For the next two hours, we sit there, shifting through albums and pictures. The memories make me sad and happy at the same time. I’m glad I have them but sad we won’t have any more to make.
“You were quite the stud growing up,” she teases. “You two looked a lot alike.” Her face softens.
“Yeah, we both look a lot like our dad. The Hampton gene.”
“What happened to him?”
The kindness in her voice has me fighting the huge wave of grief. I’ve held onto it so tightly, but her genuine interest in this part of my life could very well break that dam. I flip to the end of the book where there are a couple of pictures taken on the day he graduated from the police academy. His smile was wide and proud. His then-fiancée, Lena, stood beside him as she wore her new engagement ring.
Ryan’s life had just begun. After he and Lena had married, they got pregnant with Natalia shortly after. He was all set to have his happily ever after and the career he busted his ass for, but unfortunately, things didn’t play out that way for him.
I take a deep breath and start explaining
“He’d worked for the Berkeley PD for about thirteen years at that point, but he wasn’t on duty the day he died. He had a weird addiction to gas station coffee and always went and refilled his cup before picking Natalia up from school. Some young punk walks in and starts waving a gun at the cashier, demanding he clean out the register. Ryan, being who he was, tried to talk the kid down. He waved a few other customers who were inside to hide in the back as he stayed up front with the cashier.
“According to the cashier, he was using police tactics to get him to surrender his weapon, and they could all leave unharmed. He didn’t carry his gun while he was off-duty, but it was tucked away in his car. Once he calmed the kid down and got him to lower his gun off the cashier, he tried getting him to drop it and kick it over to him. From the security tapes, it shows Ryan motioning to the cashier to get out. The cashier tripped and the kid got startled and ended up pulling the trigger.”
I’ve not looked up from his picture as I’ve talked, but I glance at Aspen, needing her reassurance to continue. There are fresh tears on her cheeks and her small hand over her mouth as if she’s trying to hold back a sob. I lean over and brush a gentle kiss on her cheek, tasting the saltiness of her tears.
She curls into me, wrapping her arms around me as best she can in this position. “Then what?” her voice soft and encouraging.
I inhale another deep breath and continue. “He hit Ryan in the side, somehow missing everything vital. Had that been the only shot, he would’ve survived. After the cashier had run out the door, Ryan tried to apply pressure and stall the bleeding. From the security tapes, you can see how the kid was getting agitated—pacing back and forth, as Ryan struggled to get a hold on the gunshot wound. The responding officer arrived quickly, but the sirens spooked him even more. He locked the front doors and continued waving his gun around. Ryan continued to talk to him, reassuring him that they could both walk out of this, but the moment more cop cars arrived, he freaked out and pulled the trigger again. That time, it finished him off.”
Aspen’s shoulders shake, and I can tell she’s trying to be strong for me. Honestly, I need that strength at this moment because reliving it all is painful, but I know I need to deal with the reality of it before I can really move forward. I need to find a way to let myself grieve.
“The kid didn’t get far after he ran out the back. They caught him only a few blocks away. He was only fifteen years old. Just a few years older than Natalia is now. A kid ruined not only his own life but stole away Nat’s whole world and my brother’s life, too. But I fully believe he died a hero that day, and I’m proud of him for sacrificing his own life to save another’s.” My voice cracks with sadness, but I try to remain strong. “I’m so angry at myself for not fixing things with him. Stubborn pride and stupidity kept me away for five years, and I’ll never get that time back.”
Aspen pulls the big book off my lap and replaces it with her body. Her slight weight and comforting arms are everything I need at this moment. I bury my face in her strawberry scented hair and release the burden of it all for the first time since I last saw him at his funeral. She grips me tighter, her voice soft and full of affection when she simply tells me how sorry she is.
She doesn’t fill the silence with a bunch of nonsense chatter or try to fix things like other people do. She gives me her acceptance and quiet strength as if she can sense that it’s exactly what I need.
A soft creak from the hallway makes both of our heads jerk up. Natalia peeks in slowly, a blanket wrapped securely around her. Her lips are turned down, and I can tell she’s heard us.
