Remembering Everly (Lost & Found #2) (9 page)

Last night I dreamed of Everly and our book of names.

In the morning I felt refreshed and peaceful for the first time in months. Nothing had changed. Everly was still marrying Ryan as far as I knew. Trent was still around and therefore my life was just as fucked up as it had been yesterday, but I awoke with a calming tranquility running through my bones.

I hoped she took my advice, wherever it might lead her.

All I ever wanted for Everly was for her to be happy and safe. If that was with Ryan, or in cooking school…halfway across the world…it didn’t matter anymore, as long as she found her footing in this world.

I knew she’d be safer with Ryan, but I couldn’t be selfish. I couldn’t keep forcing her into his arms to keep her farther from mine.

I never do things like that with Ryan.

She deserved so much more.

Reaching for my phone, I looked at the time and slowly rubbed my tired eyes. I’d slept through more than half the morning. Good thing it was Sunday, otherwise Trent would have had my ass.

I’d already pushed aside all of my darkroom equipment in the office to move the gigantic desk back into place so I could start working weekends again. Seemed he already had my ass, and I’d handed it to him on a silver platter.

No. Nothing was going to shake my good mood today.

Throwing a shirt over my head, I headed for the stairs and the kitchen, where my coffee pot was calling my name. Hell, I might even attempt a thing or two for breakfast.

Man could not survive on crappy coffee alone.

The sound of the brew dripping through to the large pot below had started when the doorbell chimed.

Brick really needed to learn the art of calling ahead.

Deciding he might want a cup of coffee himself, I quickly added a couple more scoops and water to the pot and raced to the door. The doorbell chime had segued into an incessant pounding, making me wary of who just might be on the other side. Brick might be nosy and perhaps a tad rusty on the principles of social interactions when it came to visiting a friend, but he’d never been outright rude.

Well, not banging-on-the-door rude.

Opening the door, I cursed under my breath. Of course it was Trent—because my good mood couldn’t last five goddamn minutes.

“It’s Sunday,” I said, greeting him with a straight face.

“Yep,” he replied, pushing past me as if he too owned the damn place.

I watched him disappear into my kitchen, casually walking in his jeans and henley with a newspaper tucked under his arm.

I guess we were having coffee together.

Fun.

He was already pouring himself a cup and ransacking my pantry for sugar when I joined him, the paper still carefully stowed underneath his arm.

“Didn’t have anything better to do this morning?” I asked as I watched him finish fixing his cup.

“Just had some loose ends to tie up,” he answered vaguely as he took a sip and blew out a breath, muttering about it being too hot. “And no, I absolutely have a lot better things to do this morning. Several in fact,” he sneered, the intent clear in his voice as I tried not to look away in disgust.

I followed his lead, taking a mug from the shelf above, and poured a cup for myself, leaning against the counter in silence as I waited for him to explain why he was here, so he could then get the hell out.

He’d shown up at my door unannounced. He could do the talking.

He made a show of adding more cream to his mug, slowly stirring it as I waited. He must have known I was growing more and more agitated with each second that ticked by because I could see the slight grin that tugged at his face when he finally looked up at me.

“There was a fire downtown last night,” he said, as if we were standing around the water cooler at the office and it was a sleepy Monday morning rather than Sunday afternoon in my kitchen.

“Okay.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“It’s all over the news. Big fire. Such a tragedy.” He shook his head back and forth in an attempt to appear dejected. The emotion didn’t look right on Trent, and instead he looked more like a villain than I’d ever seen.

It sent chills up my back and warning signs went up all around me.

“Where?”

He reached for the newspaper he’d been keeping a secret since his arrival, and slowly smoothed it down in front of me in a manner that almost appeared loving.

“Downtown Fire Claims Local Art Gallery. One fatality.”

My eyes widened in horror as I gazed down at the photo. The small art gallery I’d been in numerous times, meeting with the owner as he graciously agreed to hang my photos on his walls, was gone.

Everything gone. Including the owner.

As I sat there, feeling the shock set in, I saw Trent set something else down.

The single photo I’d sold.

When I looked up at him, he just grinned.

“Let me remind you of something, August. You work for me—for our partnership. There’s no room for lofty dreams or distractions. Is that clear?”

My portrait, the one I’d taken while Everly and I had walked the streets of San Francisco, covered most of the newspaper heading, but I could still see the flames from the photo, rising around the building as it was overtaken. Had the old man suffered when the fire engulfed him?

You were never afraid of anything back then.

