Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Yes.”
“Our parents weren’t terrible people or anything,” she said, tucking her hands beneath her cheek. “They provided for us. We never went without, even when things were tight. They just…didn’t know how to be parents. My dad grew up in a group home, so he really never had that kind of family life, you know? And my mom’s wasn’t much better. I think my grandma tried, but she’d been through so much trauma in her life that she never really recovered.”
“You don’t have to explain,” I assured her, cupping the side of her neck so I could feel her pulse against my fingers.
“My grandma on my mom’s side actually escaped Europe during the Second World War.”
“Oh?”
Lucy nodded. “She was only like thirteen or fourteen, and family lore says she went over the Alps to Switzerland and eventually made it to the United States. I don’t remember which country she left, but Charlie could probably tell you. From what little my mom said, she wasn’t an easy woman to live with.” She lifted her head. “Could you grab my bag?”
“Sure.”
I went and got her bag from the top of my dresser and set it next to her on the bed.
“So…remember when I told you I had to go back to Baltimore?”
“Hard to forget.”
“Well, this is why.” She unzipped her bag and pulled out a file folder, a binder, and a small cigar box and set them between us. Opening the file folder, she shuffled through the papers. “Birth certificates and my parents’ marriage certificate. Both of our diplomas from high school and college.” She neatly packed it away. “Boring.”
I smiled.
“This is the good stuff.” Sitting up cross-legged, she pulled off the rubber band that held the cigar box closed. Inside was an assortment of random tiny trinkets that she pulled out one by one.
“Are those teeth?” I asked, leaning to get a closer look.
Lucy laughed. “Yeah. The first one each of us lost. Actually, it’s my second one. I think I swallowed the first one.”
“You went back to Baltimore for your baby teeth?”
“Not just my baby teeth,” she replied loftily. “This is the penny my dad wore around his neck. He said it was the first money he ever made, for pulling weeds, and he felt so rich that he couldn’t make himself spend it. He carried it in his pocket for a long time, but eventually he just drilled a little hole in it so he could wear it around his neck.”
She pulled out a gold ring with three diamond chips inlaid on the band. “My mom’s wedding ring. Dad didn’t wear one.
“This is a ticket for the first film festival Charlie and I ever went to. We thought we were so cool because we didn’t have to go with our parents.” She waved a little ticket and placed it back inside. “This is the only patch Charlie ever got in Boy Scouts. He only lasted a month before he lost interest. Between you and me, I think he didn’t like it because I couldn’t do it with him.”
“Unsurprising.”
“Right?” She let out a little laugh. “This little guy sat on my parents’ nightstand. I have no idea why, since neither of them were Buddhist.”
Every small trinket had a story behind it, something that only she or Charlie would know or remember, and with each item she pulled out, her expression grew a little softer. As pragmatic as Lucy was, she’d still considered these bits and pieces of her past worth going back for.
“This,” she said, pulling the binder over. “Is everything else.”
Inside was a scrapbook of sorts. The front page was a photo of her and Charlie when they were around five or six years old. Charlie was standing behind her, his little arms around her waist as he lifted her a couple of inches off the floor. Lucy’s expression could’ve best been described as terrified as she stared at the camera.
“He did that for years,” she said with a snicker. “He thought it proved that he was stronger than me or something.” She flipped the page. “This is my parents on their wedding day.”
“They’re young.” Lucy’s parents didn’t have the glow that you’d normally see in a wedding photo. They were both smiling, but there was something about the way they held themselves, like they were uncomfortable in front of the camera or with each other.
“We got my dad’s eyes,” she said, looking a little closer. “Mom’s nose and hair, though.”
“You both have his eyebrows too,” I said, pointing.
“How can you tell?” she asked dryly. “My mom barely has eyebrows.”
She turned the page again, and there was a photo of what had to be her mother as a child, standing next to a woman who looked vaguely familiar. I leaned a little closer, trying to place her.
I let out a breath of surprise when recognition finally dawned.