Before I Let You Go(114)
“And once you’ve done that?” I ask hesitantly.
Mom swallows heavily, and then she whispers, “I’ll figure it out when the time comes.”
“Mom, you are always welcome here,” I say, and then I raise my chin. “Maybe you’re even needed here.”
Mom’s eyes fill with tears, and she walks briskly around the table and wraps her arms around me. We are almost the same height, but she holds both hands hard against the back of my skull, pressing her cheek against my hair. I feel the jerking movements of her sobs, and I return her embrace.
“I have to go,” she chokes. “I already called the cab, and I can’t miss that plane.”
“Okay, Mom,” I say, and we release each other, slowly and reluctantly. I pull my coat on and walk her outside, where we wait in silence. When the cab pulls up to the curb, she turns to embrace me for one last hug.
This embrace is one that Mom and I have not shared since before Dad’s death. This hug is different from any of the others. Neither one of us is tense—we are both soft, and open to each other. Something has been righted in our relationship.
Something has healed.
“I’m really proud of you,” I whisper into her ear.
“And I have always been proud of you. And wherever he is—wherever they are together—your dad and Annie are proud of you, too.”
Once Mom has left, I return to my warm bed and to the solace of Sam’s arms. As I fall back to sleep, a memory of Annie surfaces. It’s the wildly imaginative Annie—the girl who could do anything she set her mind to—the girl who was innocent and undamaged by life. The vision looks a lot like Daisy, and as I drift off to sleep, I make my sister one last promise.
I’ll find a way to give her daughter the life that she deserved.
EPILOGUE
Dear Annie,
I missed you today—even more than I miss you every other day. I married Sam today, and it was the happiest day of my life. It’s taken us a bit longer to reach this milestone than we’d expected. We’ve been so focused on Daisy that time just ran away from us.
But the day finally came, and it was almost everything I’d hoped for. Daisy walked down the aisle in front of me in her little purple dress, and she carried a basket of purple-and-white agapanthus petals. What looked so poetic in my head didn’t work in practice . . . Daisy kept laughing and twirling and the petals went everywhere except where they were supposed to. What was left was one hysterically amused not-quite-three-year-old and a crowd of onlookers who laughed right on with her until some of them cried. I was supposed to follow close behind her, but I got so caught up in watching the sheer magic of Daisy Nell Vidler in that moment that I missed my cue and then had to sprint down the aisle to make it to Sam before the song finished.
You should have seen her, Annie, and I really mean that—you should have. There was a gaping hole in that ceremony today where you should have been. I love Daisy, I love my family and I love my life—but I need to tell you that Daisy and I will always, always feel your absence. It is the but at the end of every sentence in our lives . . . today was a great day, but Annie should have been there. Christmas was wonderful, but Annie should have been there. I feel so happy, but Annie should be here. Daisy is my daughter now, but Annie should be here.
She is so like you, Annie—right from the blond hair to her blue eyes and especially her huge personality. She’s full of life and innocence, and every boundary we set for her she questions—not in a mischievous way, but with a sense of magnificent curiosity. Sam and I spend half of our lives explaining “why” to her about every little thing, because until Daisy really understands the reasons why she must or mustn’t do something, she never rests.
I want you to know that she is okay. We have photos of you everywhere, and she knows you are her mommy and that you love her and you’re watching over her with her granddad. Daisy has just naturally started calling Sam “Daddy” and she calls me “Mom,” but you are and will always be Mommy, and we talk to you every night before she goes to sleep. She is meeting all of her milestones, and well . . . Sam is half-convinced she’s some kind of genius and he loves to boast to everyone we meet about how bright she is. Genius or not, time will tell—but one thing is for sure, she is the light of our lives.
She’s with Mom tonight because Sam and I are in California for a few days for a short honeymoon. We couldn’t bring ourselves to leave her any longer than that, although I do know she would have been just fine—she is Mom’s world. Mom lives in our guest- house and she cares for Daisy while Sam and I are at work, and you know, Annie—these days, Mom is just like I remember she was back before Dad died. Her hands are full because of the way she’s thrown herself into caring for us all, but the best part of that is, her heart is full, too.
And things are about to get even better, because in the spring, Daisy is going to be a big sister. It’s far too soon to know for sure, but I really think it’s a girl. Life has a way of bringing the good things full circle. I think that’s why I’m so sure our daughters will be the very best of friends, just as we once were.
Before I go, there is one last thing I need you to know, and it’s about Robert. When Mom realized what he did to you, she went right back to Winterton and she told the elders. People wouldn’t listen to her at first, but she made such a fuss that soon enough they had to, and eventually several other girls came forward. None of their stories were as awful as yours, Annie . . . but they were awful enough that he was withdrawn from and then someone actually called the police. From there, things moved as they should have all along.