Everything We Keep

~ Part Five ~

Three of James’ framed paintings adorned the wall above the sideboard by the front door. Everything was in its place except the man who lived there. I tossed my keys and clutch on the sideboard. Nadia walked through the dining area into the kitchen, the click of heels on hardwood echoing through the house. “Do you want something to drink?” “Tea, please.” I slipped off my shoes, spread and stretched my toes. Nadia pulled out the blender. She scooped ice cubes from the freezer’s tray and dropped them into the pitcher. They crackled, adjusting to the pitcher’s warmer surface. “How about something stronger?” I shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.” Kristen looked up from where she’s removed her shoes by the coffee table and frowned. She sank into the leather chair nearest the fireplace, tucking her feet underneath her legs. As I retreated to the master bedroom, I felt her eyes on me. I went straight to the closet James and I had shared and opened the beveled doors.

My clothes hung next to his suits. All charcoal, black, and navy. Some with pinstripes, but most solid. Power suits— that was what he’s called them. So different from the casual plaid shirts and jeans he’d wear at home. Looking through his wardrobe, one would think the clothes belonged to two different people. Sometimes I’ve felt I was living with two different men. The man who worked for Donato Enterprises was formal and polite compared with the free-spirited artist with sleeves rolled and paint splattered on his forearms. I loved them both. I pressed my nose against the sleeve of his favorite blue shirt and inhaled. Sandalwood and rich amber, his cologne, mixed with a hint of turpentine from cleaning his paint supplies. He’s worn this shirt the last time he painted, and behind my closed eyelids, I saw him, shoulder muscles rippling under the faded blue cotton as he wielded the brush.

“Do you want to talk?” Kristen softly asked behind me. I shook my head, untied the knot at my waist, and unwrapped my dress. It slid down and pooled at my feet. Reaching into the closet, I snagged James’s shirt and the sweatpants I’ve had since high school and put them on. Warmth surrounded me as I tugged on the shirt. It felt like James giving me a hug in the pull of material across my back. I’ll never forget you, Aimee. My heart cracked a bit more. I choked on a sob. Behind me, the hardwood floor creaked and the bed moaned. I shut the closet doors and faced Kristen. She’s propped herself against the paneled headboard and pulled a pillow across her lap. James’ pillow.

My shoulders dropped. “I miss him.” “I know.” She patted the space next to her. I crawled across the bed and lay my head on her shoulder. She rested her cheek on my crown. We’ve sat this way since I was five, snuggled against each other as we whispered secrets. We’ve also been sitting this way a lot during the past two months. Kristen was two years older, and she’s filled the sibling void of my only-child youth. She draped her arm across my shoulders. “It’ll get easier. I promise.” Fresh tears spilled over. Kristen fumbled for the tissues on the nightstand. I snatched several and blew my nose. She brushed damp curls off my temple and grabbed her own tissue, dabbing the corners of her eyes. A watery chuckle escaped, and she smiled.

“We’re a mess, aren’t we?” Soon we joined Nadia in the kitchen, and over margaritas we shared stories about growing up with James. Several hours and too many cocktails later, Nadia crashed on the couch and started snoring within seconds. Kristen was already asleep in my bed. I felt isolated in the darkened house, the only light coming from the candles Kristen had lit earlier. I lifted Nadia’s feet and sank into the couch, dropping her feet in my lap. It was ten o’clock, and I should have been in James’ arms as he guided us across the dance floor at our wedding, leading me in a gentle sway to our song, “Two of Us.” Nadia grunted, shifting on the couch. She stood and shuffled to the guest bedroom, dragging the throw blanket behind her. I took the spot she vacated and let my mind drift. I thought of James and why he’s gone to Mexico when he did.

Why not wait, or let Thomas handle the client? He was Donato Enterprises’ president, and overseeing the company’s furniture import/export operations was his job. As the finance executive, James’ responsibility was handling the books, not contract negotiations. But he’s insisted he was the only one who could manage this particular client. He’s left the day after I mailed our wedding invitations. My eyes grew heavy and I drifted to sleep, my thoughts twisting. I dreamed about the woman in the parking lot. She was dressed from head to toe in black, and her eyes radiated an iridescent glow. She raised her arms over a prone form, and her lips moved. The melodic chant of her incantation vibrated the air around her and the body resting at her feet. A body that was now moving. That was when I realized the body wasn’t just any man. It was James. And Lacy was bringing him back from the dead.

End of the Part 5!

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