The gallery’s address was printed near the bottom, reminding me just how close the art gallery had been to Everly’s new home address.

Blocks.

Just mere blocks.

“Crystal clear,” I managed to say, the words feeling like sandpaper against my throat.

“Good. Then we’re done here,” he said, patting me on the back as he dumped the rest of the coffee down the drain. “Oh, and I expect the deal with the Yorkes is still going well?

I nodded, feeling the blood drain from my face.

“Good. Don’t fuck it up. Oh, and do yourself a favor and get better coffee, man. This stuff is shit,” he said, laughing as he walked away. I could hear his chipper whistle echoing down the hallway as he left.

And then it was just silence.

“Holy fuck,” I cursed, my voice breaking apart as I grasped at the newspaper with shaking hands. I’d always known he was crazy—seeing him go apeshit on waiters and pretty much anyone who wronged him—but I’d never had proof.

Yes you did.

Yes I did
, a voice deep down echoed as that haunting memory from that fateful night came rushing back. I’d been scared for my life. Scared for both of our lives.

It was why I’d pushed Everly away for so long.

Because deep down, I’d known this day would come. I’d known eventually Trent would show his true colors, and when he did, I wanted her as far away from me as possible.

“When I wake up in the morning, and everything about this night is fuzzy…what should I remember?”

I took a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs as I put my thoughts together.

“Remember that you’re a strong woman, that your friends love you and that more than anything, you should stay away from me, Everly. Stay far, far away from me.”

Shaking my head as I pulled the photo up for a better look, I took a deep breath and prayed.

Prayed that she took my advice and stayed the hell away.

I was more dangerous to her than ever now.

G
ood morning!” My soon-to-be mother-in-law nearly sang as I opened the door. I wondered what in the world she was doing at our apartment at this ungodly hour. Tightening my robe around my waist and rubbing my eyes once again, I squinted in the direction of the microwave clock, trying to see what time it was.

Eight in the morning.

My last day off before the wedding. The last day I could spend sleeping in, cuddled under my sheets, pretending things like centerpieces and flower arrangements weren’t things I needed to agonize over.

Glancing over at Ryan’s mother, and the bags and bags she was slowly carting in, one by one into our small living room, I realized my beautiful morning of laziness had come to an abrupt end.

Centerpieces were priority of the day.

Joy of all joys.

“I’m going to start a pot of coffee and go get dressed,” I announced, hopping over several plastic bags to reach the kitchen. I quickly started my much-needed fuel, figuring I’d need an entire pot to myself to get through the morning, and then promptly headed back to the bedroom.

No wonder Ryan had insisted on working straight up to the wedding day. I thought he was just being a workaholic.

Now I realized this had been a strategic move. He was purposely getting out of all of the wedding prep.

I wish I had been that smart.

I’d started out this second attempt at our wedding day with a clear vision. I’d wanted to be involved. I’d let Sarah take over so much of everything the first time around and I’d thought maybe my un-involvement had led to our eventual parting. This time I would be present. This wedding was going to be all about us.

That was, at least until Ryan’s mother had gotten involved, and everything simple and easy I’d wanted had flown out the window. Since then, my planned centerpieces, tiny glass vases with a single daisy in each, had been replaced with ginormous crystal things that held mile-high floral arrangements.

I didn’t want to know how much each of those cost.

Ryan was now going to wear a tux, rather than a tan suit. No man should be married in something he’d wear to a country club, she’d said.

I didn’t quite understand why it mattered, but Ryan had agreed to it, so of course, so did I.

The whole thing felt like someone else’s affair. But I kept reminding myself it was only one day.

Just one day of our lives and then we would be married.

Married for the rest of our lives…

Pulling a shirt over my head, I headed to the bathroom and quickly brushed my hair and teeth, trying not to notice the dark circles under my eyes. It had been nearly a week since my infamous bachelorette party, which had resulted in my best friends having to nearly wheel my out of the bar and carry me home, and I still hadn’t seemed to recover.

The hangover to end all hangovers had passed, and even though most of the night still remained fuzzy, I couldn’t seem to return to a normal pattern of sleep.

I’d curl up in bed, fall asleep, and an hour later find myself back awake and staring at the ceiling. Other times I’d wake, panicked, my heart racing full speed ahead to a destination unknown while I tried to shake off the nerves that threatened to take over without waking Ryan.

This was why I’d been looking so forward to a morning alone in bed. Maybe I could actually sleep, because right now, I was seriously starting to look more like the bride of Frankenstein than anything else.

