Hope - Levy, Marc (web ebook reader .TXT) 📗

“We need to be careful,” Josh warned, although he had given up on reining in Hope’s spending spree.

“Eight nights in a luxury hotel, plane tickets, cocktails on the beach, restaurants . . . I think we still have some spending to do.”

“Whether you like it or not, as soon as I can, I’m paying your dad back for this.”

“Considering what we earn, that could take a while. And in the meantime, Merry Christmas, Dad! Shall we go home?”

They spent the afternoon preparing for Hope’s dream evening. She had invited her two friends from the Center, and Josh had invited Luke.

It was a wonderful Christmas dinner. Before the clock struck midnight, the snowstorm swept back in with renewed force, the flurries falling with more intensity than before. Outside the window, the cars parked on the street were buried in glistening white. Hope dusted off some extra sheets and blankets. Their guests wouldn’t be leaving tonight.

8

Christmas morning dawned, and a seemingly everyday event plunged Josh into a contemplative state that would go on to shape his future.

The group of friends had spent an hour digging Luke’s car out from under the thick, unforgiving snow that covered it. The snow had fallen relentlessly throughout the night, and the plow had only made things worse, covering the sidewalks with the clumps it scooped out of the road.

Josh and Luke shoveled snow without stopping to catch their breath, while Hope and her friends dug around the wheels with anything close at hand.

Josh slipped on a patch of ice and fell to the ground, wiping the snow from his face while Hope doubled over in laughter. Suddenly, the smell of the snow, Hope’s laughter, and Luke’s voice urging him to get back to work caused a long-forgotten memory to resurge.

It was the winter he was eleven. His father had taken him to Connecticut, their first vacation since his mom had gone to the grocery store and never come back.

His dad had rented a small but comfortable house close to the banks of the Saugatuck River.

“Gray Creek,” Josh murmured to himself. The house was at Gray Creek, at the end of Quentin Road.

Images flew past in his mind’s eye.

He saw the window screen at the front door, the only room on the first floor, the little kitchen, and the two faded leather armchairs positioned in front of the TV. Upstairs were two small bedrooms and a shared bathroom. The house smelled of old wood and wax. Christmas lights were strewn along the roof, and Josh liked the dim glow they cast, breaking up the dark loneliness of his bedroom.

In the evenings, he walked with his dad to a grocery store where Elvira, the owner, shoveled pizzas into a big oven. Josh would watch the dough rise and turn golden.

One morning, he helped his dad dig out the car from under the snow that had fallen overnight.

What started as a bit of fun soon turned into a nightmare. His dad had teased him because he couldn’t dig fast enough. The more he laughed, the smaller Josh felt, and the hotter his cheeks burned. As he snatched his dad’s shovel away, to show that he knew how to do it, his father slipped, fell to the ground, and hurt himself.

“Now you know why your mom doesn’t love me. I can’t do anything right.” His dad apologized for making fun of him.

That was the morning Josh understood his mother wouldn’t be coming back.

How could I have forgotten? he asked himself.

He thought back to all the pieces of the puzzle that had come together to prompt his memory into action. The fall, the smell of the snow, and Luke’s teasing voice. Three ingredients that combined into a kind of code that caused a door somewhere to swing open.

Hope was right when she said that the small things in life weren’t so small after all.

His mind instantly went to the experiments he had been running over the past few months. Until now, everything he had managed to save to the Longview server had been directly sourced from his short-term memory. Luke had sometimes reminded him of things from their teenage years during the sessions, but he had never considered delving further back.

And to go further back, he needed to dip into deeper memories, memories buried in his subconscious. But how to trigger them?

“Josh? Are you okay, Josh?”

Hope’s voice sounded so distant. Josh took a deep breath and smiled.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Are you hurt?” Luke offered him his hand, and as Josh grasped it, heaving himself to his feet, he whispered into his friend’s ear, “Meet me at the Center tonight.”

Josh left the loft at the end of the afternoon, taking care not to wake Hope, who had fallen asleep. He left her a note on the crate in the living room and tiptoed out of the apartment.

He hopped on his bike and picked his way down the icy street. The asphalt was frozen over, and his tires slipped dangerously every time he pushed down on the pedals. Turning at the intersection, he skidded across the street, the bike just about tipping over, to the amazement of a passerby walking his dog. Three streets down, he had gained a little confidence. The bitter wind bit at his cheeks, but he was unstoppable. He changed gears and pedaled faster, buoyed by a growing sense of freedom.

He arrived at the bus depot with seconds to spare, chained his bike to a streetlight, and jumped on a bus.

Luke had agreed to come and pick him up at the bus stop ten minutes away from the Center, and he was waiting there in his Camaro as Josh pulled in.

“Do we really need to work on Christmas Day?”

“Have you ever fantasized about staging a heist?”

“Not that I remember.” Luke shook his head.

“Well, I have. When I was a kid, I thought about it every time my dad complained about his bills and told me