Painted Memories (30 page)

“Would you rather I did it on my own? With the possibility of getting rid of something that maybe you wanted to keep for yourself? I doubt it. You would regret it, if not right now, someday. You need this, Lilly,” she said with a firm, but kind tone. She looked at Drew, who climbed down from the ladder and stood beside us. “Maybe Drew can help you?” she suggested, glancing at him for a response.

Drew grabbed the back of his neck as he grimaced. Dimples pressed deeply into his cheeks as he shook his head. “I doubt that's a
good idea, Mrs. Morgan. I don't think Lilly trusts me enough to help her with something so personal.”

Looking at me, his face hard,
his eyes seemed so sad when he turned away and reached for another box. Mom arched her brow at me, as if asking what that was all about. I shook my head, waving off the idea that anything was wrong between us, but thought that maybe Drew was mad because he didn't think I trusted him. I'm not sure what gave him that impression, but knew I needed to talk to him sometime today and get to the bottom of whatever was eating away at him.

“Fine.
I'll do it,” I blurted out. “But I'm not doing it all; you'll have to help me. Dad should too... but I won’t even go there.”

“Thank you, honey. You really
will
feel better after doing this. And of course, I'll help. Let me go down to the garage and get some bags.”

She kissed me on the cheek and turned for the staircase. I saw Drew was watching me. Without a word, I turned and continued down the hall. I passed three doors before coming to Jesse's room at the end of the hall. The closer I came to his door, the more my hands shook. I hadn't set my toes over the invisible line that marked his room since the day of the accident. For my mother to believe I could do it seemed foolish. Closing my hand around the doorknob, I took a deep breath, twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

Apple pie-scented air freshener filled my senses and my eyes instantly stung with tears. I blinked them back, knowing it was Jesse's favorite. My mother was accustomed to filling the house with fresh potpourri or linen scents, but Jesse wanted to be different. Mom must have kept his air freshener refilled for her personal comfort, because there was no way the old one could have lasted this long.

Entering Jesse's room, it was evident what his favorite color was.
Powder-blue walls, navy carpet, right down to his bedding, which was a mixed array of blue plaid lines. His over-sized bookshelf sat in the far corner, and I couldn't resist the urge to see what he had hidden away on the shelves. Even though there was a mountain of law books passed down from Dad, his fiction and comic books took up most of the space. I smiled at the Star Wars action figures that lined the top shelf. Moving to his desk, I noticed a box on the corner with the word “college” written across the side in black marker. Peering inside, I found a few books and a stack of movies.
Indian Jones and the Temple of Doom
sat on top. I picked it up delicately, as if it would break, and hugged the case to my chest. Moving to the side of his bed, I sat on the edge with my eyes closed, trying desperately not to break down. For a moment, I felt like he only ran downstairs for a drink, not out of my life forever. I thought about how many times I sat in his room with him hovering behind me, explaining the latest computer game. Or the nights spent playing Scrabble on his bed while I kept using a dictionary to cheat. The countless times we stayed up past four in the morning, watching stupid movies that were supposed to be scary, but were too unrealistic and funny to frighten me. We were the type of siblings who preferred each other's company to being with our friends and apart from each other. I always thought it was funny when none of my friends could understand how the two of us got along so well, since they all hated their siblings.

The mattress dipped down and I glanced over to see Drew seated next to me. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

I nodded at the same time hot tears rolled down my cheeks. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side and brushed the top of my head with his hand. His solace made me lose control and I sobbed into his shoulder as my body shuddered against him. Drew held me tighter, kissing the top of my head and speaking into my hair, something about “letting it all out.”

After my weeping slowly subsided, Drew softly pushed me back to peer into my face.

“Do you want to step outside... get some fresh air?” His hand slid to my cheek as he cradled my face in the palm of his hand, wiping the tears away with his thumb.

“No,” I said sniffing and gasping for breath. “I need to stay... I
need to get through this. The sooner the better.”

Drew nodded and dropped his hand from my face.

“All right, I'll let you get to it then.” He stood up, his face more serious than before.

“Won't you stay?” I asked.

“I think I'm going to go find the kitchen. I could use another glass of that sweet tea your mom makes.”

I guess that was a no. He must have been serious when he said earlier he didn't think I trusted him enough to help with something so personal. One minute, he was pissed at me, and the next, he was comforting me. It was starting to give me whiplash. I needed to get to the bottom of this and find out what was really bothering him.

“Drew?” I said, stopping him before he made it out the door. “Can we talk about last night?”

Drew sighed and ran his fingers though his sandy brown hair. He looked tired and drained, with a dose of irritation. All from me, I was sure. “Is there really anything to talk about, Lilly? What's done is done, right?”

“Yes... no... I mean, yes, we do need to talk. Something is wrong, I can tell.”

“I think right now your family and working through some of this grief is more important than the issues I have with our relationship.”

Drew gave me a moment to reply, but I had none. He turned and walked through the door without anything more to add.

“Where's he going?”

I looked up to see Mom standing in the doorway, holding a handful of bags. “To the kitchen, or so he said. If he's smart, he'll just make a break for it and flee back to his apartment. I would if I were he.” I know I sounded deflated, but that’s how I felt. Not only did I sense something wrong, but he confirmed my suspicions by classifying it as a relationship problem.

“Oh, don't say that,” she said, sitting on the bed next to me.
“He loves you, of course, or he wouldn’t be here for you.”

“Love me? No, Mom, I don't think so. He cares for me, yes, but love? I don't think so, especially after everything that happened last night. And the snide comments he's made since then.”

Mom patted me on the leg, “You just need to talk to each other, work it out, and get to the bottom of what's wrong. Plus,” she squeezed my cheek between her fingers, “if he didn't love you, he wouldn't have bothered driving nearly two hours before knocking on my door with a phonebook in his hands, hoping he found the right address.”

