And after I see him? I take my banged-up heart and go back to being alone.

* * *

I try to avoid the house at all costs.

I’ll even take a longer route to make sure I don’t have to see it, to remember, but I couldn’t today. I had to bring Torrance Maricello his books, and he lived on the same road out in the country, so I had to pass it. Torrance is eighty and recently had surgery, and couldn’t come in to the bookstore.

The house is tucked back in the trees, in the middle of a field, a little ways out of town. The wildflowers and feverfew and irises would bloom soon, an old willow to one side, a gnarled oak tree in the front. Weeds had overtaken much of the yard.

It used to be charming, a bright yellow home with white trim and a green door. Now it wasn’t. I had many memories that were stuck behind the dirty, ragged white picket fence and in the backyard, by the pond. There were memories at the end of a rope swing hanging from the willow tree, in the highest branches of the oak tree, and in a fort that has since fallen down behind the house.

Inside the house, too, were memories. In the kitchen with hand-painted yellow tiles. In a back bedroom painted a cheerful pink.

The pink bedroom didn’t match with the blood in the kitchen.

I sniffled as my eyes filled with tears.

What happened there was my fault and I have never forgotten it, never forgiven myself. I had been young, yes, but I had known better.

* * *

“Can you believe I’m getting married? Me. Antiestablishment. Antitradition. Anti, what else am I anti?”

“A lot, Jules, you sister-rebel.” I held the phone in my hand, Sundance walking along beside me as I headed down to the beach the next night to watch the sunset. I was in my usual uniform, jeans and a purple, hippie-ish top with a ruffle at the hem. I like my clothes flowing. I like embroidery on them, especially if there are roses. I like dangly earrings and bracelets, but I rarely wear necklaces, as they can make me feel like I’m choking. You could say my style is: easy, colorful, flowing, embroidered, and painted island style. With rock band T-shirts thrown in now and then when I’m feeling musical.

Mars, Jupiter, Venus, and Ghost were tumbling behind me somewhere, and Butch and Cassidy had run ahead, barking, their tongues hanging out as if they’d forgotten to put them back in. Behind me, my mother and aunts’ daffodils and tulips, ready to bloom, were swaying with the wind.

“Yes. I’m a rebel and I’m getting married. How can that be?”

“You found a biker who matched your coolness. You found love and lust and now you’re going to stand in front of a minister and say ‘I do.’” I grabbed the baggie in my pocket. There were only a few chocolates in there. Mocha. Divinity. Chocolate sprinkles. I was eating them because of the health value. Dark chocolate helps with immunity and all, or something like that.