by Abi Ketner
“They’re here,” Cole says. I glance at my watch and then at the door, where the first classroom of children are entering the museum. Their mouths open in awe.
“Why are they bringing everyone in through the back entrance?” my dad asks.
“I’m not sure,” I tell him. “The front was taped off, covered with tarps and frosted plastic. Anyway, it’s time,” I say, before turning to address the kids. “Welcome, guys. Come in and have a seat. I’ll begin as soon as you’re all settled.”
They file in and fill the first room of artwork. My heart beats faster, and my face flushes as I anticipate my first time speaking in front of a large group. They settle down, and I stand up front, clasping my hands in front of myself and twisting my rings around my fingers. Cole winks at me, my dad stands proud, and my children wave in my direction.
“Welcome to the Hole Remembrance Center. Here, we use art as a way to memorialize the past and the people who lived through this horrific time. We hope, by sharing these personal pieces, that you will have a deeper understanding of history and be more aware, so that it’s never repeated.” As I stand and speak to the students, they listen intently. “My name is Lexi Hamilton, and this is where my story began …”
As I weave my tale of personal loss and violence, I’m able to honor those who were with me. I don’t cry as I’ve cried in the past, because I’m stronger now. In the background, Cole has tears in his eyes, but I know they aren’t from grief … They’re tears of pride, love, and the memories we share. Sometime in the middle of my story, Bill, Bruno, Ayo, and Genesis show up. I smile at them, feeling a comradery. Each of them contributed either art or money to the museum, each of them writing out their experiences for me to put in books and use as quotes throughout the displays.
As I make eye contact with each one of my family and friends, I’m filled with love and happiness. Because along this path, that’s what they’ve given me. Even when I’m gone someday, and I’m not able to tell our stories, my greatest hope is that this younger generation will pass it on for us. This is what we fought for. This is what we lived and others died for. This is why we pass the torch. It’s our duty to our fallen friends.
When I finish, some of the students ask questions while others wipe their wet faces. Then I dismiss them to explore the museum. My friends surround me, congratulating me and giving me hugs, and we laugh and cry.
After an hour or so, the owner of the museum calls to us. “If everyone could make their way to the front entrance, we have something we’d like to reveal.”
“What do you think it is?” Cole asks me.
“I have no idea,” I say.
Once outside, we are motioned by an usher to stand in front, and the crowd fills in behind us. A brisk wind sends a chill through me, and I shiver.
The owner stands before us and holds up his hands to quiet everyone. There are men standing on the roof holding plastic sheets up between them.
“We have two things we’d like to reveal today,” the owner says. “Two things that will remind our country and show the generations to come how hope, inspiration, trust, and perseverance saved the human race. How courage and sacrifice can suffocate evil.”
I link fingers with Cole, my heart racing in anticipation of the unknown. Two men walk up to a tarp covering something between the side-by-side entrance doors. Together, they pull the tarp off, revealing a statue of white marble.
I squint in the glare of the sun, trying to decipher the figure, which is dressed in …
“Oh my word.” My hands fly to my mouth, covering my cry, as I study the lines of the true-to-life sculpted face.
“Who is it?” Alyssa asks.
“It’s …” I swallow to moisten my dry throat before I emphasize each letter. “S-u-t-t-o-n.”
Before I can explain further or the kids can ask another question, the next surprise is revealed. There’s no stopping my tears now, and I’m pretty sure my family and friends are crying right along with me. Just under the roof line, big, bold letters are carved into the cement.
“You can overcome anything short of death.”
Christopher Hamilton
“Wow,” my father says. He clears his throat, and I wrap my arms around him, burying my head in his chest.
“You have no idea how many times your words kept me going,” I tell him.
He kisses the top of my head. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you, Dad.”
As my dad holds me tight, I suddenly realize life isn’t about having a plan or knowing exactly what the future holds. Sometimes, we take a leap and have to trust that our choices make a difference. If we want change, we have to be the ones who start it, because ignoring evil will only bury us six feet underground.
Two Months Later
We’re staring at the ceiling trying to catch our breath. The sheets and pillows are scattered all over the floor, and we’re laughing at my bra, which is hanging from the ceiling fan.
“Good flipping morning,” Cole says.
“Good morning indeed,” I say as I turn toward him and kiss his cheek.
“Grandpa’s here!” Joshua calls from the hallway.
“Crap!” I blurt as we jump out of bed. Cole grabs my bra and tosses it toward me.
“We’re not doing anything illegal. This is our house,” he says as he tries to get his jeans on, but instead loses his balance and plummets to the floor. “We’re married adults.”
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” I’m laughing so hard I snort.
“Fine,” he grunts. He pulls his clothes on with haste.
“I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t feel right, with my dad here,” I say. “Awkward, you know?”
