Page 11 of Secrets That Bind Us

Verity

Present Day

“Whoa, what is this stuff?”

I smile. “Mama’s old record player and her vinyls. That–” I point to the Magnavox in the corner, “-is my old boom box CD player. The box beside it should be CDs.”

She heads to the corner and reaches inside. “Mom, you listened to Greenday ? Taking Back Sunday? My Chemical Romance? Nirvana?”

I laugh. “I still do.”

Her mouth falls open in shock, and a part of me feels like maybe– I might be a little cool in her eyes again. Like maybe she isn’t annoyed with me for once. “Can I… keep some of this stuff?”

Pride surges through me, but I contain it. I give a little nonchalant nod and gesture to my old stuff– my stuff my kid thinks is cool . “Have at it. Just let me know what you do and don’t want so I can throw it out, okay?”

She nods before turning away from me and going back to my collection of albums. “Okay.”

“The electricity is running now, so you should probably make sure the boom box still works.”

Another nod, and she grabs a random CD and the handle of my old blue Magnavox– the one I purchased with my tutoring money.

But instead of heading down like I thought she would, she stands in the center of the attic, looking at items like she’s in a shop.

Then she goes to a shelf, her slender arm outstretched and pulls down an old yearbook: Class of 2009 .

Puckered lips blow dust off the old thing.

Sav sits, unbothered, to look at it. Her nimble little fingers– fingers I made– delicately open it, and I hold in my cringe.

She huffs out a laugh after a few pages.

“ Most likely to be famous… Never heard of Tiffany Myers, so I guess they got that wrong. Or… Dean Carson.” I wither a little.

A few more flips and she gasps. “You played softball?”

I chuckle with a nod and make my way to the vinyls, flipping through my mother’s treasure trove. Other than my portrait in that damn yearbook, I’m only listed in there for softball. And then I hear… “ Dad .”

And I’m so glad Noah is getting slushies with Zo. Sav’s voice is tiny, as she gobbles up every page he’s in. Football, track, baseball, his art, photography… Micah’s everywhere. So is Dean. “That Dean guy is in all these pictures with Dad. He’s even Prom King. Why aren’t you in here much?"

I shake my head a little. “I… didn’t have a great high school experience. I spent most of my time tutoring or reading and writing. Plus, you know, by the time my senior prom came around I was already in New York.”

“Big surprise.” She replies unimpressed. Even though she’s my kid, she sounds like they did a long time ago. I can almost hear the ‘fucking nerd’ silently roll off her tongue. Can’t say it doesn’t sting a little. But I did what I had to do. She snaps the yearbook closed. “Can I keep these?”

And I know it’s not because they have me in there.

It’s because of Micah. But a part of me wonders if she’ll be able to put pieces together.

I almost say no. But she deserves to be able to look through some ratty books and get to know the man she knew as her father.

Guilt weighs heavily on me as I go through a quick pros and cons list in my mind.

“Sure.” I say before I can regret it. “Get a box from downstairs so we can separate what you want to keep from what we can throw out. They’re gonna get started on the second floor tomorrow, move down to the first afterward, so we can move in.

They’ll be working on the basement every now and then.

But it’ll be livable, so we don’t have to stay in the hotel anymore. ”

“Yeah, okay. Cool.” I hear the patter of her light footsteps as she heads down the attic stairs.

The attic will soon be cut in half so she can have a little nook up here like I always wanted.

The way Daddy always promised. It’s crazy how often we tend to heal our inner child without realizing it– by doing the things we wanted for ourselves, for our children.

My nook now is just an office. But it’s my office.

Tailor-made for me. No reminders of Micah. It’s almost enough to stay in Adelaide.

I’m still sifting through the box of vinyls when I see movement out of the corner of my eye.

Movement that grows a little, flows a little– too far to take shape, but still, it’s there- forming.

Chills run down my spine as I freeze, ignoring the drop in temperature and the small puffs of fog my breath is causing.

My body is all too hyperaware. I inhale deeply, counting to five and blow out, counting to five. And again.

The slamming of the front door downstairs makes me jump and I turn to face the… nothing . The attic is empty. I exhale with a laugh, tension leaving my body.

“Mooommmmmyyyyyy!” Noah calls from downstairs, and I smile.

“Hey! Pink Drink! I got your watermelon-strawberry slush, burgers too! Come on, Blue!” Zoey calls out to us from downstairs.

I hear a “Coming!” from Savannah.

I take two of the numerous boxes of vinyls down carefully and greet my best friend and my son, who always smiles when he sees me.

Twin chocolate eyes, like my mama’s, gaze up at me, and I forget all about the shadow upstairs, the feeling of being watched.

I grin back at the little boy, the girl, and the best friend that give my life meaning. That keep me going.