Everything We Keep: A Novel (3 page)

But this particular Saturday morning was different from others, and not because Nick and Kristen were coming over with their new friend. Robbie, the kid across the street, and his cousin Frankie had seen me set up my stand. Robbie was enough of a bully on his own, but the two of them together meant hair-pulling and name-calling, damaged toys and angry tears.

They’d just finagled a cup of lemonade from me, offering up shiny quarters that I wanted more than I wanted them to leave me alone, when Kristen and Nick arrived.

“Hi, Aimee,” Kristen said. She motioned to the new kid standing beside Nick. “This is James.”

I poured Robbie his lemonade and smiled at James. “Hello.”

He grinned and gave me a short wave.

“Lookie who’s here,” prodded Robbie. “Icky Nicky and Sissy Pants. Is that your new girlfriend?” He thrust his chin at James.

James stiffened. Nick took a threatening step toward Robbie. “Buzz off, loser.”

“Ugh!” Frankie moaned. The cup slipped from his hand. He gripped his neck with both hands and weaved. “She’s poisoned me. I’m dying.”

“Stop messing around!” Embarrassed, I tossed James a panicked look. He scowled at Frankie.

“Let me try.” Robbie downed his lemonade and the cup flew from his hand. “Oh no! It
is
poisoned.” He pitched forward across the table. Plastic cups rained onto the ground. “She’s killed us, Frankie.”

“No, I didn’t!” I shoved Robbie. He wouldn’t budge. “Get off!”

“Move it!” Kristen tugged Robbie’s arm.

“Good-bye, cruel world.” Robbie rolled to his side, dragging Kristen. She fell hard to the sidewalk and burst into tears. As she tried to stand, Frankie pushed her back down.

Nick punched the air two inches from Frankie’s nose. “Get lost!” Wide-eyed, Frankie ran across the street into Robbie’s opened garage.

The table collapsed under Robbie’s weight. He grabbed my shirt, twisting as he pulled me down, landing on top of me. My ribs burned and back throbbed. James yanked off Robbie, who came up with fists flying. He punched James in the mouth, splitting his lip. James grunted and popped his left fist into Robbie’s right eye. Robbie burst into tears and ran home.

I slowly stood, James helping me up as I dusted off my clothes. His eyes zoomed over me.

“Nice left hook you’ve got,” Dad said from behind me. “That should keep Robbie and his weasel cousin on their side of the street for a while.”

I looked over the disaster on the sidewalk and my lungs deflated. Kristen wiped her nose and sniffled. Her knees were scuffed and blood trickled down one shin. “Sorry about your lemonade stand,” she said.

My chin quivered. “Now I’ll never get the Magic Memory Dust.” James gave me a funny look.

“Kristen, come inside and Mrs. Tierney can fix up your knees,” Dad offered.

“I want to go home,” she whined, gingerly touching the raw skin.

“I’ll take her.” Nick tugged Kristen’s elbow. “We’ll catch ya later,” he said to James.

As they walked away, Dad looked down at James. “What’s your name, son?”

“James, sir.” He wiped his palms on his shirt and extended a hand. “James Donato.”

Dad grasped his hand. “Nice to meet you, James. Come inside so we can clean you up.”

James took a quick glance at me. “Yes, sir.”

“Aimee, take James into the kitchen. I’ll tell your mother to get the Band-Aids.”

By the time Mom retrieved the bandages and ointment, James’s lip had stopped bleeding. His mouth was swollen, so he sat on the kitchen stool beside me holding a bag of frozen peas to his face.

I rattled off questions. I wanted to know everything about him. Yes, he would attend the same school as me. Yes, he loved to play football. No, he had never punched another kid before. Yes, his hand was sore.

He held up five fingers twice and then one more for eleven years when I asked his age.

“Do you have any sisters?”

He shook his head.

“Brothers?”

He held up two fingers before shaking his head harder and changing two fingers to one.

I laughed. “Robbie must have hit you hard if you can’t remember how many brothers you have.”

He frowned. “I have one brother. And Robbie punches like a baby.”

I laughed harder and slammed both hands over my mouth to quell the giggles, afraid he would think I was laughing at him and his miscount rather than Robbie’s expression after James pummeled him. I’d never seen Robbie run home so fast.

James glanced around the kitchen. Mom’s apple pie for her bunco party baked in the oven. Classical music floated into the room from the radio my dad had taken outside. James shifted in his seat. “I like it here.”