“Okay. I get that. But a few seconds ago, you weren’t worried about the kids hearing.”
“Alyssa was in the shower and Joshua was … watching television,” I say.
“Exactly—was.”
I slip my feet into flip-flops and open our door. Cole steps out, and I’m right behind him to greet my dad in the living room. My dad is supposed to be here to watch the kids for the weekend while we go away for our ten-year anniversary.
“Happy anniversary, guys,” Dad says.
“Thank you,” Cole says. “It’s been rough. Your daughter isn’t easy to boss around anymore.”
“Very funny,” I reply. “It’s not my fault you’ve become a softy.”
“How was the drive?” Cole asks my dad. “Let me grab your bags.”
“That’s not necessary,” my dad says as he winks at me. “I didn’t bring any.”
My stomach does a few flips.
“But I thought …” Cole pauses and turns to me. “Aren’t we going away?”
I shake my head. “There’s been a slight change of plans.”
“And when were you going to tell me this?”
“Right now.” I rub his arm and grin. “But trust me, you won’t want to leave.”
“So the kids are going with your dad, then?”
“Not exactly,” I say.
“Lexi, we should probably do this,” my dad says.
“You’re right. We’ll meet you out back.” Dad leaves again, and the front door closes behind him. I’m dying to give Cole his gift. My father had the idea years ago, and it wasn’t until a few months ago that everything came together. When he told me, I screamed so loud it was the one time he said he had to take his hearing aids out.
“Did I miss something?” Alyssa asks.
“No,” I say. “But please stay inside until I come back and get you.”
Joshua, who’s sitting at the table eating grapes, stops and asks, “Why?”
“Because I said so.” I motion for Cole to follow me, and he pouts like a child the entire way to the back porch.
“Lexi, what did you do?” he asks.
I take his arm and lead him to the bottom step. “Sit. And close your eyes.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. Now close them.”
; “You’re ridiculous,” he says.
“Tight,” I demand. “And no peeking.”
“So demanding,” he growls.
My dad comes around the house and hands me Cole’s present. My arms shake so much I’m afraid I’ll drop it. There’s lightness in my chest, and I’m unable to stand still. I squat and place his gift on the grass, just as a precaution. My pulse races, and I take a slow, cleansing breath.
“Now, open your eyes.”
When he does, Cole’s mouth falls open as his eyes widen and his chin quivers. I can’t help squealing because his expression says it all. He tries to walk, but his legs give out, and before I know it, he’s on his hands and knees. And as much as I want to run to him and throw my arms around him, I know he needs this moment to himself. I know he needs to soak in the pain, reopen his wound, and feel the loss all over again.
Cole leans back and sits on his heels. His hands cover his face as sobs break through his fingers, and I cry with him as I wait.
After a few minutes, he wipes his eyes with his sleeve and releases a broken breath. He focuses on me first. He tilts his head, his eyes swollen and red. I grin back, not because I don’t feel his pain, but because this has worked out so wonderfully well and he doesn’t even know it.
He shakes his head, and I know what he’s wondering. So I tell him again.
“Because we fell in love, and we deserve each other. That’s why.”
I release his present. Cole opens his arms as the eight-week-old Great Dane awkwardly rushes toward him. The little guy trips over his large paws a few times before leaping into Cole’s embrace. The puppy licks him nonstop, slurping up his tears with his big tongue as Cole’s cries turn into laughter dripping with joy.
When Zeus died, a part of us died right along with him, leaving an aching hole of emptiness. There was no way to replace him … because he’s irreplaceable. I know that. We all do. But I’m certain Zeus planned this with my father, because he never wanted to leave us. Yes, my father’s brilliant, but he’d never come up with this on his own. Some might call me crazy or insane, and you know what? I’m completely okay with that. Because some things, especially our bond, was unexplainable.
“I can’t believe how much he looks ...” Cole hiccups and glances at the pup’s private parts. “It is a he, right?”
“Yes,” I say as I sit next to him and wrap my arm around his shoulders.
“He … looks”—a loud inhale—“exactly like Zeus,” Cole manages to say.
“I know.” I use my other hand to bring Cole’s gaze to mine. “Because it’s his son.”
Cole looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. But before he can say anything, I cover his mouth with my hand.
“Back when we were on our honeymoon, my father had the vet collect vials and vials of Zeus’s, you know, so we can have Zeus babies for decades,” I explain. “He told me his idea to use him as a stud years ago, but at that time, having another dog wasn’t something I wanted to think about … Anyway, we’ll talk about that later.” I pet the pup and scrunch my nose when his puppy breath fills my nostrils. “Are you happy?”
