His smile falters. “I found these in the bedroom. Have you seen them?”
My heart squeezes. Idon’t know what’s in that box, but I know it was Gramps’s. Which means it needs to be put back. Locked. Kept safe. Exactly where he had it.
I snatch the box and set it on the counter, then hold out my hand for the pictures. “Give them back. They’re not yours. Or mine.”
Theo watches me carefully as he hands them over. The second my fingers wrap around the photo paper, a sigh of relief rattles out of me. Ipress them to my chest and silence blankets the room.
After a few beats, Theo says, “Have you seen those photos?” His eyes are full of sympathy, like he can sense everything I’m not ready to say out loud. “You should look at them. They’re of Gramps and—”
“I can’t.” I press the pictures harder into me, like I might absorb them and end this conversation.
Too late, I realize that choice of words reveals more than I’d like.Idon’t want towould be straightforward. ButI can’timplies something different.
A difference Theo doesn’t miss. “Why can’t you?” he asks, tilting his head.
Because it would hurt too much. Because I’m afraid of how I would feel after. Because I have an unexplainable, looming sense that if I look, something will fundamentally change.
He steps closer, and my first instinct is to push him away. Create distance between us. I can feel something destabilizinginside me, and I don’t know what it is or how to stop it. I only know that he needs to be far away from it.
But when his fingers graze my elbows—the touch barely there, but warm—and his scent envelopes me—woodsy and sunshine andcomfort—my heart settles a little. Idraw in a slow breath.
“You’re in them.” His smile is gentle. “Just look.”
Emotion clogs my throat. Something burns behind my eyes. And when I finally lower the photos, a choked sob bursts out of me.
The top image shows Gramps and me in front of an empty building. I’m probably seven or so, short blond pigtails, denim overalls, and an ice cream cone in one hand. Gramps is kneeling on the concrete beside me, an arm around my shoulders, a twin ice cream in his grip. The redbrick building behind us has a ForRent sign in the window.
I know exactly what this is, but I flip over the picture to confirm. And there’s his messy, loopy script.Our Bookshop, Seattle, Washington.
Tears spring to my eyes. Ifeel Theo shift to stand behind me, his head curving over my shoulder as I go to the next photo.
This one, we’re both in raincoats, a little younger, standing in front of a gray-walled, empty shop.Our Bookshop, New Meadows, Idaho.Iflip through more pictures. A small white house. A corner spot beside a plant shop. A tiny airstream camper. All of them with Gramps and me, smiling in front of potential bookshop locations.
I don’t remember every spot, but I remember Gramps in each one. He’s so full of life in these photos. Kind, patient eyes. That wide, toothy smile. Those newsboy caps he wore everywhere.
He always traveled with us, every family vacation we went on, and he’d get so excited when he saw somewhere he thought would make the perfect location for his dream bookstore.
“Pull over! That’s the one!” he’d say. We’d peek in the windows—he’d point to where the reading nook would be, the best location for the register, and how he’d lay out the shelves. “It’s perfect. I’m tellin’ you. We’re gonna do this one day.”
I can still hear the steadfast assurance in his voice. Blinking rapidly, I try to stop the tears gathering at the edges of my eyes. He was so sure we would get to do that one day, but now a stack of pictures in a metal box is all that remains of that dream.
Theo reaches around me to point to the top photo. “Look at your little umbrella. It’s adorable. And Gramps’s hat.” His breath of laughter caresses my cheek. “What’s the story behind these pictures?”
It takes me a few moments to make the words form. “It was always his dream to open a bookstore. Ever since he was a kid. But Grandma died when Dad was young, and Gramps was working full-time when they moved here. And I think his dream just never became a reality.” I flip to the next picture, where we appear to be standing in front of a barn, and I choke on a watery laugh. He could see his vision anywhere.
Distantly, an awareness comes over me that I’m leaning back against Theo. He’s a sturdy wall behind me, holding me up, warming me all the way through. Ifeel soft and vulnerable—not at all how I normally am in his presence. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to slip away from it. One of his hands lifts to slide up my arm, and I don’t push that away either.
A tear slips down my cheek and I catch it with the back of my hand. “Once he’d spread his book obsession to me, it becameourbookshop. He’d mention it everywhere we went. We’d talk about what it could look like and every time we read a book we loved, he’d make a note that we needed to stock it. And I guess he was collecting these pictures along the way.” My shoulders shudder with a deep breath. “It was just a pipe dream.”
I leaf through a few more pictures, some of them familiar and some I have no memory of. But I don’t even make it all the way through before I realize tears are streaming down my cheeks.
My face crumples. Something has unwoven, and all my insides are spilling out. There’s nothing left to fight against. Idon’t know if I’ve ever cried like this—as if the sadness is coming from some bone-deep reservoir inside me. Like I’ve been storing up all my grief for this very moment.
Before I know it, I’ve turned and pressed my forehead into Theo’s chest. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, and I shake against him, letting my tears wet his shirt. As much as I’ve tried to keep a wall between us, his presence feelsgood. His hug is safe. Warm. Familiar.
He rubs my back. Presses his cheek to the top of my head. Murmurs soothing words I can’t understand, but it’s enough tofeelthem.
When my hiccuped sobs have slowed, I pull back to meet his eyes. He cups the sides of my face, slipping his thumbs over my cheeks to catch the dampness there. His gaze sweeps over my face, soft and searching. My own self-consciousness follows the path. I’m probably a mess—swollen-eyed and red and puffy.