“Come here.” I nod my head toward us.
Aspen moves over slightly, making room. Natalia shuffles in between us, grabs the blanket, and unravels it. She lays it across all of our laps as we sit next to each other.
I grab the photo album and place it gently on her lap. She looks down, tracing her finger over the lines of the photos. Warmth fills my heart even though grief is consuming the rest of me.
I glance over at Aspen looking at me, her lips pulled into a soft smile. She wraps an arm around Nat and pulls her into her side. She lays her head down on top of Nat’s, giving a quick kiss on her temple before laying it back down again.
After several moments of Natalia turning the pages, I rub my hand on Aspen’s neck, getting her attention, and mouthing a quick ‘thank you.’
I feel so lucky to have someone like Aspen holding me up. I’m supposed to be doing that for her, but it’s as if she knew I needed her this time. It’s as if she knew we could be each other’s strength.
It’s at this moment I realize how hard I’m falling for her. Not just a crush or someone to fill a void, but genuine, head-over-heels, can’t-get-enough-of falling for her feelings.
It should scare the shit out of me, but all I can do is smile and hope she feels the same way, too.
ASPEN
I’m dreading the fact that classes are starting back up in two days. Spending every day with Morgan other than work has made this one of the best weeks I’ve ever had. I can’t remember ever feeling like this with someone before—mainly because I never allowed myself to. But he’s made me want to open up and let him in, and now I don’t ever want that feeling to go away.
“Do you have to go to work today?” he groans, pulling me into his arms as we lay in his bed. I have a long shift today, but all I want to do is stay in bed with him.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I mutter with a sigh. “You can come visit me,” I offer. “Bring Natalia. I’m sure Ms. Jones wouldn’t mind.”
“No, except she cannot know about us.”
“But Natalia knows.”
“Yeah,” he says with a frustrated grunt. “I’ll talk to her first.”
I hate that he has to ask his niece to keep our secret, but it’s the only way. Ms. Jones is on the school board at CSLA, and she would be ethically bound to tell the school. I don’t want to put her in the situation, so it has to remain just between the three of us.
He squeezes me tighter and presses a chaste kiss on my lips. “I’ll get the coffee started.”
I quickly shower and change. I dry my hair and pull half of it up. Morgan comes in with my cup of coffee, filled with my favorite mocha creamer and topped with whip cream. He’s mastered it quite well.
“Thank you.” I smile and finish applying my eyeliner. “I have to leave in ten minutes, though. No distracting me,” I tease, knowing that he’ll try.
“Oh, what fun is that?” he mocks with a knowing grin.
“Ms. Jones may be your aunt, but she’s still my boss. I need her reference to hopefully get into a graduate school. Can’t be pissing her off.”
“You know she’s a real softy at heart. She may look and sound all tough, but put a puppy in her hands and she melts like butter.”
I snort at the visual. “Well, unless you have a puppy handy, I better get my ass to work.”
I clean up my mess and finish my cup of coffee before kissing him goodbye. I give a quick wave to Natalia before backing out of the driveway, smiling.
She’s warmed up to me so much in just a short amount of time. It’s hard to believe she’s only eleven. Losing parents will do that to you, though. You’re forced to grow up faster than you should.
I arrive to work with two minutes to spare. I place my belongings in my locker and put my vest and nametag on. As soon as I slam it shut, Shane walks in with a crooked grin on his face.
“What are you smiling about?” I inquire. I hadn’t really spoken to him much since his rude attitude at the gala, but I’m in an unusually happy mood and decide to look past it.
“You’d only be lucky to know. Too bad you’re screwing Ms. J’s uppity-too-shoes nephew.” He cracks a smile and all the blood drains from my face as he grabs a soda from the vending machine.
My breaths are shallow, and I can’t think of a come back quick enough before he continues.
He shakes his head with a knowing grin. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” He cracks his Coke open and walks out, turning back to wink at me.
“Wait!” I finally manage to take a breath. The features on his face soften. “How’d you know?”
