Page 16 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

He looks at me with those big eyes and I can’t bring myself to lie to my only nephew.

“I… I can’t call it, Mars.”

His chin drops to his chest, before he collapses into the sand. He’s so dramatic, but I don’t curb it at all. His imagination is huge, probably from being so isolated, and I often wonder how that will play into what he does with his life as an adult.

“How about this: once a day, we’ll call her. Not all at the same time. That way, we’ll catch her when she’s not busy.”

“Okay, Ricky.” His voice is thick with tears and sand. I stay seated, hoping that since Fredo isn’t bothering me right now, he’s watching over his bm. Eventually, Mars gets up, and we watch the rest of the sunrise together.

Wyn

My life kinda sucks.

That’s the general consensus, anyway.

I’ve been sitting here, for I don’t know how long, watching my life play out on a projector screen. This show doesn’t even allow popcorn, so it’s just been me watching everything, since when I was pulled out my mother’s stomach, on.

I’m up to age ten right now.

Every event. Every thought. On the big screen.

And, it kind of sucks.

I mean, I’ve never been happy. Never ever. There's been a few times I was close. Of course, when Auty wasn’t mad at me. But even then, I was sad.

No, worse.

Melancholy.

“This is depressing,” I sigh, resting my weight on my palms.

“Yeah, it kind of is.”

My smile is automatic before I even turn.

It’s been years since I heard that voice. Over twenty. And still, I know it anywhere. I was just listening to it.

She looks like me, especially at first glance. But she has more freckles than me, and they’re more concentrated on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She’s darker, too, more Auty’s cinnamon than my butterscotch complexion.

Her hair’s more muddy than red, too. Tight coils frame her face like the sun.

Like the sun on a Summer Dae.

Her smile widens when our gazes meet. She tilts her head toward the screen. “Hi Wynnie.”

I launch myself at her, pleasantly surprised she’s not a ghost. Her body is soft on mine as she grunts and we both fall over.

I break into uncontrollable sobs. She even smells the same. Summy always smelled like peaches. Even through all the antiseptic and hospital and death, there was always a hint of peaches to her.

Her peaches smell is stronger now, and caresses my nose. I sniff her, not caring how weird it is.

She’s real. She’s here.

“How?” I ask, holding her tighter. I don’t really want the answer. I’m okay with believing it’s magic.

“I don’t know. I don’t really care,” she replies, her voice wobbly.

“Me neither.”