With that behind us and so much ahead, the air sings with a newfound happiness.
Who can make the tallest men feel infinitesimally microscopic and tiny. Where he’ll be the bodyguard to Connor Cobalt-my brilliant, cutthroat dad. Tony was released from the hospital at the same time as Thatcher, and the rumor is that he’s being transferred to Security Force Alpha. It’ll scar, but he’s said the pain has lessened. Pink tulip trees blooming on either side, and I glance up at Thatcher, his flannel shirt hiding the burn on his shoulder. My Volkswagen Beetle was too damaged in the fire to salvage, and so yesterday, I bought Thatcher a car for his Christmas present, and he chose the color for me. He slips his hand in mine, and we walk past a baby blue Land Rover, parked near the fountain. Spring has come very early this year, and we bathe in the temperate weather. We leave the regal mansion, entering a late-March warmth. He could’ve tucked the book into his bag, and I find a lot of love in the fact that he set his childhood possession next to mine. “Thank you, Jane.” He pinches his eyes for a half a second, then stands and slips The Outsiders on my teenage bookshelf. I just wanted to preserve something for him. His whole life was in a bag, and it went up in flames.
I have possessions strewn throughout my childhood house. The cover of The Outsiders is worn, and his chest rises as he flips to the list of names, eyeing the last one written. Thatcher takes the old library book out of my hand. “I saw this on the vanity and I shoved it inside with Ophelia, before you put Licorice with her.” “The night of the fire,” I explain, pulling out the item. He helps me unstick the zipper, and my cheeks hurt, my smile overpowering my face.īut his face has already fallen, seeing what’s inside the carrier. My purple tulle skirt catches in the carrier’s zipper. I can feel his confusion mount behind me. “Almost.” I dispose the cut tags into a trash bin and crouch down to a cat carrier. All the material items seem far less important and unnecessary in the end.
Framed photos that I never stored in my phone or backed up in the cloud (for security purposes), all the Post-it notes Thatcher wrote me, chunky heels my mom gifted me after the FanCon tour, and much more.īut I feel immensely grateful to have Thatcher here-and that no one else was hurt. I’m fortunate that I have the means to start over, but of course, I lost sentimental things. Home Insurance Coverage: A Detailed Guide
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