Confess
Page 76
I look at my father again and he can see the shock still registered on my face. He actually smiles. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”
I smile in return, because how did you do it, Auburn?
The light is back in my father’s eyes. The light I haven’t seen since the night of our wreck. I don’t know how, but I know she had something to do with this. She’s like a light, unwittingly brightening up the darkest corners of a man’s soul.
I have so many questions, but I save them until after I sign out and we’re outside.
“How?” I blurt out before the door closes behind us. “Where is she? Why did he drop the charges?”
My father smiles again, and I didn’t realize how much I missed that. I’ve missed his smile almost as much as I miss my mother’s.
He hails a cab as it rounds the corner. When it stops, he opens the door and tells the cab driver her address. He takes a step back. “I think you should ask Auburn these questions.”
I eye him cautiously, debating whether to get in the cab and head to Auburn or check him for fever. He pulls me in for a hug and doesn’t let go. “I’m sorry, Owen. For so many things,” he says. His hold around me tightens and I can feel the apology in his embrace. When he pulls back, he ruffles my hair like I’m a child.
Like I’m his son.
Like he’s my dad.
“I won’t be seeing you for a few months,” he says. “I’m going away for a while.”
I hear something in his voice that I’ve never heard before. Strength. If I were to paint him right now, I would paint him the exact same shade of green as Auburn’s eyes.
He takes several steps back and watches me get inside the cab. I stare at him from the window and I smile. Callahan Gentry and his son are going to be okay.
Saying good-bye to him was almost as hard as this moment. Standing in front of her apartment door, preparing to say hello to her.
I lift my hand and knock on her door.
Footsteps.
I inhale a calming breath and wait for the door to open. It feels like these last two minutes have taken two whole lifetimes. I wipe my palms down my jeans. When the door finally opens, my eyes fall to the person standing in front of me.
He’s the last person I expected to see here. Seeing him in the doorway to Auburn’s apartment, smiling up at me, is definitely a moment I’m going to paint someday.
I don’t know how you did it, Auburn.
“Hey!” AJ says, grinning widely. “I remember you.”
I smile back at him. “Hey, AJ,” I reply. “Is your mom home?”
AJ glances over his shoulder and opens the door wider. Before he invites me in, he crooks his finger and asks me to bend down. When I do, he grins and whispers, “My muscles are really big now. I didn’t tell anybody about our tent.” He cups his hands around his mouth. “And it’s still here.”
I laugh, just as he spins around at the sound of her footsteps approaching.
“Sweetie, don’t ever open the front door without me,” I hear her say to him. He pushes the door open wider, and her eyes lock with mine.
Her footsteps come to an immediate halt.
I didn’t think seeing her would hurt this much. Every part of me hurts. My arms ache to hold her. My mouth aches to touch hers. My heart aches to love hers.
“AJ, go to the bedroom and feed your new fish.”
Her voice is firm and unwavering. She still hasn’t smiled.
“I already fed him,” AJ says to her.
Her eyes leave mine and she looks down at him. “You can feed him two more pellets as a snack, okay?” She points in the direction of her bedroom. He must know that look, because he immediately retreats toward the bedroom.
As soon as AJ disappears, I take a quick step back because she’s running at me. She jumps into my arms so hard and fast, I’m forced to take several more steps back and hit the wall behind me so that we don’t fall. Her arms are locked around my neck and she’s kissing, kissing, kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before. I can taste her tears and laughter, and it’s an incredible combination.
I’m not sure how long we stand in the hallway kissing, because seconds aren’t long enough when they’re spent with her.
Her feet eventually meet the floor and her arms lock around my waist and her face presses against my chest. I wrap my hand around the back of her head and hold her like I plan on holding her every day after today.
She’s crying, not because she’s sad, but because she doesn’t know how to express what she’s feeling. She knows there aren’t words good enough for this moment.
So neither of us speaks, because there aren’t any words good enough for me, either. I press my cheek to the top of her head and stare inside her apartment. I look up at the painting on her living room wall. I smile, remembering the first night I walked into her apartment and saw it for the first time. I knew she had to have the painting in her possession somewhere, but actually seeing it displayed in her living room was an incredible feeling. It was surreal. And I wanted to turn to her that night and tell her all about it. I wanted to tell her my connection to it. I wanted to tell her my connection to her.
But I didn’t, and I never will, because this confession isn’t mine to share.
This confession belonged to Adam.
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Owen
I’m sitting on the floor of the hallway, next to my father’s hospital room. I watch as she exits the room next door. “You’re just throwing them away?” she asks in disbelief. Her words are directed at the woman she just trailed into the hallway. I know the woman’s name is Lydia, but I still don’t know the name of the girl. Not for lack of trying, though.