He did care about me, he proved that much, but he still hadn’t told me he loved me and probably never would. “Maybe” was all I could say.

Mom rose from the bed, and walked over to Jesse's bookshelf, pulling a random book from the shelf. Then another, and another, while shaking her head. “All I'm saying, honey, is it means something. Don't just let it go. If something is bothering Drew, talk it out. Communication is the key, something your father and I never really grasped the value of. If Drew didn't care, he wouldn't be here, and it seems to me he's a keeper,” she said with a grin.

Drew was definitely a keeper. The real question was, was I?

Going through Jesse's room was a lot easier than I thought it would be. Mom and I decided to sort the items to donate on one side, and the disposable items on the other side. Neither of us could bear throwing anything away, but there were a few ragtag items that no one would want, not even Goodwill. You could only wear a holey tee shirt or tattered blue jeans so many times before they belonged in the trash.

We both had our own personal piles of items we chose to keep for ourselves. Mom kept his awards and trophies, his notebooks, the pictures hanging around his room, and a picture album he made. I didn't keep as much as she did, but still found a nice little collection of memorabilia. Of course, I kept our favorite movie, his action figures, a few of his books, and a journal he used to write in. I was shocked when I found it. I had no idea he did that sort of thing. I also knew there was no way I would show it to Mom. No telling what kind of crazy stuff he wrote down, some of which I was certain Mom didn't need to read about.

After spending a couple hours in his room, I was ready for a break. Feeling famished, I hadn't eaten anything since the light dinner at the charity event the night before. I regretted refusing to eat the bagel Drew bought me this morning.

I wonder where he is.

I waved off the thought and assumed he was probably at the guesthouse, trying to avoid doing anymore chores for my mother. After all, he didn't sign up for this. Why he was still here was beyond me. Maybe Mom was right, although I couldn't understand why in the world he'd go through all of this for me. I honestly didn't feel worthy of it.

I walked through the living room, the room we weren't allowed in when we were kids. It always made me feel disobedient and sneaky when I walked across the white carpet with my shoes on. Even now, as an adult, Mom would still beat my butt if she saw me passing through. As I moved through the house, I heard voices coming from the direction I was headed. I stopped at the edge of the formal dining room and looked toward the kitchen. An opening in the wall gave me a clear view of Drew and my father without them seeing me. They were talking too quietly for me to hear. Drew sat across from my father, and both had their hands wrapped around their coffee mugs. My father nodded as Drew spoke. But when my dad spoke next, Drew belted out a laugh. The whole situation got under my skin. They looked so calm and relaxed, like they were old friends catching up.

I rubbed my hand over my cheek, remembering where my dad slapped me and felt the anger rekindling through me. How could Drew just sit there and talk to him like everything was fine? Especially after knowing how my father treated me over the last few years. Dad took another sip from his mug as he rubbed at his temple with his finger. I busted through the kitchen door, both of them jumping at the sound of the door swinging back and forth on its hinges.

“Lilly,” my dad said, tight-lipped as he slid his chair back a few inches.
He looked shocked by my sudden appearance.

“Dad.
Drew,” I said, fixing them both with a hard glare. I walked to the pantry and looked for something to munch on to overcome the feeling of nausea. Seeing a pack of crackers, I grabbed them.

“Your dad and I were just having a little conversation.”

I closed the pantry door a little harder than usual. “So it seems.” Taking a glass from the cabinet, I went to the fridge and filled it with sweet tea before focusing on the kitchen door. When I first saw them talking, I should have gone back upstairs. Standing in the same room as my father and my chatty boyfriend was tearing at my nerves. All of a sudden, I wanted to throw something, to hurl glasses, plates, and whatever else I could get my hands on through the air. I moved toward the door.

“Lilly... have a seat, let's talk,” Dad said, indicating the empty chair next to him.

I whirled around. “No, I don't think so. Looks like you and Drew were having a pretty good time before I came in. Don't let me interrupt you.”

“Lilly...,” Drew started.

“No, really, it's fine. I mean, all things considered, don't stop your little bonding moment just because I walked in.” Drew stared at me and I looked at my father. Dad's eyes were piercing me with a look I'd seen far too often.

He softened his glare. “It's not like that, honey. Please sit.”

Honey? Since when did he call me that? “I'm busy. You know, cleaning out Jesse's room because
you
couldn't.”

He stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Who said you could do that?”

“Does it matter? It needs to be done.”

“Yes, but I didn't say—”

“I didn't ask. It's my understanding that you don't live here anymore. You lost the option to tell anyone in this house what to do quite some time ago.”

He slammed his cup down, spilling its contents over the table.
I knew I was about to hear his rant, but I wasn't going to let him... not today. “Save it, Dad. Tell it to someone who gives a crap. I'm tired... tired of fighting, and of you blaming me. I've lived with what I've done for the last five years. You can't possibly make me hate myself anymore than I already do. Your hatred is duly noted. I'm well aware that I'm not
your daughter
anymore,” I air-quoted with my fingers, “and you don't love me... blah, blah, blah.” I held my arms out wide. “I'm done with all of it. You want me gone? Well, after this weekend you never have to see me again.”

I bit the side of my tongue and fought back my tears. I'd never been so candid with my father before. It felt good, but crushed me at the same time. I didn’t think I'd have the nerve to say such things to him, but after a while, there's only so much a person can take. I reached my limit. Nearly tossing the crackers and my drink on the table, I turned on my heels and pushed through the door, not bothering to look back. I headed for the back door. I needed to take a walk; I couldn't stand another minute being under the same roof as my father.