Without the Moon (Act One) by Larissa C. Moyer

Author:Larissa C. Moyer [Moyer, Larissa C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-10-08T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-TWO

SEVEN YEARS AGO

WINTER, SENIOR YEAR

PAIGE

Using my key, I twisted the lock to the front door of the Morrow house, then quietly closed it behind me. As I tiptoed through the living room, I held my hands out with the grocery bags—trying to keep them from rustling.

Quiiiet.

I knew Christine was working, but the house was silent aside from the small creaks the floor was making under my feet. And there was only a small bit of gray overcast light trickling in from the window beside the big comfy chair I loved.

My mouth pulled up at the sight of the Christmas tree. Their house may have been small, but it had the perfect spot, just beside the blanket chest for their little tree. My eyes peered down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

There was no question in my mind that Linc would still be sleeping if he could—but if Maisie was up, there was no way he would still be sleeping.

All of my excitement rushed straight to my abs and tightened, shaking my hands a bit—fighting a happy dance—and the bags rattled.

I made it to the kitchen and put down my supplies, smiling. I still had a shot at the birthday breakfast invasion. Underneath all of my shit on the kitchen table, I saw a piece of paper peeking out under one of the bags.

I pulled it out, noticing it was a card . . . with a Polaroid taped to it. My smile stretched.

A picture of Linc from when he was . . . nine, I think.

I could tell because he was sporting the scar under his chin he got from his skateboarding phase.

I snort a small laugh at the memory. Ellis tried too.

Kerplunk one, kerplunk two.

In the picture, Linc’s sitting in front of the Christmas tree, road-burned chin lifted high. His hazel eyes peek out under shaggy dark hair, while a one-year-old Maisie stares adoringly at her older brother.

My eyes traveled to the note written in black marker on the white strip below the image.

Her hero and mine.

Love you always, Little Man.

Love, Momma

My eyes immediately misted. Jesus.

I knew Christine was proud of Linc—how could she not be?—but I loved seeing this. I knew it would mean so much to him, and I just . . .

Ugh. I grunted, giving a quick shake of my head, before I put the card back down on the table, suddenly realizing . . .

Nine years old, which would make this picture from the last Christmas with their dad . . .

Fucking loser.

I start to unpack the bags, letting the small bit of movement try to cycle through my jolt of anger.

“If nothing else, we kept his treasure,” Gram had snickered to me once when I was on a tangent about Mr. Morrow. His treasure being Linc and Maisie.

My mouth twisted with an idea. It would take more energy from me, but I couldn’t fight the urge once I had it.

I slowly walked out of the kitchen, passing quickly through the living room to the hallway with the bedrooms.

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