world, if you let them. Please let them.

If I know you, though, you are going to push everyone away and blame yourself for not watching over me more carefully.

Throw yourself into the one thing that saved you when Darren passed away, which is At Your Service PT.

I beg of you not to do this. Attend to your business, sure, but don’t forget to live.

Let others help you, especially your amazing husband. Leave those footprints.

With all my eternal love,

Ma

It takes me several attempts to finish the last of her message, as reading through tears is excruciating.

How can I leave footprints with Bennett when we’re getting a divorce?