calls, wheeling backward from the front door with a brown box from the mailman resting on his thighs.
He turns, and I stare at the box as he approaches me in his wheelchair.
“It’s not going to bite. Or maybe it will.” He moves one thigh and makes the box jerk.
“Idiot,” I snap as I jump and grab the box.
His laugh trails behind him as he disappears into the family room. He’s moved into our garage now. Dad started converting it for him after the accident, but progress slowed after Dad passed away. In the end, Harley and Reed helped Mom, Brett, and I to get it finished. But Brett’s still waiting for his new obnoxiously large TV to be delivered. So until then, I have the delight of my older, annoying brother spending more time in the main house. And he’s grown more irritating since I left for England. His new physical therapist, Lena, has been helping him, and he’s made amazing progress. He can lift each thigh now. He’s still got a long way to go to walk again; if he ever will. But his regained movement is making it possible for him to play new tricks on me. And to laugh like an idiot when I fall for them.
I carry the box up to my room. It’s light. I bet there’s nothing in it. It’s probably Brett’s idea of another joke. Send me an empty box. But he’s gone off to watch TV. If it were from him, he would probably want to watch my reaction as I open it.
I grab some scissors and score through the tape holding the lid of the box down, before lifting it off.
I yank my head back before I’m hit in the face by the pale blue thing that floats out. It heads straight for the ceiling of my bedroom, settling there with a gentle bob.
A balloon? What the hell?
Confusion threads its way through me as I reach for the long silver ribbon trailing from it. Pinned to the end is a photograph. I’d recognize the stone railing visible in the bottom of the image anywhere.
It’s been taken from Dax’s roof terrace.
I turn the photo over and the writing on the back steals the air from my lungs in one giant whoosh, like the popping of a balloon, causing my chest to cave in as I lean over and grip the image in both hands.
Sunrise number one without you. I’m so sorry I lied to you, Rose. It’s the biggest regret of my life. Everything I felt for you. Everything I told you. It was real. But I can’t be the man you deserve right now. I can’t keep you safe.
I can explain what was in the bag in NYC. But not yet. I hope when the day comes, you’ll let me try. Until then, know that I will be thinking of you. Every day. Every minute. Every second. For infinity.
He hasn’t signed his name. But I know it’s from him. Without a doubt. It’s in his handwriting. I turn it back over. The date stamp is from one week ago.
The morning after I left.
He took this on that first day. The morning after I flew back to New York. I had probably only just gotten off the plane when he was taking it.
The pink and orange hues look spectacular, lighting up the Silver Estate. The sight of it makes my stomach cramp painfully. It’s only been a few weeks since I woke up by the campfire in Dax’s arms. After he told me he promised me every infinity.
After I promised him every sunrise.
It’s a promise I would have kept if he hadn’t pushed me away. Now we’re both facing each one alone.
I let go of the photograph, and it hangs, suspended mid-air, twirling in taunting circles at the end of the silver ribbon.
I knew his feelings were real. They had to be. He risked his life to get to me when Julian had ahold of me. He could have been killed right in front of my eyes. That’s not the actions of a man who feels nothing for the person he’s trying to protect. But he still lied when we flew to New York. He was hiding something from me. What couldn’t he tell me? What can he still not tell me?
He says he can explain. But he’s right to hope I will let him try. Because with each day that passes, the dull ache that’s in my gut grows.
Time makes the heart grow fonder, supposedly. But all I feel is mine closing him out more and more.
What choice do I have? I ping-pong between being so mad at him I want to call him up just to scream at him, to also knowing that if I did, the sound of his voice could be the final thing to break me.
And I’ve spent so many years being broken.
It’s time to leave it in the past.
Four weeks later
“This guy’s turning into a simp for you, Sis.”
“Shut up, Brett,” Harley scolds as she carries in the box from the porch and walks past him to hand it to me. “Aren’t you going to open it?” she asks when I put it down on the kitchen table and go back to making my sandwich.
“Don’t need to. I know what’s in it.”
“The question is, will this be white or blue?” Brett grins, waggling his eyebrows.
“For someone who’s supposedly intelligent, you’re a real dork, you know that?” Harley tuts as she starts to open the box.
“He’s all excited like a puppy because Lena’s back from her vacation.” I stick my tongue out at Brett. He’s been a nightmare these last two weeks while Lena’s been away. He had a stand-in therapist while she was gone, and I swear I’ve never heard him complain so much. The poor guy who had to work with him sure had his work cut out.
“She didn’t decide to stay away, then? Escape while she could.”
“Ha, the fuck, ha,” Brett says to Harley as she lifts the lid off the box.
A single white balloon floats out until it reaches the ceiling. I glance at it and then go back to spreading jelly on my bread.
“For infinity,” Harley hums.
She’s holding the photograph on the end of the silver ribbon between her fingertips with a museful smile on her face.
“He’s romantic, I’ll give him that. Makes me think of Reed singing to me.”
“Oh, God,” Brett groans, but Harley ignores him. She knows he approves of Reed. Everyone does. My family loves him. They welcomed him the second she brought him home to meet everyone.
The way they did with Dax.
I cough, attempting to dislodge the lump. I’ve been back from England for over a month, and the damn thing still isn’t budging. I’m going to have to start charging it rent for taking permanent residence.
I spin, sandwich in hand, and walk across the kitchen toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Harley asks.
“Out with Case,” I reply through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “We’re going to the mall and then the movies.”
Harley looks at me and nods happily. Casey’s been amazing since I came back. We’ve spent hours talking. About everything. Even her new boyfriend, Josh. Everything that happened with Dax. I told her that Jasmin said he’s been going to therapy to talk about finding out Julian is his biological father. And that Sophie said Julian isn’t getting off. She’s sure of it. She says they have enough to put him away for years.
But despite all that, Dax still hasn’t come.
He hasn’t come to explain, like he said he would in that first note. All I’ve gotten are balloons. Hot air when all I want is the truth.
Harley stops me before I pass her. “Don’t forget this.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking the silver ribbon from her.
I take it to my room, letting go of the ribbon as I enter. It floats up to join its friends, which have covered half of my ceiling. It’s like walking into an over-the-top kid’s birthday party. I have to fight my way through the hanging silver ribbons to make it in and out of my bed now.
I scoop my purse up from the floor and make the mistake of looking up. I try not to do this. Because I know what he’s doing now. And the sight of it still makes my heart stall as much as the first time I understood.
There are more blue balloons than white.
It’s a sky.
A bright blue sky with white clouds.
Dax Silver is turning the ceiling of my bedroom into my very own cloudy sky, like that day in the hot air balloon with him. And he’s doing it with balloons.
Clever bastard.
But a fancy display doesn’t mean shit. Not when he hasn’t tried to call me once since I left. Not a single text.
Nothing.
He’s just continued to send these balloons. Day after day. Each with a new photograph numbered with the sunrise we’ve been apart. Each with a note on the back, always ending with the same words.
I weave my way through the silver strands, stopping at today’s on my way out. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I lift the attached photograph to have a closer look.
Sunrise number thirty without you. I feel closer to you here. The sheets still smelled like you, vanilla and petals. And that may have faded now, but my thoughts of you never have. Know that I am thinking of you. Every day. Every minute. Every second. For infinity.
I turn it, and the bright colors leap from the image. He must be lying in my old bed at the cottage, because it’s taken from a distance, looking out through the open window. In the corner of the photograph is the edge of his mom’s mirror with its beautifully intricate frame.
The glass is fixed.
It’s brand-new and shining, like nothing ever happened.
I drop the photo, allowing it to flutter down and join the others.
If only people were as easily fixed.