“Lexi …” Cole’s crying so hard his nose runs, and he’s having a hard time getting words out. “You have no … idea … how much … I love you.” He leans toward me and rests his forehead on mine. “You just gave me part of my boy back.”
Our smiles match as the puppy starts growling and barking at us. We chuckle and go back to giving him more attention and love.
“He’s already acting like his dad,” I say. “I guess we’ll be locking him out of our bedroom too.”
“I hope you bought more pillows,” Cole says. “Otherwise it’s going to be our furniture torn to shreds.”
“Already stocked up. There are a few boxes in the basement.” Cole smiles his crooked smile, and I stick my finger in his dimple. I can’t stop myself. I love that dimple.
“Do the kids know?”
“No. Just my dad.”
My dad brings the kids out, and it takes one second for Alyssa and Joshua to start screaming as they dart for us. The kids’ eyes are glowing, and they smile ear to ear. Cole lets go of the pup, and it’s their turn for all the kisses.
“I can’t believe this,” Cole says to my dad. “How can I repay you?”
“You already have,” my dad replies. “Without you, we wouldn’t be here together as a family. But there is one stipulation.”
“Anything you want,” Cole says.
“I get to name him.”
“Oh, boy,” I say. “This oughtta be good.”
Cole laughs. “Go ahead and name him.”
“So, here’s the thing. I’ve never seen a dog do this, but when he’s running around, sometimes he bucks like a horse. And he’s the color of wheat.”
“Spit it out, Dad,” I say.
“Well, you put it together and he’s Buckwheat.” My dad smiles, and his sense of humor makes me laugh.
Cole stands and hugs my dad. “Buckwheat, it is.”
When they’re done, I give my dad a big hug and say, “Thank you, Dad. You’re the best.”
Cole comes up behind me, scoops me into his arms, and spins me around a few times.
“God, I love you,” he says.
“Always,” I say.
“Forever.” And we kiss, over and over again.
I believe life will always be hard, but love will always pull us through.
THE END
Thank you, God, for sending your son who saved us from our sins, and for blessing us with the ability to write.
Thanks also to: Stacey Donaghy, our amazing agent who had a six sense about Branded, read it, and loved it. Your kindness, enthusiasm, and generosity go above and beyond. We wouldn’t be where we are today without you, and we can never thank you enough.
To Kim Marsot, our cover designer and loyal friend. Kim you’ve been a blessing to us and we are grateful for all you’ve done for us. Your talent is untouchable and brilliant. Thank you, for the most amazing book covers we could’ve asked for. Also, thank you for the interior designs and all the promo slides you made for us. When we think of you all we can do is smile and adore our French girl.
To all the bloggers who have read and reviewed our books. Just to name a few because there are so many. Amy Austin Real, Aestas, Vilma Gonzalez, Charlie Valentine, and the girls at Paper Trail YA, Damaris Cardinali, and all the other booktubers, thank you for your love and support.
To the best support group two girls could ever ask for. Naif Salem, Mollie Clyne, Jade Seidel, Jasmine Mines, Jerry Smalls, Kelsey Burke, Sam Pugliese, Nadine Stockwell.
To our Husbands and children who sacrificed a lot so we could follow out dream. To our families, our rocks, thank you for your unconditional love and constant encouragement. This would never have happened without any of you.
Abi- To my parents, thank you for always supporting my dreams and never doubting my capability of getting there. Dad, you’re my real life hero and my true inspiration from the start. Since you always told me during the hard times. “Aber, you can overcome anything short of death.” I am who I am, because of you guys. To my big sister, Erin, and my best friend. I love you to the moon and back. To my little sister, Becca, my angel in heaven. Fly high, B. Till I see you again. To my adopted sister, Megan, I thank God for you everyday.
Missy- To my parents, especially my Dad. Thank you for installing confidence in me, sharing your love of History with me, and encouraging my creative to grown throughout the years. I’d be lost without you.
About the Authors
Abi and Missy met in the summer of 1999 at college orientation and have been best friends ever since. After college, they added jobs, husbands and kids to their lives, but they still found time for their friendship. Instead of hangning out on the weekends, they went out to dinner once a month and reviewed books. What started out as an enjoyable hobby has now become and incredible adventure.
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andmissy
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Melissa Kalicicki
Melissa Kalicicki received her bachelor’s degree from Millersville University in 2003. She is married, had two boys and is currently living in Lancaster, PA. Aside from reading and writing, her interests include running and mixed martial arts. She also remains an avid Cleveland sports fan.
Abigail Ketner
Abi Ketner is a registered nurse with a passion for novels, the beaches of St. John, and her Philadelphia Phillies. A talented singer, Abi loves to go Skiing and spending lots of her time with her family. She currently resides in Lebanon, Pennsylvania with her husband, triplet daughters and their very spoiled boxer, Reagan.