Page 101 of Talk Wicked to Me

“Her parents don’t look like the sticks-in-the-mud you described.”

“I know. It’s weird to see them like this. It looks like they were at a party. My parents used to talk about how much fun they had together, but as long as I’ve known them, her parents have never been anything like they are in this picture. Gwen’s going to go crazy when she sees it.”

She set the picture aside and showed him her mother’s handwritten recipe cards and baking books, her father’s degree certificates and other professional commendations, and several of her mother’s journals. Baz tried to organize as they went through things, making stacks against the wall so Emerson would know where everything was.

“You know, I was just thinking. Zeke made digital copies of all of Leah’s family pictures so she’d never lose them. I’d like to ask him to do that for you if you don’t mind.”

“That would be amazing.”

“Great. I’ll take care of it.” He got up to set another stack of pictures with the others and peered into one of the moving boxes. “Hey, babe, there’s a sweatshirt and a big metal box inside this. Want me to bring them over, or have you already gone through this stuff?”

“I didn’t get to that one yet.”

He withdrew the metal box with the sweatshirt on top of it and carried them over to her.

EMERSON SNAGGED THE faded gray sweatshirt off the top of the metal box before he even set it down. She shook it out and held it at arm’s length, her heart filling up at the sight of CORNELL written across the front in red. “This was my dad’s favorite sweatshirt. I used to steal it from him and wear it for days. He’d complain, and then out of the blue he’d steal it back and wear it to dinner, or plop down on the couch beside me and wait for me to notice. I’d beg him to give it back, and he’d make a big deal about how great the sweatshirt was, but he never handed it over.”

“But he let you steal it again, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t let me. I was sneaky.”

“Or he was. Maybe that was his way of keeping it special.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you never met my father? Because that is definitely something he would’ve done.” She pressed the sweatshirt to her nose, inhaling deeply. Her father’s spicy scent infiltrated her senses, making her long for him. “Mm. It still smells like him.” She pressed it to her face again, breathing it in. “God, I miss his smell. It’s so comforting.” She held it up for Baz to smell.

“It smells spicy.”

“He always smelled like that. I used to love walking into the den because it smelled like him. You should get used to seeing this sweatshirt. I’m going to wear it every time it’s cold, and when I’m sick, and when I want to feel closer to him.” She bundled the sweatshirt in her lap and ran her hand over the metal box. “I’ve never seen this box before.” She lifted the top and found something wrapped in a towel. She unwrapped it carefully, revealing a plaster circle the size of a dinner plate. THE LOCKHARTS was etched in an arch, above a large handprint with a smaller one inside it and a tiny baby’s handprint inside that one.

“Baz” came out sounding as awestruck as she felt. He touched her back as she lifted a shaky hand and placed it over her mother’s handprint. It was a perfect fit. Her gaze flicked up to his, and a smile stretched across her face.

“What a gift.” He kissed her temple.

Heart racing, she closed her eyes, imagining her parents holding her when she was Brennan’s age, pressing each of their hands into the plaster and then doing the same with hers. She wished she knew what they’d said in that moment. What they’d felt. But she realized their words didn’t matter, and she knew what they’d felt. Love.

As she opened her eyes, she found Baz watching her with the warmest expression.

He rubbed her back. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I just…I feel closer to them now. I have pieces of their life, things I can show Brennan when he’s older. I feel like I know them so much better now, even though all of this is just a flash in the pan, and not indicative of all that they were.”

“No, it’s not, darlin’. It’s the essence of who they were, just like you are.”

She swiped at tears, nodding. “I was so afraid to open the boxes. Afraid of what being up close and personal with pieces of my parents’ lives would do to me, and afraid it would all feel too final. But I saw your mom today at the coffee shop, and she told me about when she went through Ashley’s things.”

“That was a rough time for all of us, but in the long run it helped.”

“That’s what she said. I feel lighter than I have in forever, like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I don’t know how Gwen’s mother knew what to keep, but I’m so glad she did.”

As she rewrapped the plaster in the towel, he said, “I’ll ask around and find out the best way to preserve that. We can get a display case or something to protect it.”

“That would be great.” She handed it to him, and he placed it on the dresser.

After a few deep breaths, she reached into the metal box and withdrew a stack of birthday cards and crayon drawings she’d made for her parents when she was young.

“One day Brennan’s going to make those for you.”

She had a feeling, a hope—and boy, that hope felt good—that Baz would still be in their lives and Brennan would make them for him, too.