And love me more.
I never succeeded, though.
No matter how hard I tried. And man, I tried. For years. Decades even.
Truth be told, I’m still trying.
And failing. At least on the inside.
Flung back to the present, I flinch, jumping backward from a sudden jarring slam of the lid of the rolltop desk.
Oops.
While lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize I was doing the open-close-clicky-thing with Reed’s desk until the weight of the slats yanked it out of my hands.
And now it’s open.
Well...?since the desk is open, I should see what Reed’s got in here. It would be rude not to.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m tits deep in a pile of manila folders I retrieved from the bottom drawer on the right. The left drawers held nothing of interest—receipts, title to his motorcycle, tax forms, and boring stuff. However, I think I’ve hit the jackpot with the final drawer.
Before opening the first folder, I check both my shoulders. Unlike previous glances, I’m not looking to see if someone is behind me. This time, I’m looking directlyatmy shoulders. If I’m lucky, I’ll see a little angel who’ll tell me to put the paperwork back before I go any further.
Alas, my shoulders are angel-free.
Down the rabbit hole, I tumble.
The first folder is loaded with a messy bunch of random pictures. No apparent rhyme or reason to the groupings. Some on glossy photo paper and others on regular printer paper.
Flipping through the stacks, I find several pictures of Reed. Sometimes he’s with other people, but nobody I recognize.
A few of them seem to be recent. Others from years ago.
I tuck one foot underneath me and spin the chair with the other as I peruse this fascinating collection.
Man...?Reed was such a cute kid. In one photo, he stands by a river, holding a tiny fish up for the camera like he’s proud of his catch. He’s missing a front tooth. Adorable.
I squint as I study the background. Huge trees lining the riverbank, shooting upward. Must have been taken on a vacation in the mountains. No views like that in Florida.
In a different picture, an older Reed is in a tuxedo with a boutonnière on his lapel. He’s posing in front of a fireplace with a pretty brunette girl wearing a gaudy dress. A flare of irrational jealousy burns in my gut. This must be from prom night. Odd that I don’t remember Reed going to prom.
When Reed was in high school, I was a permanent fixture at Kenzie’s house. By that time, being with my family was unbearable. Since Kenzie’s house didn’t have a fireplace, I assume this photo was taken at his date’s home.
Lucky girl, whom I hate instantly.
Not that he could have taken me, considering the age difference. But still. I don’t like this chick.
I lean closer for a better look at him. Something isn’t quite right. I have no recollection of his hair being this shaggy. And there was never a time when I didn’t notice Reed’s appearance. I’d remember if he went through a phase when he wasn’t perfectly clean-cut.
My memory must be playing tricks on me.
Exhaling, I shake my head and flip to the next photo.
This one looks more recent. Seems to be taken at a beachside wedding. In front of a decorated arch, Reed stands beside the groom—anenormousman with kind eyes and a thick beard.
The bridal party fans out on both sides of the arch. There’s something eerily familiar about one of the bridesmaids, but I can’t put my finger on it.
I tuck the photo in the back of the stack. With the next wedding picture, my earlier flare of jealousy ignites into a raging ball of fire. The focal point of the photo is clearly the bride and groom dancing; however, in the background, Reed and the blond bridesmaid are also dancing. No space between the pair.
