"Haley, you don't know about the letter in the attic, do you?" Daddy asked me the next morning. I'd felt horrible after coming home, and went straight to bed.

"What letter?" I stretched out in my pajamas on the sofa, hair pulled back.

"The letter Alice wrote you."

"What letter Alice wrote me?" I smiled.

"There's something Alice wanted to give you after you graduated from college, but I think you'd like to see it now," he sighed.

"In the attic?"

"Not here, but at the old house." The old house was the one I'd grown up in. I hadn't even been back, save for drives by it, when it was imperative that I take the route curving by our house. My entire life was there, because Daddy never moved in his job. He worked in the textile factory, monitoring machinery, something I found dull and bland. You'd never see me stuck in a job like that, but Daddy immersed himself in his work. After coming back from Vietnam, he wanted a family. He'd done his traveling, and he wanted to settle down. He met Mama, and the rest is history. Karen moved Daddy to her house after Mama passed away, just so she could take care of him. She never said it, but I think she found something comforting and assuring about having him near her at all times.

We left all of the memories in that house. We weren't ready to pick up the pieces, so we left them. We decided to take out the valuables, and leave them with Karen. They were rightfully Daddy's anyway. As far as the photos, clothes, keepsakes . . . the things that mattered, they were tucked away under lock and key, until we got up enough nerve to go back.

"The old house?" I squinched my brow, amazed at what Daddy was asking me to do.

"Alice would want you to see," he muttered.

"A letter in the attic . . ." I sighed.

"Yes, it's in one of the boxes. Please go." I definitely wanted to go find the letter, but I wasn't really in the mood to look for memories. I found myself talking slowly to Daddy, as if he was a child. Adults have a tendency to do that, I've found. Talking to older and younger people as if they had the same amount of understanding.

"Sure, Daddy."

"Take Taylor with you."

"What?" I smiled.

"He said you haven't been paying attention to him."

"You make him sound like a puppy, Dad."

"I played checkers with him, yesterday," Daddy said.

"Don't tell me you let him play with you." Daddy cheats at checkers. I was only able to beat him when I was very small, and he let me win. When I was old enough to take the idea of losing, he wreaked havoc on a game board. Barely turning my eyes away from the pieces, he'd somehow change my lead, and make me wallow in self pity.

"He was excited about it."

"Who won?"

"I did," Daddy smiled.

"Who cheated?"

"What are you talking about, Haley Sue?" My middle name was not Sue, and I didn't like the way it sounded, but Daddy chose to call me that as a term of endearment. We had to live in the South.

"You know very well what I'm talking about," I sighed. "So there's a letter in the attic at the old house, and you want me to go find it. Any clue where in the house it'll be?"

"Should be in the cedar chest," Daddy whispered. The chest was where Mama kept all of her keepsakes.

"Thanks Daddy," I smiled, and squeezed his shoulders. "I've got some shopping to do, today. I think I'll go tonight."

"Where did your Dad say this letter would be?" Taylor grumbled as I unlocked the door to the old house. I stepped inside, looking around. I closed my eyes, listening to Taylor's feet creak across the ancient floorboards.

"Upstairs," I smiled. "It smells like home." Everyone's house has a different smell. The dorm room reeks of stale Doritos. Diana's has the scent of baby powder and children playing. Karen's smelled new and fresh, but only this house smelled like home.

"You didn't expect it to smell like a zoo," Taylor spouted. He wasn't excited about coming here. He was in one of his moods again.

"Taylor, don't tell me you're PMSing again. I'll get you some Midol, if your cramps are too bad," I cooed.

"Shut up, Haley."

"Come upstairs," I smiled. I wanted to see those letters. The stairs led up to the floor that housed mine and my sister's old bedrooms. Just above those was the attic. The steps changed from carpet-covered to bare, as we came closer to the floor.

"Gosh, it's dark up here," Taylor marveled when I opened the door to let him in.

"You're not scared, are you?" I teased and pulled the chain to dimly light the room. It wasn't so bad. As a child, I had been afraid of the attic, and I didn't come up until I was a teenager. "Wow, look at all this." I spinned around to face Tay who'd been following me. I noticed him crack the door open just a little.

"Boxes." He sniffed and coughed. "Dust too. What's so special?"

"How can you ask me that? Look. These are my memories." I was speaking in a tone Pocahontas might've used in her historically inaccurate Disney movie, to show John Smith exactly what he was missing.

"I'm sorry," his eyes softened. "Now, let's find that letter," he announced before I could start a song about painting with the colors of the wind. I scurried through a few boxes.

"Look, these are our old Christmas ornaments. We have to take these home. And these are her old CDs. I rarely ever listened to them before, but I wanted to then. It was the moment. I popped one in the stereo, and moved through the attic."

"Why do I get the feeling Karen's car's going to be filled with much more than just a letter?"

"Come on, hush, Daddy would love to see all this." I forked the Christmas boxes toward Taylor, and he accepted them reluctantly. "Aww, these are all of Mama's pictures." Mom was quite the photographer, a skill she'd passed on to me. Shoebox upon shoebox held her treasures. I sat down in the middle of the floor, and Taylor joined me. I opened up one of the boxes, discarding the lid onto the other packages.

