Redemption: AmBw Romantic Suspense

There was a moment when I woke up in the middle of the night.

The fire had crackled. The wind had blown so hard outside, tree branches scratched against the window with each gust. I scanned the space and realized Yoshiro had been watching me.

A long silence stretched between us.

A sad expression covered his face and he looked away. Suddenly, there was an urge to go to him. Hug him. Thread my fingers through his long dark hair and cradle his head against my chest.

But I refused to let that urge overtake me. He closed his eyes seconds later. And eventually, I went back to sleep, unable to look deeper into anything.

The fourth day the electricity returned late in the evening. We celebrated with cake as we caught up with the world. The news announced that many of the main streets in the city had been ploughed, but none came out to the small towns like where we were. Washington declared a State of Emergency. Electricity would remain on for everyone, regardless if they were behind in their utility bills. Injured and old packed the hospitals. The internet around the world went wild with memes and jokes.

The next days, we found a rhythm in Yoshiro’s home. We woke up together, even Yoshiro. I made breakfast for us all. Most of the time he would put together a big lunch. By dinner, we just snacked. The kids returned to their daily schoolwork, completing assignments, and studying lessons.

Yoshiro realized that I’d left my computer at the apartment we fled from. He dusted off an old laptop and let me borrow it. So far I wasn’t sure what I would write. With my old laptop, I’d been close to finishing a novel. Now it was all gone.

I should’ve emailed it or put it on the cloud.

Yoshiro and I hadn’t gone up to the house yet, to assess any repairs. The wind had been brutal. Slick ice coated the land. It was no more of the soft white powder. Neither of us yearned to leave the comfort of the warm house.

So, he spent a lot of his time in his studio painting, and I sat in the dining area pissed that I’d lost a whole novel and trying to come up with a new book idea to write. We didn’t talk much, besides conversation here and there on news we’d gotten from the tv. He gave us space, and we did the same. We were an odd group of roommates. Always careful to not invade the other’s space. Always thoughtful and seeing if the other needed help.

And all in between, the kids laughed and played with Salt and Pepa. Snow men and women littered the property. Big ones and small ones. Tall ones that held stick swords and ones that donned leaf wigs. The kids were the only ones willing to brave the outside conditions, loving the freezing wind and the slippery ice. A few times they returned bruised and wet, but completely happy.

On the sixth day, Yoshiro took us up to the attic. It was vast and stacked with old boxes.

He opened the door and waved the dust away. “This is the owner’s old things. Her son didn’t want to go through them.”

“What happened to the owner?” Kia asked.

“She died of old age.” Yoshiro led us through a path of boxes. “I keep saying I’m going to clean this place up. Get rid of stuff and give other things away. There may be some things that you all want, if you don’t mind that it’s old.”

“I hope there’s some Gucci pocketbooks in here.” Kia giggled. “Maybe, she had style.”

“We should be careful.” Jalen crept behind me. “Her ghost could be in here, guarding a treasure.”

Kia rolled her eyes. “Oh my God.”

Yoshiro grinned. “I haven’t witnessed any ghosts yet. I’ll let you know, if I see one.”

Poppy pointed in the back.

I lowered to her. “What do you see?”

“Toys.” She smiled and ran off.

My heart stopped for a second and then warmed back as it beat. While she’d been saying a few things to Yoshiro and even the kids, she still hadn’t uttered more to me.

“Toys,” I whispered.

She’s talking more. That has to be a good thing. This place is helping.

I looked up and noticed Yoshiro watching me and then he turned away, walked over to where Poppy had ran to, grabbed the box, and brought it down to the floor.

“The owner had five kids. Her son who sold me the place was the oldest of them all.” He opened the box and stepped back as the kids rummaged through it. “When I took the house over, I emailed him several times and even sent pictures of everything in the attic. I was sure his siblings or him would want the stuff.”

I shook my head. “None of the kids wanted any memories?”