Page 89 of Above All Else
Dust tickled my nose, causing me to sneeze, my body coiling into a tight ball and releasing in a violent flail, causing the ball to fly from my hand and hit the wooden box, the plexiglass breaking open. The ball rolled free of its protective casing and under the chair.
Crap.
On all fours, I crawled under the chair, picked the ball up with two fingers, careful not to touch the ink, and sat back down, putting the ball beside me.
Dad is going to kill me.
I sat back in my seat, set the ball beside me, picked up the plexiglass pieces, and put the parts back like a Rubik’s Cube. The glass fell apart in my hands.
Double crap.
Nothing a little super glue can’t fix...
I put the pieces aside and moved to stand, then paused as the wooden box fell into view. A large scratch across the top where the box must have hit it gouged the top and broke the lock.
Triple crap.
Picking up the box, I brushed my fingers over the rough, scarred surface—the old wood heavy for its size—antique, almost—like it had been hiding in the shadows of forgotten years.
They never lock things away.
We weren’t that kind of family.
Everything was out in the open and shared.
But this... this box, the very fact of its existence, shattered everything I’d grown up believing. It was a secret that contradicted the foundation of my memories.
The tarnished, lifeless gray lock, laid to the side. I squeezed it, hoping it would hold tight, but it didn’t. The thing flopped open like it was as tired as I felt. I let out a frustrated breath, shaking my head. “Why can’t things ever be easy?”
I twisted the lock off and flipped the latch. The lid creaked open like a coffin in an old horror movie, making my skin prickle.
Yellow tissue paper lined the inside like it’d been untouched for years. I peeled the paper back with trembling fingers and frowned.
In the center of the box was a gold heart-shaped locket, a chain ring, and a postcard from the Garden of the Gods covering the bottom. I opened the locket and rubbed my finger inside the picture frame—a small piece of paper stuck in the corner as though the owner tore a photograph from it.
I raised a brow, swiped it aside, fondled the chain ring, and picked up the postcard.
When did we go here?
We had traveled little since Dad had to maintain the knife shop, so family vacations were minimal except for his trips to the expos where he’d meet with other vendors and learn their craft. We were lucky if it lined up with school times, and it was always an issue with Mom that I missed school.
I dropped the postcard and froze dead in my tracks, my handshovering over a photograph with worn edges as though someone handled it a thousand times before.
Amber?
Why is this in here?
Her smile—bright, wide, full of life—radiated from the image. Behind her, a stage loomed, bathed in neon lights, and the blurry movement of a crowd swirled around her like a chaotic halo. I stared at it, my mind reeling.
Where was this taken?
Something dark and heavy twisted in my gut.
Why the hell was this hidden under lock and key?
A concert?
What concert?