The sight was almost dizzying in an extremely irrational way. “It’s a shirt,” Saylor chided herself through the painful tightness in her throat. History dredged itself up, but she shoved it down, inhaling against the spots flashing in her vision. Ridiculous, that a slip of fabric could have this effect on her after so long.
“I’ve got to stop this.”
Wadding the shirt into her fist, she marched to the cardboard box by the front door, which was overflowing with baby clothes piled on top of some of Parker’s old toys and other books she hadn’t read in years and didn’t plan to read again.
She hesitated. It was strange. She missed those stages with Parker too, seeing him crawl all over the house and chew on his tiny fists. Why wasn’t it harder to get rid of those little insignias of that time in her life? The box was full—it was ready to go out to her trunk, to be dropped off at the thrift store. She should let the shirt go, add it to the stack. But her fist wouldn’t open.
“Ready, Mom!” Parker bounded out of the hallway in t-shirt, jeans, and Captain America socks. Saylor smiled at him, her thoughts still whirling.
“Just one more minute,” she told him, hurrying back to her room. With a brick in her chest, she returned the shirt to its drawer, slammed the drawer shut, and helped him find his boots.
They located one under his bed. After fifteen minutes of looking for Parker’s other boot, she found it behind the dryer. Saylor was starting to think she should charge this kid a finder’s fee.
“You got it?” he said.
“I’ve got it. Come on. You can put it on in the car.”
Saylor carried him outside, juggling him on one hip long enough to lock the front door of their house behind her. They shuffled down the snowy path to their white car. She opened the back door for Parks and handed him his other boot after helping him buckle in.
Saylor settled herself into the driver’s seat. The car gulped a few times, struggling, too cold to want to start.
“Come on,” Saylor said under her breath as it churned, the engine noises whirring. “You can do this.”
“Is it dead, Mommy?”
“No, bud. Just cold.”
Finally, the car started, and they passed through town, turning on Blue Lakes Boulevard. Stores and restaurants lined either side, the street crammed with traffic. Fred Myer caught her eye, and after a frantic glance at the clock, she pulled into the parking lot.
“What are we doing here? I thought we were going to Gramma’s.”
“We are. I just need to grab something.” She couldn’t go to a New Years’ party empty-handed. Especially not when she was practically dating the boss.
Saylor helped Parker out, and they hurried into the sliding entrance door. Festive music still played on the overhead speakers. Parker stopped her every ten seconds, pointing out boxes of cookies, a small stand of Spider-Man sunglasses, even some apples.
“Look, Mom,” Parker rushed over to the row of shopping carts stocked with discounted Christmas items. “On sale! On sale!”
Sure enough, 50% and 75% off signs labeled each of the carts filled with Santa hats, boxes of Christmas lights, nutcrackers, and even furry, red- and green-striped socks. She rifled through, partly out of curiosity and partly to humor him.
“Look, candy. Oh.” His face fell when he realized the thin box didn’t hold candy but a cluster of mistletoe. He nearly chucked it back when she nabbed it from him.
“Let me see,” she said.
Her whole body tingled at the sight of the small plant with red berries, remembering Cole’s sweet story and his soft, cinnamon lips as they pressed against hers. Parker was still rummaging through, so she slipped a few packages into the cart.
“You’re getting some?”
“You never know when mistletoe will come in handy,” she said, eager for tonight. Not for the party, necessarily. But for the alone time she was hoping would come after the party. Kissing Cole was all she’d been able to think about since it happened.
She found a marked-down poinsettia, and they hurried through the self-checkout and back to the car. Fortunately, it started after the third or fourth rotation. Saylor knew she needed to take this thing in to get it checked, but the thought only sank into her stomach like a cinder. Another thing she couldn’t afford right now.
They turned off toward Hayward Lane and pulled into her parents’ driveway. Their home was elegant, with a white, fenced porch and two levels of beautiful brick. It was what their move here to Twin shortly after Saylor’s was all about, after all. Her dad’s new job had been a huge increase in his pay.
She left the car idling, not daring to shut it off again. Another car lingered near the sidewalk, a car Saylor didn’t recognize. The county marking on the plates gave her pause, but she let it slide and stepped through the front door.
The smell of apples and warmth seared through her. A beautiful rug lined the tiled floor, while a large painting of their family from several years ago, before the incident, hung directly before her. Before her life had had its first big turn.
“Mom?”
“In here,” she called back.
Parker kicked off his boots and scurried in. His excited, “Grandpa! Grandpa!” filled the air, followed by her dad’s laughter and merry groan from scooping Parker into a hug.
The kitchen window displayed their snowy yard. The room opened from there to a dining area where Saylor’s brother, Greg, sat at the dining table, clasping a mug and staring down at the liquid in it.
She stopped in her tracks.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. He’d gained more weight, and a long beard made his chin look like one of those aluminum scrubbies meant to take rust off of metal.
“Saylor,” Greg said, rising.
“Don’t bother,” she told him. She
