It had been a week since then – the memorial services had come and gone, and she’d spent the days since in an odd haze of grief and gladness. Jed was to thank for the gladness; they’d been spending a lot of time together. For some reason, he’d seemed to warm up to the idea of them being together after the first night he’d spent in her apartment, on the day he’d brought her coffee and offered her a shoulder to cry on.
“Sounds like it’ll be great for your career.” He carved a bite from the slice of homemade cheesecake Karen had baked for them to share. She’d done it as a small way to thank him for all the selfless support he’d shown her over the past week, and because the dessert had provided the perfect excuse to invite him over.
“It will be. Or at least, I hope so. Marc St. Pierre is a really respected designer in the bridal fashion industry. And the catalogs…” She didn’t quite manage to suppress a sigh. “They’re gorgeous. I can’t believe my photographs are going to be in one.”
“I can believe it.” Jed stared at her over his coffee mug. “Your photos are amazing, Karen. I know you’re shooting full-time now, but you still don’t give yourself enough credit. I’ve been telling you for a while now that you’re not charging me enough for the tattoo portraits. Every time you hand me an envelope full of prints, I feel like I’m stealing from you.” He motioned at the wall, where half a dozen colorless prints hung in black frames. “You’re an artist.”
She hid a goofy grin with an especially large bite of cheesecake. When Jed complimented her, it always left her feeling as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air. They’d made love nearly a dozen times now – the three nights he’d spent in her apartment had been especially intense – but she still found herself breaking out in embarrassing blushes and grins sometimes. “Thanks.”
For some reason, when they embraced after finishing their dessert, he held her especially tight.
* * * * *
Jed carried the box down the stairs, through Hot Ink and out to his car, ignoring the way its corners dug into the insides of his arms, leaving red impressions on the little bits and pieces of uninked skin that showed through. It was the last one – for today. When he got it to the big house, where he had storage – an actual attic – he’d place it carefully there.
He’d still own Alice’s teapot, dish towels and assorted other favorite household items, but he wouldn’t display them, wouldn’t section off special places in kitchen cupboards and drawers for them, allowing the air in those places to grow stale. He didn’t use them, so there was no point – he didn’t need Alice’s things to remember Alice. She was in his heart and in his skin – those things would be enough.
After hefting the box into the back seat of his Charger, he felt oddly light, and not because he’d just put down a physical burden. Maybe he should’ve done this a long time ago.
Before slipping behind the wheel, he sent Karen a quick text, letting her know he was on his way over. Fifteen minutes later, he was idling at the curb in front of her apartment building. He went to the door and helped her carry her bags down the stairs and load them into the trunk. “Excited?” he teased as he pulled back out onto the street.
She smiled, her eyes bright as she shot him a sideways glance. “Maybe a little.”
This had been his idea – for them to spend the night in the house he owned in North Side, in the Allegheny West neighborhood. In the morning, he’d drop her off at the airport.
“Wow, this place is gorgeous. I had no idea you owned a house like this, Jed.” She stepped out of the car and stood looking up at the Victorian brick structure, her lips slightly cracked.
“It’s only been mine for a few years. Inherited it from a great aunt.”
He hadn’t known what to do with it at first. The house was old – nineteenth century – but his great aunt had kept it in excellent repair. After her death, he’d carefully maintained the place, sometimes coming over on his days off to take care of routine maintenance and make any needed small repairs. He’d paid the taxes on it, too. But that was it. He’d inherited the place a year after Alice’s death, and the idea of moving in, of taking up residence alone in a big house she would’ve loved, had been incomprehensible then, with the loss so fresh.
He unlocked the front door and helped Karen carry her bags inside. “I thought you’d like it, after what you said about historical buildings that day in the studio when I caught you watching that ghost hunting show.”