“I don’t want to open any of them.”

“Can I open this one, then?”

He slowly nodded. I slid a fingernail under the tongue of the envelope and tore it open. It was a garish, generic card for a young boy with pictures of trains and trucks in bright primary colors. It looked young, even for a six-year-old. When I opened the card, a bunch of dollar bills fell out.

There was a short note inside, which I read aloud:

 

For Liam,

Wishing you a happy sixth birthday. I promise to take you out for ice cream very soon.

Love, Mom

 

I turned to William. “So did she take you out for ice cream?”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember. Maybe.”

I placed a hand on his arm again. “You okay?”

He pulled away slightly. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? That card said absolutely nothing.”

“You want me to open the next one?”

He shrugged again. I set aside the six one-dollar bills—one for each year of his life—on his worktable and picked up the next envelope. The next few years were much like the first one. Always a cash gift that was equal to his age and a simple, quick birthday wish with a promise to see him or take him somewhere soon.

William grew a little more relaxed, if increasingly disappointed. Around his fifteenth birthday, he recalled that she attended some milestones, like his first amateur art show, but overall, her visits were infrequent. As he got older, she promised to take him out to dinner, and he made it a point to let me know that she never followed through.

As he stared at the last two cards in the pile, it was difficult to gauge his mood. But with a long sigh, he snatched up the second to last card, opened it with one quick, forceful tear and unfolded it without even looking at the artwork or formal message on the outside. A crisp twenty-dollar bill that had never been used slid out of the card. I added it to the orderly pile of cash on the table.

In a flat voice, he read:

 

Dear Liam,

I know it’s probably too late to explain. I don’t even know if I can. You are a man, now. A grown man that I don’t even know… But I hope you’ll understand someday.

With love,

Your Mom

 

He let out a long breath as if someone had punched him in the stomach. “She didn’t know she was sick yet. I think she found out the following year.”

“What did she die of?”

“Kidney failure.”

I picked up the last one and handed it to him. “She knew by the time she sent this one, though. Maybe this one has what you’re looking for?”

He glanced at me and then down to the card. “I doubt it.”

“Well, let me just say this. She was not a perfect person. She had flaws, like we all do. And you can’t mend fences with her anymore, but you can forgive her.”

His forehead crumpled. “Why would I do that?”

“Because it’ll make you feel better. The Buddha once said that holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”

He swallowed and tore open the last envelope without even responding. Then he opened the card, extracted the money and closed it immediately.

“You’re not going to read that one?”

He breathed in and out. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”

I nodded. “Okay. You need a hug?”

His brow furrowed. “No.”

“Can I hold your hand, then?”

He nodded. I slipped my palm inside his rough hand and it closed around mine, holding tight—almost painfully so. I returned the pressure.

We both stared down at the pile of money. “That’s two hundred and sixteen dollars,” I said. “You should go blow it on something fun.”

“Like what?”

I shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. How about the Fun Zone in Newport? Or we could go play video games at Dale and Boomers.”

He froze. “It’s crowded there.”

“You still need to work on that.”

He pressed his lips together. Pulling his hand free, he grabbed the money and tucked the thick wad of bills into his wallet. “Dale and Boomers it is, then. Will you go with me?”

“Of course. I’m your friend, right?”

His eyes fixed directly on mine. “I want you to be more than my friend.”

He shoved his wallet back into his pocket and then turned his full attention on me, taking my wrist. The look in his eyes was so intense that I took a step backward.

He took a step forward.

I stepped back again and he followed.

“Jenna,” he breathed.

“Wil—” But I was interrupted when I ran into the wall and his head descended on mine, the grasp around my wrist tightening, the other hand going into my hair.

He wasn’t rough but he certainly wasn’t gentle, and though I found it hot as hell, I had to wonder where this was coming from.

Still, as our tongues tangled and my body heated against his, I was all for forgetting everything but the heated night we shared a few weeks ago when I’d gotten naked with him. All I knew is that I wanted more—I hadn’t stopped wanting more. I’d just stopped pushing for it.

Now, apparently it was his turn.

His chest pressed against mine, his head bent down to my level, his lips teasing and sucking at mine, his teeth nipping. He’d invaded my senses, capturing my desire and turning it against me like a foreign army seizing a fortress. The hand that was on my neck slipped down to grasp my breast, and my nipple rose in happy obeisance to his questing fingers. My eyes rolled back into my head as his whiskered cheek scraped against mine.

Oh goddess. This felt so good. His mouth slipped off mine and he kissed his way across my cheek and down my jaw. “Stay with me, Jenna.”

My first impulse—it was almost on the tip of my tongue—was to say ‘yes.’ But I swallowed and clamped my mouth shut. By that time, my earlobe was in his hot mouth and he was scraping his teeth across it. I almost crumpled against him.

“Say you’ll stay. Promise me.”

“I can’t,” I whispered shakily. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t see each other ‘til I leave…”

He froze, his body as stiff as if it had been carved in stone. Slowly, he pulled his mouth away from my neck.

“I need you to stay.”