Chapter 2

“How was your day off?” There was tension in Nathan’s voice. He’d been pushing himself lately, but there was no sense in trying to slow him down. The man was a machine.

“Nice. I got ahead on a few things.”

“Derek O’Reilly, tell me you haven’t been working on your only day off.”

“Nathan Ross, if you intend on lecturing me on over-achievement, I suggest you rethink your sermon.”

“All right.” A smile seeped into his smooth voice. “But promise me you’re going to take it easy tonight. Get yourself a movie, or read one of your dreadful books.”

“I will promise no such thing. Now go to sleep.”

“Not until you tell me you love me and miss me.”

Aunt Fran gently inched open the patio door, as though a smooth entrance would absolve her of all guilt.

“Der? You there?” Nathan asked.

“Yes, Nate. Consider yourself loved and missed. Good night.”

An uneasy silence filled the line. “Derek, why don’t you ever say it?”

Aunt Fran’s gaze roamed all over my flushed face, as though she’d heard Nathan’s question.

I pressed the phone closer to my ear. “My aunt is here.”

“That troublemaker? She better not be smoking in our con—”

“Nate, I have to go. Call me in the morning, okay? Good night, sleep tight.” Annoyed, I flipped the phone shut.

After a long moment of silence, Aunt Fran pushed the black binder my way. “Found this in the old Verdun apartment. I was there today, cleaning it up a little. New tenants are moving in in three weeks.”

I looked down at the binder. “What is it?”

She patted my hand. “Open it.”

I stared at her a little, and then, humoring her, flipped the cover back. My heart leaped. Memories rushed through me in one big jolt of past tense.

My dearest Bump.

I’d forgotten about you. Seventeen years had passed since I’d last written you.

“I have to tell you, Derek, I was dying of curiosity, and I did read a few pages. Hope you won’t hold it against me?”

My gaze was still fastened to the page. A page filled with my own handwriting.

“You have a gift for storytelling.” Aunt Fran’s voice grew stronger. “Hon? Are you listening? I think you should pick that habit up again. It would surely do you some good.”

That long-ago winter of 1987. Seemed like a million years had gone by. Holding my breath, I skimmed my fingertips across the pages that had been written by a skinny, red-headed boy who’d struggled to make sense of the world around him.

And that beautiful name, the one I’d managed to push into the deepest corners of my soul for all these years, now, like a forgotten prayer, a chant, an incantation, an omen, and a promise, echoed through my mind.

Nicolai Lund.

My blue-eyed dream.

“I wonder what happened to them all,” Aunt Fran whispered, searching the horizon. “Those wonderful kids.”

I looked away from the meticulous handwriting of a boy I didn’t know anymore.

* * * *

Yet, later that night, cozy in bed, I couldn’t resist opening the binder again. As I sipped a cup of tea, my gaze raced along the words, and I knew I was opening much more than a binder…

July 1987

Dear Bump,

I didn’t know it was possible to be brand new, then dead on the same day.

You know, I waited a long time for you. I’d marked August 2nd with a red X, but instead, you came the day before yesterday. You came, but never home. I’m not really supposed to talk about it though.

Dad said, “Derek, you better be quiet when Mom gets home, and you don’t say his name. Not one time.”

I don’t think I’m supposed to write about you either, so I’ll just call you “Bump.” That’s what Mom used to call you when she found out you were coming. I had an asthma attack that morning. I sucked onmy medicine and let her comb my hair. “Don’t get so tight, Red,” she said. “Your little brother’s gonna like playing soccer. Your dad won’t mind so much about all your reading anymore.”

Boy, was I looking forward to that. But now, not only are you not going to play soccer with Dad, you’re not even going to be alive.

Since she came home from the hospital, Mom’s eyes are glossy like dish soap and our apartment is like an empty coconut. Dad is the only one allowed inside their bedroom.

I’m not allowed past the bathroom.

* * * *

Dear Bump,

After dinner, I have to yank some weeds, but when I’m done, Boone says he has a surprise for me.