Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Speaking of your dad, you look just like him. I’m glad I finally got to see a photo.”
“Would you like to see some more?”
“I’d love to.”
He returned to our pillow nest with one of the albums, and after we settled in side-by-side he carefully folded back the cover. “Granddad always took photos at family gatherings, which is what most of this album is. It spans about ten years. I thought it was annoying to have to pose for pictures when I was a kid, but now I’m grateful that he captured those memories. He got some great photos of the whole family, and of my dad and me together.”
“He didn’t take any pictures when we were at his brother’s house for Christmas.”
“No, he stopped doing that when my dad died. I think Granddad couldn’t stand his absence in the group photos.”
I turned the pages, enjoying Bryson’s progression from a serious kid to a serious teen. He was adorable with his thick glasses, unruly dark hair, and questionable fashion choices.
We’d almost made it to the end of the album when the doorbell startled us. Dusty leapt to his feet, and I looked around and murmured, “What time is it?”
Bryson glanced at his phone. “It’s almost eight. Who’d be dropping by?”
I got to my feet and scooped up the dog. “Maybe it’s Toshiko from across the street. She mentioned getting together to talk about designing a birthday cake for her daughter. I’ll go tell her I can come over tomorrow, after breakfast.”
I brought Dusty with me as I hurried to the front of the house and took a quick look out the peep hole. Surprisingly, Edmund Baudelaire was standing on the porch. I opened the door and said, “Hi there, Mr. Baudelaire. This is a nice surprise.” Actually, Bryson was going to be horrified, given what he was wearing. I wished I had my phone on me so I could send a quick text and give him a heads up—not that he’d have enough time to change.
I took a step back and held the door for Bryson’s grandfather. He looked sharp in his three-piece suit, tan overcoat, and fedora—a very different vibe than my rainbow unicorn onesie.
“I’ve told you to call me Edmund, or better yet, Granddad.” He stepped into the foyer and held up two bottles of wine. “Sorry to drop by unannounced, but I just acquired a few bottles of a very nice Pinot Gris. I thought I’d bring these by ahead of tomorrow night’s dinner, so they can be properly chilled.”
That sounded an awful lot like an excuse to drop by when we weren’t expecting him. Was this some sort of test to see if we were really living together? Or was I being paranoid?
“Come on in. Bryson is in the lounge, at the back of the house.”
After I shut the door, I put Dusty on the floor, and he wagged his tail enthusiastically. Edmund handed me the bottles and bent down to scratch the dog’s ears as he said, “Hi there, little fella.”
We started to make our way down the hall, but Edmund paused at the entrance to the living room and murmured, “I knew my grandson had remodeled, but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”
“Bryson took his father’s passing really hard,” I said softly. “This was an attempt at coping with that loss. He was worried you’d think he was trying to erase his dad’s memories, but that wasn’t it at all. It was about trying to keep from drowning in grief.”
Edmund turned to me with a sympathetic expression. “That wasn’t a criticism. In fact, I understand it more than you realize. I’ll admit I’ve purposely stayed away, because I didn’t know if I could handle the onslaught of memories. I’m glad Bryson found a way to cope, instead of selling it.”
“I’m glad you get it.”
“When my son passed, it tore a hole in my heart. The only person who loved him more than I did was Bryson. So, yes, I understand my grandson’s grief, and I’d never judge him for what he had to do to get through it.”
On impulse, I gave him a hug—a little awkwardly, since I had a bottle of wine in each hand. “Now that you’ve taken this first step, I hope you’ll come over a lot more often. Maybe we can turn our family dinners into a weekly event. I know Bry would love that, and I would, too.”
He seemed emotional when I let go of him and stepped back. “You’re a nice boy, Embry, and I can already tell you and your little dog have brought a lot of life and joy to this house.” Dusty had been watching us closely, and he wagged his tail, as if he understood what was being said.
We continued down the hallway, and I told Edmund, “Just so you know, Bryson unpacked his dad’s photo albums for the first time today. I don’t know if you’re going to be up for that.”