“I’d like to see your house.” I hoped he wanted to be my friend because I really liked him. He had a nice smile and was very brave. He’d punched Robbie, something I’d wanted to do for a long time but had been too afraid. Robbie was much bigger than I was.

“Yours is better.” His eyes skirted back to me. “What’s Magic Memory Dust? It sounds cool.”

My cheeks flamed as I recalled James’s face when I’d whined about the dust earlier. As we leaned on the countertop, I told him about it, keeping my face ducked. I admired how dark the skin on his forearm looked next to mine. I shrugged over the dust. “Doesn’t matter now. My lemonade stand is ruined and I’ll never raise the money I need.”

James reached across the countertop and dragged the sugar bowl toward him. He pinched raw crystals and raised his hand above my head.

I looked up. “What’re you doing?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Trust me. Close your eyes.”

I did and heard scratching overhead. My hair rustled and scalp tickled. My nose itched and it felt like raindrops were landing on my cheeks, but they weren’t getting wet. I blinked and looked up. Sugar crystals rained on my face.

“What was that?” I asked when he finished and wiped his hands.

“James’s Magic Memory Dust.” The unbruised corner of his mouth lifted. “Now you’ll never forget we met.”

My eyes rounded and his face heated. He slapped the peas against his mouth and winced.

“I’ll never forget you,” I had promised, crossing my heart.

Over the years, James had made promises, too. It would always be just the two of us. There would never be anyone else; we loved each other that much. We’d grown up together and made a promise to grow old together.

I couldn’t imagine wanting anything else than the life we’d planned together.

CHAPTER 3

Nadia and Kristen were inside my house when I arrived home after leaving the restaurant. Kristen rushed over. “We used your spare key. Your mom called, said you could use some company.” She paused and took a breath. “She told us about The Goat. I’m so sorry.”

I nodded, tight-lipped, and tossed my keys and purse on the sideboard.

She eyed me cautiously. “Are you going to be OK?”

I shrugged. After leaving The Goat, I’d driven aimlessly around town, thinking about the restaurant, and then I thought about James. Instead of driving home, I went to the cemetery and visited his gravesite. He’d been buried at the Donato family monument next to his father, Edgar Donato, who’d passed from lung cancer earlier in the year. A flat granite slab marked James’s plot:
J
AMES
C
HARLES
D
ONATO
.
Underneath his name were his birth and death dates. Thomas and Claire weren’t sure of the exact date of death, but the coroner placed it two to five days after James had left. So they’d settled on May 20. A nice round number.

I’d spent an hour lying in the wet grass, my cheek pressed to the grave marker, thinking about the days leading up to the day he left. He had been adamant about going to Mexico. It had to be him and not Thomas. I didn’t want him to go. It was too close to the wedding. We had too much to plan and prepare. But with words and kisses he convinced me he wouldn’t be gone long. When he returned he would quit Donato Enterprises and pursue art. Painting was his passion, so I relented. Looking back, I should have been just as adamant as he was, insisting he stay home. Then he wouldn’t be dead. We’d be married and on our honeymoon in Saint Bart’s.

My mind wandered to the days after James had gone missing. I’d visited Claire, hoping to spend time with someone who grieved for James’s disappearance as much as I did. I should have known I’d been expecting too much from her. Claire was more interested in the wedding invitations that had already been mailed than the possibility our worst fears could come true. She wanted me to notify our guests that the wedding might be off.

I blanched, facing her on the opposite couch in the Donatos’ formal living room. I wasn’t anywhere close to giving up on James or our future. The couch’s silk fabric under my thighs felt cool and stiff through my skirt. The room’s modern furniture had been shipped through their import/export business, Donato Enterprises. All the pieces had sharp, hard angles like the bones in Claire’s face. There was nothing soft about any of them.

“I can’t call people. Not yet.” I couldn’t bear telling our guests the wedding might be postponed, or worse, cancelled. It made James’s ordeal too real.

Claire stiffened. “But you must—”

Movement in the doorway drew my attention. Phil came into the room, his gaze on target with mine like a hunter looking through a rifle’s scope. Soundlessly, he sat beside his aunt. He draped an arm across her shoulders, looking too relaxed and at ease for a man who might have lost his cousin.

Claire patted his thigh. She let her hand linger as she kissed his cheek. My stomach curdled.

“Aimee.” Phil dipped his chin.

