Chapter 22: Borrow It... But Bring It Back
The Dream House
Book One
For a while, nobody spoke.
The banana bread sat untouched on the coffee table.
Steam continued rising from the mugs of tea Miss Carmen had prepared, but no one seemed interested in drinking anymore.
Somehow...
One old photograph had managed to silence an entire room.
Miss Carmen slowly lowered herself back onto the couch.
Her eyes remained fixed on the framed picture resting beside her.
She gently ran her fingers across the edge of the wooden frame as though she were afraid time itself might erase the memories trapped inside it.
"I suppose..."
She sighed.
"...I've kept too many things."
Her voice sounded tired.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like someone who had spent years carrying boxes nobody else could see.
Luna quietly reached for her cup.
She didn't interrupt.
She simply waited.
Luna had become very good at waiting.
Selena, on the other hand, wasn't built for waiting.
"So..."
She leaned forward.
"...who is the woman in the picture?"
Straight to the point.
Classic Selena.
Miss Carmen smiled.
"You don't give up easily."
"No."
"I noticed."
For the first time that afternoon, Sinnad chuckled.
A real one.
Small.
Quiet.
But real.
Selena looked at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, say it."
"I'd rather not."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You think I'm stubborn."
"I didn't say that."
"You were thinking it."
"I wasn't."
"You absolutely were."
He shrugged.
"I plead the Fifth."
I couldn't help laughing.
"You know that's an American law, right?"
"I know."
"So why are you using it?"
"It sounded appropriate."
Luna laughed so hard she almost spilled her tea.
Miss Carmen shook her head.
"You two would argue over the weather."
"We don't argue."
Selena answered immediately.
"We discuss."
Sinnad looked at her.
"Professionally."
The room exploded with laughter.
Even Selena eventually surrendered and laughed at herself.
It was strange.
She laughed differently around him.
Less carefully.
More freely.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
I quietly picked up my mug.
Still warm.
Still smelling like cinnamon.
I looked around Miss Carmen's living room again.
The family photographs.
The old clock.
The handmade blankets.
The bookshelf.
Then my eyes stopped.
Books.
Rows and rows of books.
Art books.
History books.
Journals.
Old novels.
Sketchbooks.
One large leather-bound book immediately caught my attention.
Its spine was cracked.
Its pages looked worn.
Like someone had loved it for years.
"You can look."
Miss Carmen smiled without even turning around.
Apparently she'd noticed where I was looking.
I walked over carefully.
Almost respectfully.
The book was heavier than I expected.
I opened the first page.
Inside, written in elegant handwriting, were the words:
Dreams are never owned.
They're entrusted.
No author's name.
No date.
Just those five words.
I read them again.
Then again.
Something about them...
Stayed with me.
"You can borrow it."
I looked up.
"You sure?"
Miss Carmen nodded.
"But..."
She raised one finger.
"...bring it back."
"I will."
"No."
She smiled.
"I mean really bring it back."
The room laughed again.
"I'm serious."
"I know."
She looked directly into my eyes.
"There are books you read."
A pause.
"And there are books that read you."
I didn't know what she meant.
Not yet.
But somehow...
I felt like she wasn't talking about the leather-bound book.
She was talking about life.
As we prepared to leave, everyone thanked Miss Carmen for the food.
For the tea.
For the stories.
For opening her home.
Outside, the evening sun painted everything in warm shades of gold.
Luna walked a few steps ahead, humming softly.
Selena was answering emails before we'd even reached the sidewalk.
Some things never change.
Sinnad locked Miss Carmen's front gate behind us.
Then turned toward me.
"You draw?"
I blinked.
"What?"
"I've seen the way you look at things."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"You don't just see."
He smiled faintly.
"You study."
Nobody had ever described me that way before.
Before I could answer, he reached into his backpack.
Pulled out a small object wrapped in brown paper.
And handed it to me.
"For your next sketch."
"What is it?"
"You'll see."
He started walking toward his truck.
"Wait."
He turned.
"Why are you giving this to me?"
For a second...
I thought he wasn't going to answer.
Then he smiled.
Not the polite smile.
Not the mysterious smile.
A genuine one.
"Because somebody once did the same for me."
He climbed into his truck.
Closed the door.
And drove away.
I looked down at the small package resting in my hands.
It wasn't heavy.
But somehow...
It felt important.
Very important.