“You mean the three books we own?” Tuck says.
“Yup. All color-coded.”
“See?” Julia throws her arms around the two of us. “What would you do without me?”
We bust up laughing at her uptight antics. Tuck and I pat her on the back, then she coils her long limbs into a proud criss-cross applesauce.
She swipes the frame from Tuck’s hand. “Why wasn’t I in this picture?”
Tuck says, “That was taken a few months after my parents bought the house from Brando’s mom. You were still living in Washington.”
“Oh.” Julia tunnels through the box. “What’s this?”
A slow grin forms as I take the book from her.
“My sketchbook. I forgot about this.” I unlatch the braided tie and flip through the pages. They weren’t half bad. I always had a good eye for spatial reasoning and the way the light fell. I can picture my eight-year-old self sitting on my bed, pouring all my feelings into each pencil scratch.
Nostalgia fills me as I land on a sketch. It’s of the big oak tree towering on the edge of my lawn growing up. I broke so many bones climbing that sucker.
The next page features a thick bird’s nest with a tiny bird nestled inside.
I flip the page.
“Awww. That cat is… sorta cute?” Julia peeks over my shoulder at the squashy, ugly cat.
I don’t remember if the cat was actually that ugly or if I was just that angry after being left to my cat-lady neighbor’s care. I had already been there all day and was then forced to stay the night.
But that was only one of the first times Mom didn’t come home.
I still can hear the slurred speech of her friend calling to say she was sleeping off her hangover. That was after the second Chad.
I swallow the familiar churn of anger, reminding myself that she isn’t that person anymore. And I am no longer that young boy, listening through thin walls as my mom gets screamed at by her boyfriend of the week.
My fists clench, a subconscious reminder that I’ve since learned how to box. And if any of them came around again, I could easily knock their lights out.
Julia’s hand softens as it meets my shoulder.
“This wasn’t a good one, huh?” she murmurs.
I meet her sympathetic gaze and shake my head. “Nope. Not a happy sketch.”
Tuck claps me on the back, taking the sketchbook.
“Then let’s find a happier one.” He flips through each page, and I let him. “Man, I forgot how good you were at this stuff.”
I shrug. “We always had pencils, and it was cheaper than therapy.”
We all laugh a sad, collective laugh.
I like that Jules and Tuck were there for me through so much.
“Is that Starved Rock State Park?” Tuck dips his head toward one of my all-time favorite drawings.
“Yeah,” I say. “That was the best trip.”
“Which one?” Tuck snorts.
I chuckle. “Don’t know.”
