So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page A

box. After all those years.”
    “That’s so cool.”
    “You’re telling me. I never told anyone about my treasures. No wait, that’s not true.” His face falls as he clutches the box tightly in both hands. “I told my father. It was a few weeks before he disappeared. I remember he gave me the photo and told me to put it in a safe place. So I showed him my hiding spot. He was the only one who ever knew.”
    I lean forward and place my hands over his. “It’s a good thing you found it.” I squeeze his hands gently. “It’s like there’s a part of him still here.”
    The window is open. I hear a mourning dove outside, a short, staccato burst of song that repeats again and again. It blends in with the sound of my mother moving around in the kitchen below us, pans clanking together, the faucet turning on and off.
    “You’re right.” He pulls away and clears his throat. He carefully puts the photo back into the box and sets it aside. “How did I get such a smart granddaughter, anyway?”
    I smile and stand up. “Some people are just born lucky. Now can we please go eat French toast? I’m dying of hunger over here.”
    “Dramatic girl,” he says as he rises to follow me from the room.
    The kitchen smells like flour and eggs and maple syrup. It’s a large, open space with windows that look out onto the garden. I take a seat at the round wooden table, pushing aside the newspaper and a mug that reads COME TO MONTAUK FOR FUN IN THE SUN ! Grandpa sits down next to me and picks up a section of the paper and holds it in front of his face. Mom is at the stove, still wearing her workout clothes, sweats and a baggy T-shirt that hangs down to her knees. It’s so different from her normal look—polished suits and shiny hair—that I hardly recognize her.
    “Looking good, Mom,” I say as I reach for a jug of orange juice.
    “Don’t be a smartass.” She drops three thick slices of French toast onto my plate.
    My mom is a self-proclaimed Weekend Mom. During the week she’s busy working for a real estate office in town. When she’s not showing houses, she’s at meetings: for historical preservation, the Montauk Downtown Association, the PTA. Between her schedule and mine, we’ve perfected the art of the quick catch-up—a “hi” and “bye” in the mornings, a kiss good night. But on the weekends she’s all about taking me shopping at the outlets or to the beach on warm days, and she always, always cooks breakfast on Saturday mornings.
    I bite into the thick grilled bread, closing my eyes when the sweetness of the syrup hits my tongue. “Oh gawd, thish ish shoo goood.”
    “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
    I roll my eyes at her tone. “I’m seventeen, Mom. You don’t need to scold me like I’m five.” I hear Grandpa chuckling from behind the paper.
    “Even seventeen-year-olds shouldn’t talk with their mouths full. Plus, you’ll always be my baby.” She comes over and puts her hand on my head, smoothing down my sleep-messed hair. “You need to get this cut. It’s all shaggy.”
    “That’s the look.” I pull away from her. “Stop, you’re getting French toast in my hair.”
    “The look, huh? I guess I’m just an old lady now who doesn’t know anything about style.”
    “I don’t know, you’re rockin’ those sweats pretty hard.”
    “Watch it,” she snaps, clearly trying not to laugh. “Where’s your father?”
    “Comatose in front of the TV.”
    “I heard that.” My dad walks into the kitchen, sidling up to my mom as she stands next to the stove. He slips his arm around her, pressing his face into her neck, his dark hair a startling contrast to her pale gold. He’s so tall he almost has to bend in half to reach her. She giggles, pushing him away with her spatula.
    I almost gag on my orange juice. “Ew, get a room.”
    “We have a room,” he says. “Actually, we have seven rooms. We just let you stay in one of them out of the goodness of our hearts.”
    “My dad the