Chapter 20: The Locket

Dean burned the eggs and made toast to cover them.

We ate at his coffee table, on the floor, because the kitchen chairs had gone to a friend.

I had slept on his couch under the blanket from his bed, and he had slept in the bedroom with the door open.

Neither of us had said much the night before.

This morning he put the plates down, sat across from me and looked at the small silver locket at my throat.

It was Mom's necklace, and I had worn it since he gave it back.

"I never opened it," he said. "Not since she died. I couldn't."

"Do you want to?"

"With you."

I undid the clasp and put the chain in his hands.

The catch was stiff.

He pried it open with his thumbnail, and we both leaned in.

Inside was the photo: Mom in the middle, laughing at something off to the side, Dean in braces on her left, and me on her right with terrible bangs.

I made a noise I hadn't planned on.

Dean put his head down on the coffee table, beside the toast, and cried.

I moved around the table and sat with my arm across his back until it stopped.

"She'd have hated this," he said, muffled. "Me being dumb about it."

"She'd have hated Troy."

"She would have asked for his receipts."

I laughed so hard that I hiccupped.

"Dean," I said. "Why did you give it to Leigh?"

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