"Cute butt," Taylor cracked at the picture on the top. A naked one of me at the hospital after I was born. I raised my eyebrows.

"Shut up. I recall someone else revealing himself as a child, and believe me; I can always ask Jessie for more blackmail stories."

"Sorry," he smiled, raising his hands. "I speak the truth." I nudged him, and laughed. "Ooh, what's this one?" He picked up one that caught his eye a few pictures down.

"That's a smurf, and the little four-year-old peeking out is me. Those are my sisters in the Smurf Houses at Carowinds."

"You're hugging him a little tight, don't you think?"

"Jealous of a blue animated character? It seems I've misjudged you, Tay."

"Not jealous, just worried," he smiled.

"And this is the one of me meeting Mickey Mouse. My first crush," I sighed.

"You had a crush on a rat?" Taylor scoffed.

"Rat? Excuse me. He was a mouse," I cherished the word. "I could've killed Minnie. She had it all."

"Haley, you're insane."

"Yeah, but you love me," I flirted.

"Indeed I do." I rolled my eyes. I wouldn't let him get mushy on me.

"You've risen from stiff competition, Tay. I had the biggest thing for Davey Jones from the Monkees. There was a huge crush on Rob Thomas. Remember, Matchbox 20?" He nodded his head. "Let's see . . . and Brad Renfro, ooh. Jared Leto's eyes, the most amazing blue," I tossed him googly eyes and a soft smile.

"That's nothing. I met Cindy Crawford," he bragged. "And she told me that I was adorable."

"Oh, get off it, Tay. I'm sick of hearing about Cindy. Didn't you see the tabloids last week? Her latest plastic surgery spiel greatly destroyed her. We're talking fat from ten years ago reappearing on her thighs, that mole spreading to cover her whole cheek. And her boobs . . . they deflated."

"I would've liked to touch those . . ." he grinned, evilly.

"Tay!" I whopped him with a box lid.

"Sunglasses! I would've liked to try on those sunglasses she was wearing at the time." I shook my head, and moved the pictures out of the way. "You're not jealous, are you, Haley?"

"No." I popped out and searched for a new box.

"Cause if you are . . . I might just have to prove my love and devotion."

"God that was awful, Tay. You should be ashamed."

"You want me, don't you?" he puckered his lips.

"Gross. I'm here on perfectly innocent grounds. You have to be sick and twisted."

"I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"You want me."

"I don't want you, Taylor," I blushed. "I've got Mickey."

"Mickey doesn't have what I've got." Eyes wide, I dropped my mouth open.

"What do you have?" I was almost afraid to even ask it.

"Five fingers," he innocently twirled his thumbs. I closed my eyes, and shook my head.

"You. Insane, crazy, adorable you." He looked me in the eyes, and leaned close to my lips. I giggled at just the wrong moment. He leaned back, and pushed the photograph boxes out of the way. I laid back on the old floor, and he moved on top of me. He pushed some hair out of my eyes, and dipped closer. His lips lightly rested on mine. "Taylor," I protested.

"What?" He played innocent again. His hands ran across the bottom of my shirt. He was so soft, so gentle. He lowered down again, and I let him kiss me. He placed his lower lip between mine, and held it there. I let my tongue trace against it, and he opened his mouth to let it in. I tasted the inside, and felt his tongue join mine. Our lips separated and joined, but I only wanted them to connect once, and stay that way. His mouth was warm, and his lips played with mine.

His fingers slipped under my shirt, and moved across my stomach. I broke the kiss with laughter; my stomach was the most ticklish part of my body. He moved his hand higher, and I closed my lips on his again. I became aware of the music I'd begun to play earlier, definitely one of my Mom's CDs.

Someday when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight.

I used to love this song. This was the song they played in the movies, during exceptionally romantic parts. Taylor ran his hands across the satin of my bra. This was our romantic part.

Oh but, you're lovely
With your smile so warm
And your cheek so soft
There is nothing for me, but to love you
Just the way you look tonight.

He unclasped the clip, and peeled away the fabric from my breasts. He dipped down, slowly pushing my shirt up, so he could see what he was touching.

With each word, your tenderness grows
Tearing my fear apart
And that laugh that wrinkles your nose
Touches my foolish heart.

His lips left mine lonely, as he moved down to my stomach. Leaving a trail of soft kisses from my belly button on higher, he stopped even with my chest. He kissed the center, tongue moving around the newly exposed area, unsure and almost afraid. I stroked his hair, and let him work his magic. I think that maybe he wanted this almost as much as I did.

Lovely, never, never change
Keep that breathless charm
Won't you please arrange it
'Cause I love you
Just the way you look tonight
Just the way you look tonight*

I moved my hands across his back, bringing him back to my lips. The song's melody faded out, and I held him, tightly next to me.

"Taylor, I can find the letter tomorrow," I smiled.

"Do you want to go back home? It's late."

"Nah, we've got the rest of the night. I doubt they'd miss us."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, let's just stay right here."

*Musical credit belongs to Tony Bennett (or Frank Sinatra,) "The Way You Look Tonight."