Utterly Forgettable | MM Romance | Complete

Forty-Three: Emery: Wrenched Out Of Time

Emery was in the middle of wondering where Josh might be, that he hadn't showed up in time for dinner, and occupying himself once again with browsing apartment listings when he heard Josh's muffled voice in the hallway.

"Emery? Can you hear me? I could use a hand."

He opened the front door to find Josh balancing two heavy-looking cardboard boxes in his hands and couldn't help needling, "Josh. I was on the verge of sending out a search party."

"Sorry," Josh said, sheepish, "I didn't realize it was this late."

"That's quite alright," Emery assured him, relieving him of the top box. "Where would you like me to put this?"

"Just set it down next to the couch. I have something for you."

He did as instructed, curious at what Josh might have for him that would make his captivating gray eyes shine like that. "You do?"

"Sit down for me, will you?" Josh set the box he was holding next to the first one. "I... I found something that I think you'll like. No, that I know you'll like. That I know you'll think is important. I'm not sure like is the word." He swallowed, ignoring Emery's puzzled expression. "I went to your old house today."

"You..." Emery couldn't finish the sentence, pain lancing through him. Not at the house itself, no. He didn't miss the comforts he'd once had, the bedrooms and swimming pool, the air conditioning and the spotless kitchen without having to lift a finger. But any mention of the old house brought back images of Emma, and he didn't think he could ever remember his sister without pain. It had morphed in the last year, yes, become less absolute and more like a deep-seated ache, colored with fond memories and softening at the edges, but it was still present.

He'd drifted off, leaving Josh hanging. He swallowed the ache and managed to ask, "Why?"

"I was hoping whoever had bought it knew what had happened to the things you can't replace," Josh replied without meeting his eyes.

Emery's eyes widened, breath hitching. The things he couldn't replace. His memories, his photos, the small mementos he had no hope of ever seeing again. Josh wouldn't bring them up if he believed they were forever beyond his grasp, so that must mean... Had he found a way for Emery to reclaim them? "What did they say?" His voice cracked.

"The rest of your stuff's gone, but these," Josh indicated the boxes with his chin, "Are your photo albums. And a few video tapes. I thought you'd like to have them back."

Time stood still as Emery processed what Josh was saying. This... It wasn't a nebulous clue, a storage facility somewhere where the most deeply-cherished pieces of Emery's past may or may not be hiding. If Josh was to be believed — and he always was — then those pieces were right here, inside a pair of innocuous-looking cardboard boxes, waiting for Emery to rediscover them.

He knelt in front of one of the boxes reverently, almost afraid to open it. Then, squaring his shoulders, he pried apart the cardboard and peered inside. His face crumpled, tears all but leaping from his eyes. A sob tore free as he pulled an old photo album with the hand that didn't shake against his mouth.

His parents' wedding album. His baby book, Emma's baby book, he could see so many of them just by looking at the spines, neatly written in his father's handwriting. He could recall some of them without even opening them, how his father had been precise with his memory-keeping, and then his mother had haphazardly written anecdotes wherever there'd been available room — in the back of photographs, in margins, in papers that she'd tape to the inside of books — until they'd formed a complete picture. It had a lot to do with who his parents had been.