Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)(62)

We had been Disney-fied to the max.

Abigail had been coming to Disneyland since she was barely able to walk, so she knew the park inside and out. It was like having our own personal tour guide as we strolled down Main Street, looking inside the various shops stuffed full of Disney merchandise.

“Where do you want to go first?” she asked happily, holding my hand.

“How about you pick?” I suggested, not even having a clue where to begin.

“Okay!” She tugged us both to the left through crowds of people standing around, taking pictures of Cinderella’s castle.

We continued through the park, walking past the Jungle Cruise and the Indiana Jones Adventure ride.

“This is my favorite ride in the park,” she announced as we came to the front entrance of the Pirates of the Caribbean attraction.

Her eyes shifted to Jude. “But it has a bit of a fast part. Do you think she’ll be okay?”

He smiled, grabbing my hand, and he brought it to his lips. “Yeah, I think she’ll be just fine on this one.”

We quickly moved through the line, waiting only about ten minutes, before the three of us stepped into a boat. We wedged Abigail in between us as Jude rested his arm across the back of both of us.

“Do you think I can count this as a roller coaster, so I can scratch off number ten?” I asked.

The attendant pushed the lever to release our boat into the dark water.

“It’s your list.” Jude shrugged.

“Good,” I answered, smiling. “Number ten—done.”

Abigail pointed to the right where several people were dining nearby under twinkling lights. “That’s the Blue Bayou,” she said. “My mom took me there for my tenth birthday, and we sat right by the water and watched everyone float by. I waved.” She giggled as she did just that—waved at all the people as they ate.

We passed by the restaurant, and the mood of the ride turned somber.

The music became haunting, and Abigail grabbed my hand. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for wha—”

I screamed as our boat sped down a steep cliff into the caves below. Abigail’s laughter sounded in my ear as my shrieks died off, and I joined her.

“Oh my gosh! That was fantastic!” I looked over at Jude.

He was watching me with a happy warm glow. Even in his ridiculous Mickey ears, he was still the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

The ears might actually have made him even sexier.

I could see why Pirates of the Caribbean—or “Pirates,” as Abigail liked to call it—was her all-time favorite. It had everything—thrills, catchy songs, dancing pirates, and even a dash of fright.

I wasn’t sure how she was going to top that, but she did. We went from Pirates to the Haunted Mansion, and once again, I found myself laughing hysterically throughout. Even It’s a Small World captivated me . . . until I found myself singing the song four hours later.

It really was a hard song to get out of your head.

After several rides, we decided lunch was in order, and we took a break. As Abigail and I rested our feet at an outdoor table, Jude grabbed burgers and fries for everyone.

“So, tell me about you,” I said. “What have you been up to? Are you still writing? Reading? Or have boys taken up all your time now?”

She giggled, rolling her eyes. “I still write. I don’t think I could stop now. It’s something my grandfather is very proud of. He brags about me to all his author friends, says he passed down his talent or something like that.” She shrugged.

“He must think you’re good at it.”

“I just do it because I like it, not because I want anyone to praise me.”

“Isn’t that the best reason to do anything? Because you enjoy doing it?”

She nodded, her feet swinging back and forth on the bench. “Yeah, it is. So, what about you? Do you still write in your journal?”

I thought back to the days in the hospital when Abigail used to visit me. I’d been vigilant about keeping a journal. In a way, it was my one constant companion. When stuck in a hospital, never knowing if I’d be staying or going, it had been hard to keep friends. That journal had been the one place I could turn to when I needed to purge my emotions. But when I’d left, I guessed I didn’t need it as much.

“No, not much anymore,” I answered.

“Maybe you should start again,” she suggested.

My hand went to my stomach, and my fingers stretched lightly over my tiny baby bump. “Yeah, maybe I should.”

This baby had brought Jude and me home, back to where it had all started. We’d reconnected with old friends and family, and now, maybe it was time for me to reconnect with the old part of me I’d so desperately tried to let go of when I walked out of that hospital two years ago.

Maybe there was still something I could learn from that naive young girl who had given all her thoughts to a journal.

“GOD, LAILAH . . . ANYTHING but that one. Please?” I begged.

She smiled up at me from her spot on the sofa. A soft chenille blanket was draped over her now rounded stomach as she glanced down at the tattered old composition book that held the one-hundred-forty-three dreams and wishes on her Someday List.

“You told me to pick whichever one I wanted,” she reminded me. “And I choose this one.” Her finger tapped the page, signifying the end of our calm existence as I knew it.