He takes a sip of his soda and shrugs. “Lucky guess.”
I playfully punch him in the shoulder, earning an exaggerated groan as he rubs his hand over the wound. “You’ve got a good arm.”
“Shane.”
“All right, all right. Keep your panties on.”
I flash him a warning look.
“He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. I watched him all night. It wasn’t just a look of getting in your pants either. It was…as if he couldn’t breathe without being around you.”
His confession shocks me, sending my heart into overdrive with a noticeable thud. Shane has never shown this side to me before but turns out, he’s more than just abs and ass.
I lower my eyes, pulling my lower lip in between my teeth as I think back to that night. He’d kissed me so passionately in such a raw moment of weakness that I was almost taken off guard.
“Well, I hope it works out. He seems like an okay-kind-of-guy.” The corners of his lips perk up in a mock smile.
“Please don’t say anything,” I plead, my eyes desperate.
“Trust me, Aspen. I have no desire to be known as the work gossip.” His quip tone instantly puts me at ease.
“Thanks, Shane.”
“But if he hurts you, I get first dibs on punching the guy out.”
I burst out laughing, appreciating his playful banter. “You’ve got it.”
We walk out together, separating as I head down the stairs for my first tour.
I grab a quick drink once the tour is over and head up to Christine’s office for the rest of the day’s tour schedule.
She’s on the phone, so I quietly grab it from her desk and look it over. As soon as I start walking back out, she stops me. “Aspen, wait a sec.”
I turn around to her finger up in the air as she quickly finishes her conversation before hanging up.
“Sorry.” She groans. “A couple packages came for you.”
“Here?” I step in front of her desk.
“Yeah…” She turns around and grabs a box, placing it on the desk with a loud thump. “From Illinois?”
I turn them around and rub a finger along the box with my mother’s handwriting. “My mom.” I groan.
“Well, there’s another one. Why would she send them here?”
“Because she lives to ruin my life.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“I blocked her address from sending me stuff. Birthday cards, Christmas packages, letters. They always get returned, and apparently, she finally got smart and stopped shipping to my address.” I sigh, hating that she found a way to get them to me. “I’ll just take them down to the post office and return them.”
She gives me a curious look, and I know she wants an explanation.
“We don’t get along very well.”
“I figured that.”
“She used to send me stuff all the time when I first moved away. I left and didn’t want to look back. I hated being home. I hated being surrounded by the things that reminded me of my sister. So I wanted to completely detach from that part of my life, but she was hell bent on reigning me in.”
“So you blocked her from mailing you things?”
I shrug. “I know it seems harsh, but it was the only way. She wouldn’t stop. I’d send them back, tell her to stop sending me cards and money, because I didn’t want them. My resentment was too heavy to accept anything else from them.”
“Maybe it was her way of asking for forgiveness?” she offers. I know she doesn’t know the whole story, no one really does, but she has a really close-knit family, so it’s hard for her to understand not wanting to be involved in each other’s lives.
“I wasn’t ready to forgive her,” I say simply. “It’s a little complicated.”
“Sounds like it.” She frowns. “Well, I’m sorry either way. I wish I knew how to help.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’ve accepted that my parents and I have a very odd…relationship.”
If you even want to call it that.
“You aren’t even a little curious to know what’s inside? I mean, two large packages…I’d be dying to know!” Her face lights up, the anticipation evident in her eyes.
“Fine.” I sigh. “Only because you’re making me!” I playfully scowl.
Her lips go wide in an over-enthusiastic grin. “Yay!”
I shake my head at her. “It’s probably all my old stuffed animals chopped into tiny little pieces.”
She wrinkles her nose and stands up across from me, cutting the tape off the sides. “You’re so morbid.”
I peel back the sides as she cuts them loose. Once all four are spread open, I notice the familiar handwriting on the notebooks packed inside.
“Are these your journals or something?” Christine asks, reading my expression.
“Not mine.” I shake my head, grabbing the first one on top and tracing the lettering of her name written out. “My sister’s.”
