Where We Meet Again, стр. 8
Not my Evelyn. She doesn’t believe in the made-up characters anymore, but she still believes in the power of wishes and prayers.
“Let’s eat cake!” Her eyes flutter open.
My smile slips at the flash of those eyes. That smile with the small tilt at the ends. Memories flood through gates I locked over a decade ago. Law’s sudden return messes with my head once again.
“You okay?” Kiersten leans in while Evelyn snatches the plates and scoops out her slice of triple chocolate cheesecake.
“Hmm? Oh. I’m fine.” I force a chuckle. “Memories, you know? I just can’t believe how old she’s getting.”
She cocks her head in silence. Her perceptiveness can be useful, but I pray she doesn’t question my odd behavior.
After dishing our plates, we retreat to the sofa and Evelyn clicks on the TV. “What should we watch?”
I dig into my slice of turtle cheesecake. My answer comes around a mouthful of caramel and chocolate goodness dancing on my tongue. “You pick, birthday girl.”
Evelyn sets down her plate and searches through a streaming service. By doing so, I glimpse Kiersten on the other side of her studying me.
What? I furrow my brow.
What’s up with you? She mouths back, jabbing her fork in my direction. I cut my eyes to Evelyn to find her still flipping through movies.
Nothing. As I shovel another forkful of cake into my mouth, I turn back to the TV and smile. Evelyn’s at that tricky age between kid and adult. Her tastes have changed drastically over the past couple months, and she tries so hard to fit in with her mom and aunt. She browses movies a little (a lot) above her comprehension and maturity.
I open my mouth to comment, but something hard pelted at my temple cuts me off. My back straightens, and I snap my gaze back to Kiersten. I skim the couch cushion with my hand, all while glaring, and come up with the weapon. A chocolate chip.
Are you kidding me?
We are talking later.
No, we are not, I mouth back.
Kiersten looks ready to respond, but a knock on the door swivels all our heads that way.
“Who could that be?” Evelyn asks, and my heart falls at the inflection of hope. She knows her only family sits in that room with her. In fourteen years, not one surprise visitor graced us, and door-to-door sales are rare in Arrow Creek. It hurts that my baby can’t expect anyone else to shower her in affection on her special day.
“Find a show, baby. I’ll get it.”
I shoot one last glare at Kiersten, but her attention focuses out the window to the front yard.
I reach the door and my heart leaps into my throat. I’ve lived a long time waiting, hoping, and being disappointed that nobody came looking for me. Pretending I was fine and that I’d put that life behind me. This is just another reminder of all those stupid daydreams that never came true. But as I clasp the door handle, I stupidly can’t help myself from hoping one last time.
And being disappointed.
The air rushes from my lungs at the empty doorstep. Beside the door, a bouquet of helium balloons bob on the string tied to a weight wrapped in metallic purple paper. Next to the weight sits a rectangle box wrapped to match—a gift. On top lays a card.
I check behind me to make sure the girls haven’t followed me to the door before I bend down to retrieve the card. Unaddressed and unsealed. I scan the street before me, but there’s nobody there. No one strolls down the sidewalk, no unknown cars park along the side of the road.
The hairs stand up on my neck. Only one person could be responsible for this, and that raises the question of how did he know where I lived?
This is becoming too much.
What am I supposed to do here? The curious part of me wants to rip it all open and find out what’s inside. But the cautious mother in me thinks no way in hell a stranger will give my daughter a birthday gift without me knowing what it is first. Because let’s be honest; Law is a stranger. I might have known him all those years ago, but he’s not the same person he used to be.
Yet another part of me screams louder than the rest, “This is Law!”
Law. The boy who held my hand at my dad’s funeral and then begged his parents to let me sleep over so I didn’t have to feel alone.
The boy who’s shoulder I cried on when I got sad, and who didn’t tease me for being a baby, even if I was being one.
The boy who stole my first kiss without my permission, because he knew, even if I was stubborn and wouldn’t admit it, that I wanted him to.
The boy who proudly made me a necklace for my fifteenth birthday, because he knew I’d appreciate something he made much more than something he’d bought with his parent’s money.
The boy who’d taken on driving my brother to chemo as soon as he’d got his license, because I had to work after school to make money for my family.
And the boy who’d looked for me after I’d disappeared. Who, to this day, couldn’t hide the pain and rage of having to do so and coming up empty-handed. Who, I was fairly certain, hated every ounce of me and yet, still dropped a gift for my baby on my doorstep.
Lawrence Briggs is a lot of things, most of them I don’t even know anymore. Too much time has passed. But he’s not cruel or malicious. He’d never leave something at my house that would endanger my daughter. To the bottom of my soul, I believe that.
With that thought, I scan the