Before I Let You Go(102)
“Can I help you?”
“We found this in the trailer and I thought you might want to have it.”
“What is it?” I frown as I take the box.
“It’s a journal. It was open on the desk when she . . . We had to take it as evidence, in case there was a note. The coroner has closed her case as an accidental death, so we’re finished with it now and I took a look at it and I figured . . . Well, seems like the kind of thing a family member would want.”
“Accidental?” I repeat, and my heart starts to race. “How could they know that?”
“Are you sure you want to know this, ma’am?” the officer asks me hesitantly, but I nod desperately, and he says, “Well, there were no narcotics in her urine, so the coroner figured she’d been clean for a while and just miscalculated her dose when she relapsed. They subpoenaed her medical records from the hospital and he said she needed a significant dose of methadone, so most likely she was using a lot of heroin back before she detoxed. His best guess was that she just didn’t realize her tolerance would be gone—what was once an ordinary dose to her was this time unfortunately lethal. No way to be sure, but it really did look like a mistake. I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and the officer tips his hat toward me and he leaves.
I sit by the fire to open the box. When I see the journal, I see the first page filled with Annie’s familiar, flowery script and I start to cry. I touch the page with my fingertip and I trace the words of the first line.
Oh, Annie.
I start to read, and the tears turn to a smile. As my gaze flies over the words, I hear her voice in my mind, reading it to me—telling me things that she should have told me over all of those years. I read only the first entry before Daisy wakes up, but I’m glad for the break—because I want to prolong this.
I feel like this is the last conversation I’ll ever have with my sister and maybe, if I experience this word by word, I can stretch it out until I’m ready to let her go.
And despite the officer’s assurances that Annie’s death was a mistake, I’m still not sure what I’ll find on that last page. Perhaps she did make a dosage mistake—but she also relapsed, and she did so right after I hung up on her.
Whatever she was looking for in that phone call the day she died, she didn’t get it. And perhaps I’ll live with that guilt for the rest of my life, but there’s a slim chance that some clue to Annie’s state of mind is waiting for me in those last few pages. That might not bring me peace—in fact, it might mean even more torment.
But if I can just understand her even a little, then maybe I can let her go.
Sam decides to take on the task of finding a nanny, and within a few days he tells me he’s found the most overqualified, nurturing woman on earth. She is thirty-three, she has a degree in children’s psychology and she is looking for full-time work.
She is happy to live with us, but she is also happy to live separately. If I had drawn up a description of the perfect nanny—à la Mary Poppins—Jayne is what I would have described. From the first moment I meet her, I know that we have the right person.
I’ve noticed that some people hold Daisy, and other people cuddle her. Jayne is definitely a cuddler. She scoops the baby up into her arms with obvious delight, and she immediately launches into a one-sided conversation with Daisy as if this is a completely natural thing for her to be doing. I still struggle to remember to talk to Daisy, so I marvel at Jayne’s ease. Sam asks her about infant nutrition, and Jayne teaches us a thing or two about baby-led weaning and the psychology of offering a broad variety of foods once Daisy starts on solids.
“And don’t get me started on reading,” she says with a laugh. “This is the age to start, believe me. The last family I worked with thought I was insane when I started reading to their newborn twins, but they were eating their words once those kids started school.”
Jayne has a trial morning with Daisy, and I take the opportunity to lock myself away in the study and call Mary Walters. It’s a task I’ve been putting off, but now that Sam and I have agreed that we will adopt Daisy, it needs to be done.
“Oh, Dr. Vidler,” Mary says softly when she takes my call. “I’m so sorry to hear about Annie.”
It strikes me that Mary has never used Annie’s name like that before. She speaks it with solemnity and care, and I’m actually quite touched.
“I’m calling because we want to adopt Daisy, and I don’t know how to go about it.”
“Well, that’s just wonderful to hear,” Mary murmurs before she launches into an explanation about the process. We’ll need a new lawyer—one who specializes in adoptions, but since we’re already caring for Daisy and we’ve undergone the relevant checks, Mary tells me that the process should be smooth enough.
“I wish you all the best, Dr. Vidler. I really do,” she says when it’s time to hang up—and I believe she means it.
Jayne and Daisy get along just fine during that trial morning. I discuss it with Sam, and we agree that she’s perfect, so we offer her the job. Jayne moves into the guesthouse the day before I’m due to go back to work.
Everything is in place, and before I know it, I’m dressing in my work clothes, and I’m kissing Daisy as I head out the door.