Opal POV
We work our way through each of the rooms in Pop's small home. Countless books from his shelves packed away into boxes while picture frames were wrapped in newspaper and placed in plastic storage bins. Bags of clothing to be donated with the exception of a couple of my favorite shirts of his that are going home with me. Anything that seemed to be letters, bills or other paper items of importance we just threw into a couple boxes and loaded them into Rae's car.
So here I am, six hours later, finally sitting back on my couch with my book boyfriend once more. And as into the story line as I was before getting kidnapped, I can't find my way back into the same headspace as I was in before.
In fact, my headspace hasn't been the same since realizing what Chris did for my grandfather. Well, his family I suppose. And it only got worse when the girls Facetimed him.
The man looked good.
Real good.
As little as I spoke, one might've assumed I was angry with him. But really, I was terrified the butterflies would fly straight from my stomach and out of my mouth if I spoke more than a couple words at a time.
It didn't go unnoticed that the girls each took their turn talking to him outside. I'm not stupid, I know I was the topic of conversation. I just wasn't included probably because they were concerned with what I might say or how I'd react to whatever they were telling him about me.
I snap my book shut again, groaning for the simple fact that I can't focus. I lay my head back on the arm of the couch, the book resting against my chest. My fingernails absentmindedly tapping the hard cover. I close my eyes for a moment, fighting against the urge to fall asleep knowing if I did I'd be awake for the rest of the night after just a couple hours. My head falls to the right as I open my eyes. They land on a box that I don't remember noticing when we were loading up Rae's trunk. I realize it must've been packed up by Lily since I recognize her handwriting on the side: "Pop's Office- Opal."
The box under it is labeled bills, and another with photo albums. All three came from his office, so why is the one labeled with my name.
Right as I sit up my cell dings from its spot on the coffee table. I chew on my bottom lip as I notice it's a text from Chris. It's simple, straightforward and to the point.
"You okay?"
I exhale a sigh, licking my now aching lip, before answering.
"I'll let you know."
It takes no time at all for an emoji with a quirked brow to be sent back my way. I shake my head as a tiny grin finds its way to my lips.
"Later."
A simple thumbs up comes through almost instantly as I set the phone back down. I grab my pocket knife from the catchall tray in my foyer and slice open the box labeled "Pop's Office- Opal."
Sitting right on top is my yearbook photo from my senior year of high school. I chuckle as I think back to the day we had it taken. Granny had decided before hand that she was going to buy me my own set of pearls to wear for the image. Pops said he was having none of that and I could just wear Granny's set. He obviously won out, but on the day of my graduation from high school he handed me a shiny black box that held my very own strand of pearls.
Grabbing my phone I snap a photo and send it off to Chris with the caption "taking a walk down memory lane."
Looking back in the box I see a class picture from what I believe was fourth grade. Miss Gillian? Yep, fourth grade. The year of perms and big bangs. I must be glutton for being mocked because I snap another photo and send it off.
I get a response just as I pull out a small purple sachet bag.
"Damn, girl."
I giggle as I type out my response. "I know. I think we kept the hairspray industry in business through just fourth and fifth grade."
"I meant the senior photo. I'd have been all over that."
"Doubtful," I reply.
I peek into the purple bag and find myself shrieking, the bag being thrown across the room.
"He kept my teeth," I type off to Chris. "That's weird."
I can picture Chris' face contorting into disgust and hilarity. "Well, he was your tooth fairy. Should he have just thrown them away?"
"Uh, yeah."
"You being you, he probably knew you'd have found them and questioned him about it."
I smile softly. He has a point. I was a very inquisitive kid, lots of Nancy Drew moments.
I bite the bullet and take the box over to the couch and decide to Facetime Chris. We can be friends right? Friends Facetime just to talk.
"You're right," I say as soon as his face fills my screen, an effort to keep myself from being disappointed when he doesn't give me his typical 'Hey gorgeous' greeting.
"Of course I am," he says. "Right about what this time?"
I roll my eyes, taking in the smirk covering his lips. "I'd have had a lot of questions if I had found them."
"He knew you well," Chris reminds me. "What are you doing exactly?"
It's then that I notice he's laying in his bed. "Aren't you going to bed a little early?" I ask.
He gives me a strange look. "It's ten o'clock, Ope. I have a shift at six."
"Crap," I exhale, hanging my head. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think about it. I'll quit bothering you with all the crazy things I find. Sleep well, Chris." I see he's trying to interrupt me, stop me eve, but I quickly disconnect the call.
If we were still dating I would've known his schedule and wouldn't have bothered him so late with things so trivial. My phone dings just like I knew it would.
"Could've let me say goodnight before hanging up on me, sweetheart."
With as much time that's passed, with such few conversations and he still calls me sweetheart.
"Gah, this man."
I send back a simple 'sorry' along with a shrugging emoji before I turn off the cell completely. Digging further into the cardboard box I come across a locked metal box. I'm curious as to why it's locked, but also where on earth the key could be. Flipping the box around in my hand I see it taped to the bottom. "Very creative, old man."
I cross my legs on the couch, settling the box in my lap. Do I start this now? Unsure of what I'm about to find and the time of night it is leads me to think this may not be the best idea. Oh well, here goes nothing. I slide the key in, turning it to the right until I hear a slight clicking sound. With the key still sitting in the lock I pull the top of the box up.
An uncontrollable smile finds its way on my face as I see a handful of photos from when Pops and Granny got married at the courthouse. The love truly just radiated from one another, their affection for each other completely evident.
Looking at the picture, my finger trails over Granny's dress. Her wedding dress almost became my own. Instead it is now just a reminder of what will never be. I gently swipe away at the lone tear that escaped my eye without thinking anything of it.
Under the wedding photos is another image. This one steals my breath. It's a photo of me as an infant, held sleeping against my mother's chest. My heart aches for the loss that I was too young to really understand. I imagine if I had an understanding of it, then it would feel much like losing Pops or Granny did.
I notice now how much I favor her. The color of our hair pretty close to being the same, although the image is old and slightly discolored from age. Her brown eyes are staring down at me as I slept on her chest.
Moving that photograph I see one that was captured when I was three years old, being swallowed by my mom's wedding dress. Oddly enough I only know a handful of other times in which my smile was that wide. But it's the background of the photo that catches my eye the most. My mom is standing off to the side, her hand on her very swollen stomach with my dad standing directly behind her, looking at her with just as much love as I saw radiating from Granny and Pops.
So what changed him? How did he turn into someone who could walk away from those he loved? Questions that I'll probably never get answered unless I want to open myself up to being hurt by him all over again.
Taking another breath to push down the beginning stages of an ache in my chest. I shake my head, attempting to clear it from thoughts that are too deep for such a late night home alone.
I push the photographs, along with the intrusive questionings, to the side. That's when another envelope catches my eye. My name, my full name, written in blue ink, in Pop's handwriting. I contemplate what could be in the sealed envelope, turning it over multiple times in my hands. There's a slight weight to it but not very thick. Upon opening I find a folded piece of paper. When I pull the sides back I see another set of keys. The paper holding a very short note, addressed to me.
Ope,
These keys will unlock a safe deposit box at the credit union in Jacksonville, the one around Riverside. Everything in it is yours. I love you, my stubborn girl.
Pops