His eyes crinkle a bit at the corners as he smiles at me.
His grin is for me, familiar and sexy. He reaches for me, his fingers knowing and familiar, and he knows just where to touch me, just where to set my skin on fire.
I wake with a start, sitting straight up in bed, my sheets clutched to my chest.
The moonlight pouring onto my bed looks blue, and I glance at the clock.
Three a.m.
Just a dream.
I curl back up, thinking of the stranger, and then condemn myself for my ridiculousness. He’s a stranger, for God’s sake. It’s stupid to be so fixated on him.
But that doesn’t stop me from dreaming about him again. He does different things in my dreams. He sails, he swims, he drinks coffee. His silver ring glints in the sun each time, his dark eyes pierce into my soul like he knows me. Like he knows all about me. I wake up breathless each time.
It’s a bit unnerving.
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And a bit exciting.
After two such nights of fitful sleep, rain and strange dreams, Finn and I kneel in front of plastic storage boxes, sorting through stuff from my closet. Piles of folded clothes surround us, like mountains on the floor. Rain pelts the window, the morning sky dark and gray.
I hold up a white cardigan. “I don’t think I’ll need many sweaters in California, will I?”
Finn shakes his head. “Doubtful. But take a couple, just to be safe.”
I toss it into the Keep pile. As I do, I notice that Finn’s fingers are shaking.
“Why are your hands shaking?” I stare at him. He shrugs.
“Don’t know.”
I eye him doubtfully, so used to watching him for any sign for any sign of a problem. “Are you sure?”
He nods. “Quite positive.”
I let it go, even though it makes me uneasy. If I don’t shield Finn from distress, he could have an episode. Obviously I couldn’t shield him from losing mom, but I do my best to protect him from everything else. It’s a heavy thing to shoulder, but if Finn can carry his cross, I can certainly carry mine. I unfold another sweater, then toss it in the Goodwill pile.
“After mine, we’ll have to do yours,” I point out. He nods.
“Yeah. And then maybe we should do mom’s.”
I suck in a breath. While I would like nothing more, just in the name of moving forward, there’s no way.
“Dad would kill us,” I dismiss the idea.
“True,” Finn acknowledges, handing me a long sleeve t-shirt for the Keep pile. “But maybe he needs a nudge. It’s been two months. She doesn’t need her shoes by the backdoor anymore.”
He’s right. She doesn’t need them. Just like she doesn’t need her make-up laid out by her sink the way she left it, or her last book sitting face down to mark its page beside her reading chair. She’ll never finish that book. But to be fair to my dad, I don’t think I could throw her things out yet, either.
“Still,” I answer. “It’s his place to decide when it’s time. Not ours. We’re going away. He’s the one who will be here with the memories. Not us.”
“That’s why I’m worried,” Finn tells me. “He’s going to be here in this huge house alone. Well, not alone. Surrounded by dead bodies and mom’s memory. That’s even worse.”
Knowing how I hate to be alone, and how I especially hate to be alone in our big house, I shudder.
“Maybe that’s why he wants to rent out the Carriage House,” I offer. “So he’s not so alone up here.”