Protecting What's Mine

Chapter 2: Grace

I need to believe that life will continue to improve from here on out.

Gently he presses his lips against my temple. "It will be, Gracie. I have no doubt about that." He pauses for a moment. "I just can't help but wish you were staying at the house. At least for a little while. I don't want you getting overwhelmed. Moving, starting school, volunteering..."

I understand his concern. In a way, I have the same fears. But it seems necessary. As if I need to shock my system into living again.

When I don't immediately respond, he continues, "The last two years have been..." His softly spoken words trail off into nothingness.

We both know what it's been like. The sheer depth of my despair has, at times, frightened him.

Sucking in a breath, I force it back out into the world. "Difficult."

To say the least.

His arm tightens around me. "I'm happy to have you back again."

Both of my parents were born in Seattle, which is why we ended up moving back there when I was in seventh grade. At the time, my mom's parents had still been alive, and she'd wanted to be closer to them. To help them out.

My parents met Dominic while they were attending law school in Chicago. They had liked the city so much, they'd stuck around after graduating. Both of them took jobs with the district attorney's office. So, I was born in Chicago. Until moving to Seattle, this had been the only home I'd ever known. I loved Chicago. Loved everything about the city. The ties that I had here, the memories, and the happy childhood spent wandering around museums and zoos played a huge part in my decision to return.

No matter how many years have crept by, Chicago has always been where my heart was. It just felt like home. More so than Seattle ever had.

A feeling of rightness settles over me like a comforting blanket. "I'm glad to be here."

Even after my family moved to Seattle, we still spent a lot of time with Dominic. He visited for holidays. We vacationed together. He's been an ever-constant presence in my life. After my parents died, I spent my school breaks with him. There was always a plane ticket waiting for me. I never had to ask or broach the subject. I never felt unwanted or unloved.

Spending time alone in the Seattle house without my parents... I just couldn't do it. There were too many memories. A tidal wave of grief just waiting to suck me under when I least expected it always lingered in the background.

Our house in Seattle was massive. A five-bedroom rambling old Victorian with soaring ceilings and intricate woodwork that my parents spent four painstaking years refinishing in their spare time. As someone who appreciated architecture, I loved all the fancy molding and trim, gorgeous stained-glass windows, and glossy hardwood floors.

I haven't been back in almost a year and a half. I can't bear to walk through the front door. Mom and Dad's stamps are everywhere. There's no where I can go without a hundred different memories flooding into my mind.

And my heart.

As of right now, the house is closed up. Dominic pays a company to handle the upkeep and maintenance until we figure out what to do with it. There's no way I can rent it out to strangers. Nor can I bring myself to sell it.

How can I possibly sell all the memories that lay dormant within?

I suppose at some point I'll have to decide what to do, but for now it can wait. There's no hurry. My parents inherited a great deal of money from my mother's family. It's all sitting in a trust that Dominic manages for me.

Rising up onto the worn toes of my Converse sneakers, I kiss the side of his face. "Thanks for everything."

With his arm still wrapped around my waist, his eyes soften as he continues gazing down at me. "You don't have to thank me. We're family." He cracks just a hint of a smile as he says, "It's just you and me, kid. Against the world."

I can't help but return his easy affection. It may be just the two of us, but I consider myself fortunate to have him in my life.

Unlike my parents, who worked as prosecutors in the district attorney's office, Dominic decided to go the route of high-priced defense attorney. He didn't come from money the way my parents did. He would always wink, jokingly saying that he couldn't afford to be a bleeding-heart liberal like my parents. After practicing law for about five years, he opened his own office and bought a beautiful, old stately house on the Northshore. It's situated right on Lake Michigan.

Never married, there have been a slew of girlfriends over the years. There have even been a few close calls where we thought he might pop the question, but it never happened.

I remember my dad laughing and my mother shaking her blond head as she rolled her twinkling blue eyes at his quintessential bachelorhood. He has always seemed perfectly content to date one beautiful woman after another. Once I'd overheard my father mutter something about Dominic having a whole stable full of p***y.

I hadn't understood what that meant at the time and I hadn't wanted to figure it out either. All I cared about was that Dominic was great fun to be around. Always smiling and laughing, he was the life of every party. People naturally gravitated to his charismatic personality. Women especially. In fact, they still do.

When I'd been in high school, I'd secretly crushed on him.

Who wouldn't?

Dominic was tall and handsome. He had broad shoulders, a tapered waist, elegant hands, and thick blond hair. His bright blue eyes always seemed to be filled with mischief. He had perpetually tanned skin from taking his sailboat out on the weekends. Other than practicing law, sailing was his other great passion. He didn't have a thin build, but he wasn't overly muscular either. He spent the work week outfitted in expensive, handmade suits and the weekends in khakis, polos, and Sperry topsiders.

He reminded me of a walking Ralph Lauren ad, content to live the good life.

I pegged him to be somewhere around forty-five. He was one of those men who grew more attractive, more distinguished, with age. The little laugh lines bracketing his eyes made him more striking. Last year, when the two of us had celebrated his birthday, I'd teased him mercilessly because he wouldn't tell me how old he was. As a gag gift, I gave him a cane, denture cream, and a subscription to AARP magazine.

He had not been amused.

The recollection still makes me smile.

It's one of the few happy memories I have to hold onto in a churning sea of sadness and grief. So, I've held tightly onto those fleeting moments with both hands. They have been far too rare and much too precious to ever take for granted.

"In no time at all, this place will feel like home."

Giving him a smile, I say, "It already does." Leaning my body into his, he tightens his arm around my waist. "You're here."