his baked treats onto the couch with her. She made Ty
make room.
Alex hoped she got only socks.
It wasn"t much of a curse. The Faradays weren"t rich,
and there was a houseful of people to shop for. Gifts tended
to be simple, cheap, or homemade—used books, knitted
scarves, jars of spicy pickles, picture frames. Those with
money tended to buy things that were needed. Alex wasn"t
wealthy either, was still working out some debt issues, but
he had enough to get George and Ally tickets to a show in
the city, which meant they"d have to come see him.
And hopefully Everett, his mind added, but when he
looked at Everett, Everett was focused on opening the
current present being handed to him by the child forced to
play Santa.
Alex dutifully opened his presents too. An expensive
bottle of cognac from Robert. Interesting junk from street
vendors and thrift sales and convenience stores that they
knew would amuse him from the others, including a truly
awful-looking movie from Everett.
He raised his head again to thank him and saw Everett
stretching to kiss his mother"s cheek to thank her for
whatever she"d gotten him. Alex turned to see what, and
then stopped to study the familiar bags of caramels and hard
candy and think about Everett having more of his favorite
treat to hoard.
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A Wealth of Unsaid Words • R. Cooper
“I didn"t plan to buy them for you, but I was looking for
something interesting for Alex, and I saw those and thought
of you. You always loved them when you were growing up,
and I couldn"t find a last little something for you,” Ally was
explaining merrily and then must have caught some kind of
question on Ty"s face because she went on. “I know they
aren"t much, but Everett always loved those, especially the
butterscotch. That was always his favorite of all of them.”
Ty said something Alex couldn"t hear, but he supposed
it didn"t matter because then Ty turned to look at him,
revelations all over his face. George turned, too, squinting
across the room at Alex like he"d also just figured something
out.
They could be wrong, but Alex didn"t think so. It wasn"t
as though he"d been especially subtle. He hadn"t seen the
point at the time. Those poems had been borne out of those
first post-suicide-attempt letters to Everett, created from the
words he couldn"t say out loud. Subtlety hadn"t even
occurred to him.
If (when) I live to be old / will I confuse dreams? / one
sweet circle of butterscotch / a lifetime of the bruised bliss of
your mouth. That was the rest of the line Ty hadn"t been able
to remember, though the poem itself went on from there.
But Alex ignored them, poems he"d hated the moment
they were out for the world to read, and all the other people
in the room, and looked at Everett. He found Everett staring
at him, white-faced and hungover and frowning. Furious, as
he only ever got when Alex refused to take his medication, or
when Alex took too much on purpose and called him to say,
94
A Wealth of Unsaid Words • R. Cooper
“I"m sorry, Everett, I"m so sorry,” before hanging up and
locking his door.
Alex rose to his feet and went to the kitchen. He stopped
only because George grabbed his arm. The man paused,
looking around, then lowered his voice.
“Only a few minutes, son. You"ve got gifts waiting.”
Everett"s father was as startlingly kind as he had always
been under the strong words and gruff bluster as he let Alex
go and then stepped back to resume taking pictures.
Alex nodded, but only because he couldn"t speak. Then
he got the hell out of there.
If that meant freezing his ass off again, then so be it.
hat, of course, was a bold declaration made in the
heat of the moment. The moment after was
T
considerably colder and uncomfortable. He"d put on
some flannel pajama pants to come downstairs but not
shoes or even slippers. He wasn"t certain he even owned a
pair of slippers, though he"d once sent Rachel four pairs of
stuffed
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