Morning Glory(26)
I crouch down beside the dresser and reach for the little brass key I keep in a slat below the bottom drawer. I’ve never liked the dresser, with those awful drawer pulls that look like roaring lions, but a friend of Dex’s who makes furniture gave it to him as a birthday present, and it didn’t seem right to ask him to replace it.
Downstairs, I kneel beside the only piece of furniture I brought to the houseboat—Grandma Rose’s old chest. When I was a little girl, I used to think it was a treasure chest, and maybe it was. Grandma said she’d fallen in love with a seaman before she met Grandpa. She said he’d given it to her as a gift and that she’d kept it, even after she and Grandpa got married. I never knew anything more about her mysterious seaman, but I saw the way Grandma talked about him. I know she still loved him, but I will never know why they parted. And I’ll never know what treasure the chest, lined with its red silk fabric, once held.
For me, Grandma stocked it with the sort of treasure that appeals to little girls: porcelain dolls of varying sizes, a silver brush and comb set, four teacups painted with roses, and an old cigar box filled with costume jewelry. Over the years, I’ve tucked in other things—the bracelet Mama gave me on my sixteenth birthday, a book of poems about the sea, the acceptance letter from Miss Higgins Academy, my blue notebook filled with recipes.
At first it felt wrong to keep these things, this part of myself, from Dexter. But he kept things from me, too. Big things. I found a photo of his first wife in his desk drawer, and letters. He didn’t mention a word of his past before we were married. When I finally worked up the courage to ask him about his ex-wife, he did two things: acknowledge that, yes, he was married before, and tell me never to bring up the subject again.
Yes, Dexter has secrets, and so can I. I slip my key into the little lock and lift the lid, breathing in the familiar scent of my past—musty, floral, and damp like a rainy night. I survey the treasures inside. Like old friends, they’re all there, just as I left them. I tuck Collin’s ticket inside, beside a box of old photos, then close the lid and secure the lock again.
Chapter 10
ADA
I feel as if I could talk with Alex all night, and I think he feels that way too. But it’s late. “Well, I should probably be going,” he says, looking up at the clock on the wall. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Of course,” I reply. “Let’s do this again.”
Alex grins. “I’d love that.”
After he’s gone, I walk upstairs, thinking of our unexpected date. Was it even a date? I rub my forehead, aware of how sorely out of practice I am in matters of men. No, it wasn’t a date, I tell myself. I feel silly for even considering the idea. But if I’m honest with myself, I can’t deny that when I’m around Alex, I feel something flicker deep inside, something I haven’t felt since . . . James.
I climb the stairs to the loft and decide to finally unpack my suitcase and move in properly. I tuck my clothes into the drawers of the old dresser, until the suitcase is finally emptied. James had a knack for packing. Before a trip, I’d just pick the clothes I wanted to pack and toss them on the bed. Like magic, he’d fold them in tidy stacks—always rolling the pants to prevent wrinkles—and tuck them into our suitcase with expert precision. I close my eyes, and I remember the time we went to Paris together. He surprised me the week after Ella’s fourth birthday. I came home from work, and my parents were there playing a game of Uno on the floor with Ella.
“Mommy, Mommy!” Ella cries as I walk through the door. “Daddy has a surprise for you! You’re going on an airplane.”
I groan inwardly. I just returned from Portland yesterday for a shoot for the magazine, and the last thing I want is to set foot on another airplane. I glance at James and he smiles, pointing to the suitcase in the hall by the door. “Everything’s taken care of,” he says. “I’m taking you to Paris.”
“But,” I protest, glancing toward Ella. While I’ve traveled alone many times for work, I’ve taken James and Ella with me as often as possible. But now? It would be the first time we’d travel together without our little girl, and I’m not sure if I can do it.
Sensing my concern, my mom stands up and walks toward me. “Don’t worry about a thing, honey,” she says. “You go and have fun. Your father and I will take care of everything.”
I nod robotically and walk to the kitchen for a glass of water, which is when I realize that I forgot to stop at the grocery store on the way home. “James, we’re out of her favorite applesauce,” I say, shaking my head, as if an applesauce shortage is reason enough to stay home from Europe. Somehow, for me, it is.