Page 49 of CurVy Forever

She cracks up laughing.

I thought that was rather poetic, but then, I’ve never been great at getting the inside words out through my mouth.

“You’re a lunatic.” She leans in and kisses my nose, and I see moonlight and stars and tranquillity. She’s the sweetest. In my mind, her nose-kisses are always accompanied by Debussy’s Claire de Lune.

Molly shimmers, just like that piece.

“Look at that fucker.” Donnie’s gruff tones draw me back to reality.

“Language,” Vallie scolds.

I rise to my feet and scan the parking lot just in time to see Dexter leaving the building with a bag over his shoulder.

He moves as though he’s just left a business meeting, power in his gait, head held high, heels grounded. That’s my brother, prisoner or CEO, he does both with the same swagger.

He turns to stride around the building, probably expecting Quinn or one of his associates to pick him up from the rear.

Should I call out to him?

Or catch him? Jog?

We walk faster, anticipation rolling through me, ready to say something fucking clever and not at all insane.

“Hey, Monster!” Vallie yells.

Dexter stops midstride.

He edges around to face us, slowly as if to prepare. He knows we have Molly; we have been visiting him almost every day, but he didn’t want her to visit.

Makes sense.

He only had three months left when her mother finally transferred custody to Vallie and Donnie, and Molly is still adjusting to us three—an odd compilation of notes and characters.

Now, she has Dexter.

His eyes land on me first and hold for a long time—hi, Dex—before scanning the others and settling on Molly. He grips his forehead as if overcome, eyes staring, glistening, and unable to look away.

He lowers his hand and walks towards us.

Unwilling to wait, I start to jog to meet him, hearing little feet as well as heavy ones coming quickly up my flank.

Red and orange ribbons whirl around me.

I hear a progression in the key of G-major—a simple song. I need simple. It’s the sound of reunion.

It’s powerful in my ears, quickly building with inversions and, finally, when I collide with him, throwing my arms over his shoulders, the sequence in my ears breaks away to an amen cadence—melancholy and closure.

And I hug him.

I’m still not right and never will be, but if my life is sheet music, then the haze and disorientation in my mind are mere articulation marks along the staff. They may change the normal flow of things, but the continuing song is a perfectly simple sequence of pretty notes and rests.

Tyler…

Donnie—G

Dexter—C

Vallie—A

Molly—C

Rest.