I shifted restlessly on the couch. I hadn’t seen him since last summer, and I’d had no idea he was visiting.

Claire rubbed Phil’s thigh. “I don’t know what I’d do without Phil. It’s been a terrible year for our family. I’m so thankful he’s moved in to keep me company. Phil gets me through the day.”

I jerked my gaze to Claire. Phil was living here? I dug my fingernails into the cushion. My knees knocked and I pressed my legs together as they trembled, the vibration moving up my torso and outward to my arms like a ripple in water.

Claire’s brows furrowed. “Are you all right?”

I shot to my feet. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

She stood. “If you must. Give me a moment. I have something for you.” She left me in the room with Phil.

He didn’t bother to stand, but I felt his eyes slide up my body.

“It’s been a long time, Aimee. Have you missed me?”

His voice was barely above a whisper. I heard every word as clearly as if he’d bellowed in my ear. I stared at the wall behind him.

He sighed. “Ah, well. I’ve missed you. You look good . . . considering.”

Fabric rustled as he shifted on the couch.
Don’t get up; please don’t get up.

“It is unfortunate about James.”

He almost sounded remorseful. I glared at him.

He chuckled. “There it is. I’ve missed that fire.”

He’d crossed his legs, both arms extended across the couch back, leaving his starch-white oxford shirt exposed underneath the suit jacket. I felt exposed the way his gaze perused my length. Good thing a look couldn’t scald flesh. I’d have blisters.

“You understand Claire’s occupying herself with the mundane, frivolous things like your wedding. She worries about the guests because it’s too difficult for her to worry about James.”

“It’s difficult for all of us.”

He rubbed his upper lip. “Yes, well . . . I suppose it is. I’m sorry.”

Everything inside me froze. I looked down at him.

“About James,” he clarified.

Anger burned deep inside me. “You have a lot more than that to be sorry for.”

Claire’s heels echoed in the hallway. She entered the room, holding a manila folder. She motioned for me to take it.

“What’s this?”

The folder shook within her grasp. “Phone numbers and e-mails.”

I frowned. “For who?”

“James’s wedding guests. You already have their street addresses. Now you can call or e-mail, tell them what’s happening. It’ll be quicker than mailing another letter.”

Was she serious? I debated arguing, but the longer I stayed, the more time I would be stuck here. I doubted Phil had plans to leave Claire’s side, not with me here.

“I’ll call them.” I took the folder and said good-bye.

Phil stood. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“No,” I snapped.

Claire’s eyes rounded. Phil had always been her favorite, more so than her own sons. And she was a stickler for manners.

“No, thank you,” I said in the most polite tone I could manage. “I’ll see myself out.”

I left before either could object.

Kristen rubbed my arm, yanking me back to the present. I blinked at her. “Come sit down. I’ll get you something to drink.”

I followed her into the kitchen and dropped into a chair.

“We brought lunch and groceries,” Nadia explained. She aligned dry goods on the counter that separated the kitchen from the front room. Kristen poured lemonade and handed me a glass.

I drank greedily, and after wiping my mouth, burst into tears.

Kristen and Nadia stilled and stared. It took a second, but Kristen recovered first. She set down the pitcher and sat in the chair across from me, handing over a napkin so I could wipe my nose. “This has been so hard for you, Aimee. Please talk to us, tell us how we can help. Did something remind you of James? What has you so upset?”

Everything,
I thought. James. The restaurant. My career, or lack of one as of this morning.

Nadia retrieved plates from the cabinet and busied herself mixing a salad. “You need to eat something. You look pasty.”

A watery snort escaped. “Thanks a lot.” I laughed into the napkin.

She smiled. “That’s better.”

Kristen rubbed my forearm. “Please talk to us,” she beseeched again.

I groaned into the napkin, nodding. I needed to tell them, but not everything. Dabbing my eyes until they were somewhat dry, the surrounding skin tender, I confessed to something else altogether. “I’m just feeling guilty, that’s all.”

Nadia brought the salads to the table. “How so?”

“Just thinking about James and wishing I’d tried harder to convince him to stay home.” I pushed the salad around with my fork. “We’d be on our honeymoon right now.”

Kristen pushed out her lower lip. She rubbed my forearm. “You have a terrible habit of holding things inside. You shouldn’t do that. And you shouldn’t blame yourself either. You know how stubborn James could be. Whether you pushed harder or not, he would have still gone to Mexico, so there’s no point to feeling guilty.”

