I haven't thought about those things for so long.
It felt like ages ago. I still remembered Peter with his fist cocked as he stared down my bully and then jammed his hand into his face. He'd always been there for me. Maybe that's why I felt so comfortable with him.
I pulled my fingers from his hair and quickly went back through prowling the living room for more things that needed to be packed away. It was stuffed full of my mother's need to horde and keep until things became shadows of what they once were. The newspapers were yellowed and dog eared. The books on the coffee table were stained and falling apart.
That's what I need to focus on. When I glanced up, I watched Peter's deep brown eyes as they appraised me. He was the only person who'd ever known when there was more going on beneath the surface than what I told him. I watched his hand as it twitched and I knew that he wanted to reach out and touch me. I didn't need that though. I needed to plow forward until the house was completely empty and I could go back home.
"What do you want to do with all these picture albums?" He asked quietly.
I looked at them and shrugged. "I don't think there's any reason to keep them. Throw them in the trash."
"What about these?" Peter asked.
I didn't want to look. Still, my feet dragged me to his side and I stared as I crouched down beside him. In one we were wide-eyed kids with dirty clothes and we held a fish in our palms as we laughed. In another, we were older. I laid on his lap as his head tilted straight back over the couch and he snored. The last one was from the week I'd left. Peter held me in his arms and stuck his tongue out as if he was going to lick my face. I looked horrified, but I remembered having such a good time.
Underneath it was one picture that sucked the breath right out of my chest.
Peter and I stood in a field and there was a man behind me. He beamed at the camera proudly. The man had dark hair, but the same pea-green eyes that I'd inherited. He gripped one of each of our shoulders and smiled as the picture was taken. My father. The only one I'd ever really missed in my life besides Peter.
"We were so young," I whispered as I plopped onto the couch and stared at the photo.
He nodded. "Yeah, we were. Your dad was a good man though. I remember him."
"I do too," I whispered.
As I stared at the photo held gingerly in my hands, Peter started to rub my back. Just like I knew that a scratch to the scalp would calm him, he knew that if he rubbed my back I would settle down as well. Th
e gentle motion of his skin against my shirt almost lulled me to sleep before I shook my head.
I wanted to stay in Peter's hands forever at that moment. I wanted him to touch me, hold me, caress me until I wasn't such a fragile bundle of nerves that I'd been before I even arrived back home. I wanted his touch and comfort.
Come on. There's so much left to do. Get it together.
I reminded myself that I wouldn't be sticking around long enough for any of that. No matter what old feelings stirred in my chest, I had to remember that we'd both moved on and that I wouldn't be here forever.
I'd only come into town to tidy things up and get out again. There's no time to pursue anything. The only thing that had been on my mind since day one was to sell the house and get the hell back to Las Vegas.
That couldn't change.
Not even for Peter.
I quickly rubbed a hand over my eyes. "We should keep going," I said as I stood up and tossed the pictures back onto the coffee table.
Peter stared at me, but I ignored him. The ache that throbbed in my chest felt hollow and deep. I didn't want to question it and find out why it hurt so badly.
Chapter 4
Peter
"I'm starving," Joanne said as she stacked another box against the wall and wiped the sweat from her forehead.
"I have some groceries out in the truck. They're probably frozen by now," I laughed.
"I think that microwave works in the kitchen. Maybe," she mumbled as she thought it over.
The sound of a horn blared and we both jolted. I stopped staring at her and walked to the window to see a smiling face and Joanne's car. My friend Dan walked up to the door and Joanne peered from around my shoulder.
"This is Joanne. It's her car."