Page 43 of Beautiful Small Things

At my admission, she looks at me with wide eyes. She doesn’t speak as she takes in the words I’ve just spoken. Her hand covers her heart as tears settle in the corners of those wide eyes. “Marcus, that’s wonderful. I had no idea.”

I smile softly, not surprised by her reaction. “I haven’t told many people yet,” I confess. “I want to make a difference for children with cancer. I’d like to become more involved with research and see if we can come up with a way to keep young people from dying.”

A tear slips down her cheek as she speaks. “I think you’re going to be amazing,” she says.

Without thinking, my thumb finds her cheek and sweeps across it to wipe the tear. It settles for an extended moment as I stare at her. It isn’t often that people take me seriously. I’m used to it and don’t demand it. But I’m more serious about this than anything else ever in my life, and James believes me. She believes me and she believes in me.

A warm feeling spreads through my body as I look at this woman who knows how personal this is to me because she feels the same way. We both lost Nolan, and even though she was young and doesn’t remember much about the gift she gave him, she does remember his death.

I’ve spoken with Colby about it, and it was incredibly difficult for a 10-year girl to understand what was happening. She was told she was miraculous her entire life, and then one day she was told her gift didn’t work. She must’ve been so confused.

I realize I’m standing here with my hand on her cheek and staring at her intently, so I drop my hand and take a step back. “So, we will do our best to get along for the next 24 hours,” I say, attempting to lighten the mood.

“I can do it if you can,” she smiles and reaches out to shake my hand, but instead of shaking it, I lift her knuckles to my lips, kiss her soft skin, and add a wink for effect.

***

James

When Marcus told me about his career goals, I thought I was going to lose it on the spot. It’s not that I’ve ever doubted him as a doctor, but I assumed he’d want to do something flashier, like become a plastic surgeon who makes boobs bigger or vaginas tighter for a living. But he wants to work with children. He wants to search for a cure for cancer. I didn’t see that coming.

It was a rare, vulnerable moment for me to cry in front of him. It’s not that I’m not an emotional person. I’m an incredibly emotional person, in reality, but never in front of him. I’ve always attempted to keep my feelings under wraps when it comes to Marcus Sinclair.

After things got too real out by the pool, I excused myself and found a bathroom to clean up. I splash some water on my face and clean the mascara smudges from underneath my eyes. I can hear muffled voices, footsteps, and the smooth, melodious voice of Mr. Frank Sinatra reverberating through the wall. I don’t feel quite ready to rejoin everyone yet, so I take my opportunity to walk around Marcus’s home.

I think his childhood home was next to Callan’s when they were younger, but his parents moved here when he was about seventeen. The house has seen some shit. It was the site of the infamous birthday party where Callan was the worst possible version of himself to my sister. I remember her coming home that night and crying. She wouldn’t tell me exactly what happened, just that Callan had hurt her once again, and she hoped she’d never see him again. Ironically, this is where we are celebrating their wedding rehearsal.

Life is so strange.

Even though this wasn’t Marcus’s home growing up, it’s still a part of him. My curiosity gets the best of me as I decide to take a look around. It’s an enormous house, much too big for three people, but I know his parents entertain a lot.

I think his father does something in finance. They are nice enough people, although a tad detached for my liking. Then again, I grew up in a tight-knit family with abundant love and physical affection. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that not everyone shares that same experience.

I walk through hallways and look into a den, a media room, a library, two separate offices, a home gym and a game room, and three guest rooms. Making my way upstairs around the winding staircase, I spot what appears to be a master suite belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair.

On the far end of the upstairs is another master suite. I peek my head in and immediately pick up the smell of Marcus. It’s not even a particular cologne, body wash, or deodorant I can pick out. It’s just “him.” He has always had a very distinct smell that I love, like the woods in summertime.

Looking around the room, I can see that it’s been altered into another guest master suite over the years, but remnants of Marcus remain visible. On a bookshelf is a picture of him and Callan after winning the most important college game of their careers. They are smiling widely, and Marcus slings his arm over Callan’s shoulder. They look young and carefree.

On another shelf is a variety of books, trophies, and a signed Joe Montana football in a glass case. I run my fingers over the spines of the books and the cool glass case feeling a spark of excitement that these items belonged to younger Marcus and were important enough to hold on to. I smile as I continue to look around, but I’m interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

I turn around to find Marcus standing in the doorway. He’s got his head cocked to the side as his gaze rakes over my body.

“Whatcha doing, Little Parker?” He asks.

“Just taking a break from the party,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders in faked indifference to his proximity. “I could get lost in this house.”

“Are you?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Am I what?”

“Lost,” he answers, taking a step toward me.

“Um, no. I just, I was looking, and I found-”

“Why are you so nervous?” He questions, stalking toward me, predator to prey.

“I’m not nervous,” I counter, as my heart beats widely and sweat forms on my brow.