“Why shouldn’t she?” Nadia objected. “A little bit of guilt is OK.”

Kristen’s mouth went slack. “How the heck do you justify that?”

Nadia shrugged and stuffed arugula in her mouth. “Grief stages,” she said after she swallowed. “Moves her one step closer to getting on with her life.”

“She’s barely started grieving,” defended Kristen. “James was buried only two days ago.”

I waved my hand. “Guys, I’m still here. You can talk to me.”

“Technically, he’s been dead for almost two months,” Nadia pointed out.

Kristen gasped. “Oh my gosh, you’re unreal.” She stood and took her plate to the sink, muttering under her breath.

Nadia raised her eyes toward the ceiling before giving me a look of understanding. “I did the same thing when my dad moved out. Blamed myself.” She’d been thirteen when her father left her mother.

“It was right after he found my makeup stash, remember? He grounded me and sent me to my room. When I came out for dinner, he was gone. Once again I had disobeyed him and that’s why I thought he left. Mom told me later about Dad’s affair and I think he’d used the punishment to get me out of the room. He and Mom were having one of their screaming matches.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Same reason as you. I felt guilty so I held it all in. I didn’t learn about Dad’s affair until after I graduated from high school. For five years I blamed myself.” She reached over and squeezed my fingers. “Feeling guilty is natural. Just don’t hang on to it as long as I did. You’ll only get depressed and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to change the past.”

That was easier said than done.

“What am I supposed to do now?” I asked.

She arched a brow. “About James?”

“No, work. I need to find a job.” I needed to cook and bake . . . create. That was where James and I were alike. Where he painted to relieve stress, or think through an issue, I baked. A lot. My fingers itched to dig out ingredients from the cabinets. To mix a new batch of dough unlike the one I’d made this morning. Lost in my thoughts, I’d added too much water. The dough was too sticky. Clingy.

“You can find work. Or,” she paused for effect, “you can travel.”

“That’s what Thomas suggested.” Because of our honeymoon plans, I had a passport, but I’d never been anywhere without James. It would be strange traveling alone. He was the spontaneous one, always veering off the plotted course to venture onto side roads. “You never know what surprises you’ll find,” he’d once told me.

Nadia smiled. “I like his line of thinking.”

I shook my head. “No traveling. Not yet.”

“Then open a restaurant.”

“Did my dad tell you to say that?”

She laughed. “No, but I think it’s a great idea.”

“So did James. He wanted me to open a café. Said I could brew a mean cup of coffee.”

“It’s something to consider.”

Starting a restaurant from scratch without James by my side was an overwhelming prospect. I glanced over my shoulder at Kristen. “What do you think?”

She held up her hands. “Hey, I’m on Team Aimee. Whatever makes you happy.”

James and The Goat made me happy.

Nadia took her plate to the sink. Kristen peeked inside the fridge and opened cabinets. I watched them both, recalling today was Monday. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I have a sub, so you have me all day.” Kristen was an elementary school teacher and taught year-round. She had only a few weeks left in the summer session before the new school year started. She and Nick had married last year. They wanted to start a family soon and we’d planned to raise our kids together.

So much for that idea.

Nadia put her plate in the dishwasher and dried her hands. “I’m free only until two.”

Kristen looked around a cabinet door. “You said you had all day.”

“I received a call on my way over about the retail space downtown. The new lessee accepted my proposal and wants to meet ASAP.”

“The space on North Santa Cruz Avenue?” I asked. “The one between the dance studio and wine bar?” It was the only available spot I knew about. And I knew about it only because of James.

“The very one. It’ll be an art gallery.”

I balked. “Are you kidding me?”

Nadia gave me an odd look. “Um, no. Is everything OK?”

“You’re designing a gallery in the very spot James had planned to rent for his gallery.”

She cringed. “I’m sorry.”

I waved her off. “Not your fault.”

Kristen poked her head into the fridge again. “Where did you put the wine, Nadia?”

“There wasn’t a bottle with the groceries?” Kristen shook her head and Nadia shrugged. “It probably didn’t get bagged.”

“There should be a few bottles chilling in the garage fridge,” I offered in a tone heavy with emotion. My thoughts were still on the gallery space downtown. Its lease was hard confirmation that dream would never transpire.

Kristen gave me a wary look and went into the garage, the door slamming behind her. She returned a moment later with a bottle of chardonnay. “When did you clean your garage?”