I smile in return, because how did you do it, Auburn?
The light is back in my father’s eyes. The light I haven’t seen since the night of our wreck. I don’t know how, but I know she had something to do with this. She’s like a light, unwittingly brightening up the darkest corners of a man’s soul.
I have so many questions, but I save them until after I sign out and we’re outside.
“How?” I blurt out before the door closes behind us. “Where is she? Why did he drop the charges?”
My father smiles again, and I didn’t realize how much I missed that. I’ve missed his smile almost as much as I miss my mother’s.
He hails a cab as it rounds the corner. When it stops, he opens the door and tells the cab driver her address. He takes a step back. “I think you should ask Auburn these questions.”
I eye him cautiously, debating whether to get in the cab and head to Auburn or check him for fever. He pulls me in for a hug and doesn’t let go. “I’m sorry, Owen. For so many things,” he says. His hold around me tightens and I can feel the apology in his embrace. When he pulls back, he ruffles my hair like I’m a child.
Like I’m his son.
Like he’s my dad.
“I won’t be seeing you for a few months,” he says. “I’m going away for a while.”
I hear something in his voice that I’ve never heard before. Strength. If I were to paint him right now, I would paint him the exact same shade of green as Auburn’s eyes.
He takes several steps back and watches me get inside the cab. I stare at him from the window and I smile. Callahan Gentry and his son are going to be okay.
Saying good-bye to him was almost as hard as this moment. Standing in front of her apartment door, preparing to say hello to her.
I lift my hand and knock on her door.
Footsteps.
I inhale a calming breath and wait for the door to open. It feels like these last two minutes have taken two whole lifetimes. I wipe my palms down my jeans. When the door finally opens, my eyes fall to the person standing in front of me.
He’s the last person I expected to see here. Seeing him in the doorway to Auburn’s apartment, smiling up at me, is definitely a moment I’m going to paint someday.
I don’t know how you did it, Auburn.
“Hey!” AJ says, grinning widely. “I remember you.”
I smile back at him. “Hey, AJ,” I reply. “Is your mom home?”
AJ glances over his shoulder and opens the door wider. Before he invites me in, he crooks his finger and asks me to bend down. When I do, he grins and whispers, “My muscles are really big now. I didn’t tell anybody about our tent.” He cups his hands around his mouth. “And it’s still here.”
I laugh, just as he spins around at the sound of her footsteps approaching.
“Sweetie, don’t ever open the front door without me,” I hear her say to him. He pushes the door open wider, and her eyes lock with mine.
Her footsteps come to an immediate halt.
I didn’t think seeing her would hurt this much. Every part of me hurts. My arms ache to hold her. My mouth aches to touch hers. My heart aches to love hers.
“AJ, go to the bedroom and feed your new fish.”
Her voice is firm and unwavering. She still hasn’t smiled.
“I already fed him,” AJ says to her.
Her eyes leave mine and she looks down at him. “You can feed him two more pellets as a snack, okay?” She points in the direction of her bedroom. He must know that look, because he immediately retreats toward the bedroom.
As soon as AJ disappears, I take a quick step back because she’s running at me. She jumps into my arms so hard and fast, I’m forced to take several more steps back and hit the wall behind me so that we don’t fall. Her arms are locked around my neck and she’s kissing, kissing, kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before. I can taste her tears and laughter, and it’s an incredible combination.
I’m not sure how long we stand in the hallway kissing, because seconds aren’t long enough when they’re spent with her.
Her feet eventually meet the floor and her arms lock around my waist and her face presses against my chest. I wrap my hand around the back of her head and hold her like I plan on holding her every day after today.
She’s crying, not because she’s sad, but because she doesn’t know how to express what she’s feeling. She knows there aren’t words good enough for this moment.
So neither of us speaks, because there aren’t any words good enough for me, either. I press my cheek to the top of her head and stare inside her apartment. I look up at the painting on her living room wall. I smile, remembering the first night I walked into her apartment and saw it for the first time. I knew she had to have the painting in her possession somewhere, but actually seeing it displayed in her living room was an incredible feeling. It was surreal. And I wanted to turn to her that night and tell her all about it. I wanted to tell her my connection to it. I wanted to tell her my connection to her.
But I didn’t, and I never will, because this confession isn’t mine to share.
This confession belonged to Adam.
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Owen
I’m sitting on the floor of the hallway, next to my father’s hospital room. I watch as she exits the room next door. “You’re just throwing them away?” she asks in disbelief. Her words are directed at the woman she just trailed into the hallway. I know the woman’s name is Lydia, but I still don’t know the name of the girl. Not for lack of trying, though.