“Everly! We have a lot to do! No time to dawdle!” Sophie hollered. That was her name—Sophie. Although I wasn’t supposed to call her that. It was either Mrs. Sparrow or Mom.

Yep. Mom.

That little bomb had been dropped the other night at dinner.

In another world, I would have been overjoyed. I probably would have cried big fat tears of joy. But I didn’t. I felt nothing but pressure and guilt that I didn’t cry and jump up and hug her on the spot, thanking her for her love and support.

Instead, I just sat there awkwardly as Ryan and Mrs. Sparrow stared at me, waiting for some sort of response.

“Thank you so much,” I’d managed to choke out. I’d quickly grabbed my glass of wine like a life preserver.

I’d wanted a mom for as long as I could remember. I used to sit on my borrowed beds with my ratty secondhand sheets, imaging what it would be like to have someone who loved you like that—unconditionally, with no end. I pictured days in the kitchen baking cookies, and hayrides in autumn to find the perfect pumpkin. It would have been wonderful. Me and Mom.

But it was only a dream, and foster kids rarely see the end of the rainbow.

None of it—the sheets or crappy clothes—would have mattered if I’d just had someone to stand up for me, someone to hold me when the kids made fun of my lanky limbs and the scattering of freckles that covered my face.

When I’d first met Ryan and he told me about his childhood and how much his parents had wanted him, I couldn’t wait to meet his mother. I thought, if she wanted him, surely she’d want me as well.

But I don’t think anyone would ever be good enough for her precious little boy.

Wandering out into the living room, I leaned up against the door frame and watched her buzz around the room for a moment, wondering where all that energy came from. She wasn’t in the best of health, having advanced arthritis in several locations and diabetes that constantly gave her issues, but something about this wedding had invigorated her.

I think it was the opportunity to make her son happy. It was what she lived for.

She’d spent most of her life waiting for a child, and when that day finally came, Ryan became the woman’s entire world. So much so that nothing else mattered. She was so blinded by her love for him that sometimes I think she went a little overboard.

Like crazy long to-do lists and mile-high centerpieces crazy.

She meant well, I reminded myself. She really meant well.

“Oh good! You’re back! I thought we’d start by assembling the gifts you’ll be giving the guests, and then we’ll move on to centerpieces.”

We’re giving them gifts?

“Why don’t you take a seat at the table, and I’ll show you what to do?” she suggested, waving her arms in that general direction when I didn’t appear to be moving fast enough.

“Sure, I’ll just grab a cup of coffee—”

“No time! No time! We have too much to do!” she protested.

No time for coffee? Oh God, I might die.

Making the biggest pouty face possible, I slumped down in the chair closest to the kitchen in a desperate attempt to filter caffeine through my system through the scent that had filled the small space alone.

Yes, I was that desperate.

“Okay, here is what we’re going to do,” she said in a chipper tone, sitting down next to me. Reaching into a bag on the floor, she pulled out several medium candles. They were heavily scented, making me scrunch my nose instantly. I quickly turned and pretended to scratch an itch to cover up my dislike.

“I picked these up at a very upscale department store. The sales lady said giving out candles as your wedding favor is very elegant and she even showed me several ways to present them.”

She’d probably enjoyed every penny of her commission too.

“I bought these pretty white boxes, and we’re going to wrap a thick silver bow around each like so…” I watched her demonstrate the elaborate bow.

“And for the final touch, I had these beautiful little cards printed. Just attach it with a bit of wire around the knot of the bow and ta-da! Isn’t it stunning?”

Looked pretty much like something I could pick up at Target, but like hell I’d say otherwise.

“It looks beautiful,” I said with a giant smile. “Can’t wait to start!”

She looked completely pleased with herself as she started pulling out the rest of the supplies and dividing them between us. I waited until she began, unsure I could tackle that bow by myself and followed each step alongside her.

It took a few tries, but after a couple of attempts I finally mastered the giant silver bow and moved on to the final step.

“It looks great!” Mrs. Sparrow said with a note of pride in her voice, as I slowly nodded in agreement. Reaching over to my left, I grabbed a tiny card and piece of wire, ready to finish my very first wedding favor.

One down, a gajillion to go.

The silver foil on the card caught my eye and I realized I hadn’t even read what it said.

Mr. and Mrs. Ryan Sparrow thank you for spending this special day with them and hope that each time you light this candle, you’ll remember true love always burns the brightest.

