Page 87 of The Other Side of Green
After staring at the ceiling for a whole three minutes while listening to a trombone down the hallway repeat the same scale over and over again with clunky finesse, I got up and shook myself awake. My duffel in the corner of the room by my closet caught my eye. It sat empty, apart from one item I hadn’t yet unpacked.
Grams’ box.
It talked to me from the deep, dark recesses of battered canvas. Picking it up, I unhooked the rope tie and delved down deep, sticking my head in as I rummaged.
I pulled it out, my fingers almost tingling with anticipation. Why had she left me a box at Patience’s house?
Sitting back on the bed and pulling my knees up, I settled the box on my lap, placing my palms on the surface.
I pinged the elastic, easing it off the corners of the box. Whatever she wanted me to have she’d gone to some lengths to keep them out of the hands of others; and by others I meant my mother.
My stomach turned at the thought of Mom and what she would be doing at the house. I knew deep in my heart that there wouldn’t have been any point staying.
I searched deep inside me to seek out the hurt I should feel at being scorned and turned away by her, but after every single thing she’d done to me, I knew one thing. She’d never hurt me again. Not the way she now had with the secrets about Jack and his father.
She’d kept a mother from me, a brother who lived next door from me, for my whole life.
And that fact stood irrelevant of any DNA test results. The lie had been told for eighteen years, making my entire life a half truth. Half a truth and half a lie.
Pushing her out of my thoughts, I lifted the lid, finding an envelope addressed to me at the top of a pile of letters, books and various other odds and bobs crammed to the top of the box.
The envelope seemed fresh, not like it had sat in the box for an age. Somewhat disappointed I wasn’t unwrapping some form of historical missive, I turned it over to gently prize open the back. It might not be antique, but it was from Grams and therefore it was priceless to me.
On the back she’d scrawled, ‘For Lyra Bird only’.
My eyes stung with tears, which I brushed away.
“Oh, Grams,” I sighed wiggling my finger under the edge, but then wincing when I cut the top of my pinkie. “Fuck,” I cursed, but then grumbled, “Sorry, Grams,” under my breath.
Giving the droplet of blood a suck, I tried again, this time managing to undo the envelope without blood loss. I eased out the papers as a loud knock landed against the door.
I ignored it, unwilling to see anyone other than Eva and she had a key to get in.
Unfolding the papers, I found a wad of pages covered in Grams’ scrawl. My heart at once soared at having a final communication from Grams, but also sank at the same time at just how much she had to say. “There were these things called phones, you know,” I said out loud just in case she could hear me. Which she would. The woman was a witch after all.
The door hammered again.
I ignored it again.
But they were persistent.
Eventually, sighing, I slipped off the bed and walked with tingly pins and needles legs to the door.
Unlocking and squeezing it open an inch, I peered through the gap, finding a stern face and dirty green eyes staring right back at me.
“Jack?” My already tingly legs wobbled beneath me.
He pushed open the door, his hands grabbing my shoulders, his body angling mine back through into my dorm. His mouth landed firm and hard on mine, stealing everything that I had.
Between kisses he muttered the words my soul needed to hear.
Kiss. “Not.” Kiss. “My.” Kiss. “Sister.” Kiss. “Confirmed.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jack
Lyra exhaled a little gasp into my mouth, her body shaking as I angled her backwards. Her lips, the sweetest plump buds, met mine and my body burned with a fire so intense every muscle stung with the heat of it.