“Are they all notebooks?” she asks, peeking inside again. There are stacks of them, all different colors, but all with the same lettering written on top.
Ariel Rose.
“Her journals,” I respond.
“Have you seen them before?”
“No. I’d only seen her sketch pads of some of her drawings. I had no idea she had all of these.” My voice is somber, shock and fear taking over my head.
“Why would your mom send you these?” she asks the same question I’m wondering myself. “Do you think the sketchbooks are in the other package?”
My eyes lift to hers, mind spinning at the realization. “Let’s open it,” I say hurriedly.
She lifts the other box on top, ripping the tape off as fast as she can, not even bothering with the scissors this time. Once the sides are lifted open, I see them. On top is one of the sketchbooks I looked at after her funeral, but underneath is a stack of books I’d never seen before.
“Oh my God…” I breathe out. I grab one and hold it, thinking how much smaller it feels in my hands than six years ago. “I hadn’t seen all of these,” I tell her.
I flip through it, remembering the way I felt when I first saw them.
Sadness. Heartache. Pain.
The heavy shading in each drawing guts me. I feel sick, but swallow it down. She drew these for a reason…inspired by some inner demon.
“I see the talent runs in the family,” Christine says softly and sincerely. Besides Ms. Jones, Christine is the only person here who knows about the AR Collection. She’s in charge of the financial books, so there was no way around it. But I trust her and Ms. Jones over anyone else.
“I hadn’t even known she was drawing until she passed. She never shared them with me.”
“Really?” I hear the shock in her voice. I was just as shocked, too.
“Yeah, I’m not sure why. Perhaps she was afraid to show them to me or something.”
There have to be dozens of notebooks and sketchbooks in here, which means she’d probably been hiding them for years.
“Do you know what they mean?” She leans over and looks at them as I flip through the pages. “They look really sophisticated for her age.”
“I know,” I agree. “She’d spend hours wandering the fields, always falling asleep in the grass on warm summer days, or so she’d say. I just always assumed she spaced out and got lost or something but thinking back on it, she always did carry a small backpack with her.”
“She wanted privacy,” Christine suggests. “Maybe it was therapeutic for her.” She gives me a sympathetic look, seeing how hard this is for me.
She knows about Ariel falling from a tree, but she doesn’t know about the depression and cutting. These drawings are a window right into her mind of what she was suffering through.
“She suffered from depression,” I explain, the words continuing without restraint. “My parents didn’t believe her, brushed it off as her wanting attention over me or something. They were ignorant to believe that one of their precious children wasn’t perfect. Either that or they didn’t want to spend the time helping her. Ariel kept it all inside. You couldn’t tell most days because she acted like a normal kid, always laughing and smiling, cracking jokes back and forth with friends. But once my parents found out she was cutting, they turned their heads and pretended it wasn’t happening.”
“That’s awful.” She covers my hand with hers when I realize tears are falling down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I’m acting like such a baby.” I’m quick to wipe the tears away and close the sketchbook. I hate that my walls are crumbling down right in front of her. I can feel them tumbling down one by one.
“Don’t you be sorry, Aspen. Seriously.”
“I think maybe I should just take them home now.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll let Ms. Jones know, and we’ll figure out the rest.” I choke back a sob and thank her, placing the folds of the box back together. “I’ll tell Shane to come help you put them in your car if you want.”
I nod and keep my eyes low.
Shane notices the dramatic shift in my mood the moment he helps me carry them to my car. I feel him looking at me, thinking twice about asking me what’s wrong.
“Thank you,” I say softly, shutting the door to my car.
“I’ll follow you home,” he says. When I look back up at him, his expression softens. “Help you carry them inside.”
I only nod in agreement before turning back toward the car and getting inside.
I thank him again once he sets the boxes inside my apartment. I offered to carry one, but he batted my hands away.
“Feel better, Aspen,” he says, sincerity in his eyes. “I’ll let Christine know you made it home safely.” He winks, a friendly smile spreading over his face.
“Thank you, Shane.”
“Anytime.”