The Things We Keep by Nikki Kincaid

Author:Nikki Kincaid [Kincaid, Nikki]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nikki Kincaid

Chapter 17

Remy’s bark drew my attention away from the pile of clothes in front of me. I wiped my tears and stepped over the Donate pile I’d pulled from dad’s closet. Peering through the front window, my stomach dropped. Chris was here. He and Remy were engaged in a goofy dance in which Remy would leap up on him, he’d push her off gently, only to have her leap up again.

“Remy!” I shouted, stepping outside. The front of Chris’s shirt and jeans were smeared with dirt. “I am so sorry,” I said. “I don’t know how to get her to stop jumping like that.”

“It’s okay,” Chris said with a laugh. “This isn’t the first time.”

“You have a dog?” Of course he had a dog. A perfect family wasn’t complete without a dog or two.

“Used to.”

“Oh.” I frowned. “I’m s—don’t let her go!” Chris unclipped Remy. She bolted for the trees. “Remy!”

The dog reached the trees and circled back, barking and running circles around Chris. Chris laughed and teased her into a frenzy.

“She’ll run away again!” I cried.

But Chris didn’t listen. He chased Remy around the yard and when she brought him a stick she found at the edge of the woods, he threw it for her and she retrieved it, tail wagging so frantically her whole backend wagged with it.

The sight of Chris playing with the dog like a little boy slowly eclipsed my fear that Remy would run off. And my anger at Chris.

After several minutes, Remy collapsed at Chris’s feet, panting. Chris, too, stood with hands on hips, panting. He wiped the sweat off his brow and his shirt rose a fraction of an inch to reveal tight, tan skin. My heart rate quickened. I looked away and said, “Isn’t it your day off?”

He reached into his back pocket and took out a phone. “It’s your dad’s.”

I stared at the phone, muscles going rigid. It was your average smartphone in a black case, but somehow it felt like so much more. Our entire lives are on our phones.

“The Staties downloaded the contents,” Chris said. “You can have it back.”

I reached for it with a shaking hand. Pressing the button, I was surprised to see it light up.

“I charged it a little on my way over,” Chris said.

A wave of gratitude washed over me. “Do you know the passcode?”

“Zero eight three one.”

Tears filled my eyes. “My birthday.”

“Your dad knew how hard it is to access phones after someone dies.”

I looked at him sharply. “Did he know he was going to--?"

Chris shook his head. “No, nothing like that. We found a list of passwords under a magnet on his fridge when we searched the house.”

I stared at the phone’s home screen, and with a shaking finger typed in the code.

My own face popped up, staring back at me from behind rows of apps. It was an old photo. I wore braces and acne dotted my forehead. I was smiling at the camera with bits of corn caught in my braces. A summer picnic on the back deck.

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