Everything happened at once. Like a switch on a vacuum, the oxygen in my lungs seemed to vacate my body in one giant pilgrimage, leaving me with a giant void of nothingness while the air around me grew in density, pushing against me until I felt like I might collapse under the pressure.

Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow…

True love always burns the brightest…

Oh God, too much…must get out.

“Everly, are you all right? You look pale.”

“I think I’m going to pass out,” I managed to say a second before I collapsed, bringing the entire stack of silver-foiled cards and perfectly tied bows with me as I hit the floor.

After about a hundred vials of blood had been extracted from my body, it was concluded there was nothing medically wrong with me.

As I sat there alone in the emergency room, staring at my bare feet as they poked out of the end of the thin sheet that passed for a blanket around here, I took a deep breath into my lungs, letting it fill every single crevice and shallow space, remembering that staggering, overwhelming feeling of not being able to breathe.

Panic attack.

That’s what had happened to me. I’d seen my married name, printed in bold on beautiful white card stock, and I’d gone bananas.

Like passed-out, had-to-call-an-ambulance bananas.

God, I was so embarrassed.

Ryan’s mother was in the waiting room, avoiding the germs as much as possible. With her age and her long laundry list of health problems, I didn’t blame her. There was no reason for her to be here, anyway.

There wasn’t anything wrong with me, after all.

But she refused to leave.

Someone needed to be at my side—even if it was from the afar.

She definitely had certain quirks about her—from the way she scurried off when you mentioned the Internet or attempted to speak of anything remotely modern. Or her sometimes smothering approach to wedding planning that made me want to crawl out a window rather than face her once more.

But she did care for me. It might not be the fairytale type dream of a mother I’d always envisioned, but it was something. I realized that now.

Which was why this was going to be all the more difficult.

I took another deep breath, lost in my thoughts, when the door pushed slowly open. Hidden behind a mound of flowers was Ryan.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. Traffic was terrible and the parking garage was full. But I bought you flowers!” he added cheerfully, setting them down on the small tray beside me.

“They’re beautiful,” I said, my eyes fixed on the small pink roses. “You didn’t have to, though.”

“Of course I did. You’re in the hospital!”

“I know, but only because of a panic attack. The doctor is going to discharge me soon. I just need to follow up with my primary physician in a couple of days,” I replied, my eyes unable to meet his.

“A panic attack is a big deal, Ev. It means your body became overwhelmed with stress. The wedding plans are too much for you to handle, which is why I’ve taken off the next few days and I think you should, too. I realized it’s not fair to ask you to do all this on your own. It’s our wedding. I should be helping.”

Oh, if it were only that easy.

“It’s not the wedding,” I said in a voice little more than a whisper.

“What?” he asked, suddenly confused.

“It’s not the wedding,” I stated slowly. “It’s us. The panic I’m feeling—it’s because of us.”

My sad gaze traveled up to his and the words settled in.

“Us? What do you mean?” he asked as realization settled. “You don’t want to get married?” His voice shook as he spoke and the sound nearly split my heart in two.

“Do you?” I asked, tears wetting my cheeks.

“Of course I do!” he roared back, the fight in his voice vanishing as quickly as it came. He stumbled to the end of the bed and sat, withering before my eyes.

“Think about it,” I said. “Why do you want to marry me?”

“Because I love you.”

“But, why do you love me?”

His hands threaded his light brown hair, and I heard him blow out a frustrated puff of air. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” he said over and over.

“I don’t know why I love you either,” I answered.

Several minutes passed before his eyes met mine once more. “We should know,” he said finally.

“We should know,” I agreed, a single tear trailing down my cheek.

“I remember my mother giving the eulogy at my father’s funeral,” he began, smoothing the thin white bedsheet beside him as he spoke. “Through her tears, she listed more than half a dozen reasons she loved that man. Some were silly, like the way he always told dirty jokes to cheer her up—that one honestly surprised me. Some were more serious, like the way he never left the house without saying he loved her. When she sat back down, I leaned over and told her what a wonderful job she’d done and glanced down at the sheet of paper she’d been holding. I knew she’d been working on the eulogy for days, but the paper she held her hand? It was blank. Everything she’d said at that podium was from her heart and completely on the spot.”

“You deserve a love like that,” I stated, hating that it wasn’t me. Hating that I wasn’t the woman who would one day fill all the blanks on that sheet of paper he spoke of.

“You do, too,” he replied.

“Maybe someday. But for now, I think I want to focus on just one person.”

“And who’s that?” he asked.

“Me.”