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“Same thing that happened to your mom.”
“Oh.” She hangs her head and I’m worried that was too insensitive. But then she adds, “Cancer?”
“Car accident. It was very sudden.”
“Oh, that’s better I think.”
I blink at her, completely befuddled by her thoughts. “Why would you say that?”
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to be mean. I’m sorry about your friend.” She reaches for her headphones in the middle of the table, but I place my palm over them.
“Charlie, I’m not upset. I just wanted to know what you meant.”
“Um, well…” She takes her hands back, abandoning the headphones, setting them in her lap instead. Her gaze is fixed on her fingers underneath the kitchen table. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t know my mom was sick. Goodbye is really hard and it felt like we were waking up every day and saying goodbye. If it was sudden, then we’d only say goodbye once and the rest of the days would’ve just been normal.”
“I never thought about it that way,” I muse.
I was always angry I didn’t get more time to prepare with Elise. I kick myself that we didn’t just get married, and instead we spent so much time planning the perfect day. She didn’t have a wedding with Peter, so a wedding would’ve been a first for both of us. I wanted it to be huge and extravagant. I wanted Elise to have the fairy tale she deserved. Had we gotten married, I would’ve had a legal claim to adopt Claire. For as long as I can remember, I’ve blamed the suddenness of losing Elise as the core issue to everything, but what would waking up every day and knowing I was going to lose her feel like? How do you live each day with looming tragedy casting a shadow on every step you take?
“How long was your mom sick?”
“Since right when I was born, I think. A really long time. Do you want to see her?” Charlie taps the scrapbook. Another offer of friendship I’d be a fool to refuse.
“Yes, definitely.”
She narrows her eyes. “Put your cereal bowl up first.”
“You were eating with it open a moment ago.”
“I know, but I’mreallycareful. I don’t trust you yet.”
“All right,” I grumble, picking up my half-eaten cereal. I grab Charlie’s bowl too and place them both in the sink.
Returning to the small, glass kitchen table, I pull my chair around so I’m sitting right next to Charlie. She brushes a few crumbs away, ensuring the space is clean enough for her precious book. She opens the first page which consists of three four-by-six photographs. The first is a picture of a blonde who looks way too young to have a little kid. But a five- or six-year-old Spencer is standing next to her, clutching onto her leg with a big, toothy smile. The caption reads:Remember Us.
The next picture is the same blonde in a hospital gown, holding a swaddled bundle—the baby she just gave birth to. Nobody’s looking at the camera. The woman and Spencer—about the same age Charlie is now—stare at the baby, looking like two proud mamas. The caption scribbled is:Never forget.
In the final picture, I recognize Spencer as the woman she is today. Her mother looks rail thin, and there’s a bandana wrapped around her head. She’s smiling but it looks like it’s a strain to do so. Charlie, maybe five or so, has watery eyes and her cheeks are blotchy, like she just mopped up her tears and someone told her to smile.
“Why is Spencer holding a suitcase in this one?”
Charlie examines the picture. “That’s the suitcase she took to college. I didn’t want her to go.”
“I see,” I offer distractedly as I take in the caption:Always here.“It must’ve been hard to say goodbye to your big sister.”
“She wasn’t gone long.”
Tears stream down Charlie’s cheek, and in a knee-jerk reaction I can’t control, I reach out and wipe her tears away with the back of my hand. “It’s okay,” she says, sniffling. “Spencer says crying is good. It’s how you let the feels out, otherwise they get trapped and make you miserable. When you cry, you feel better afterward.”
“That makes sense.” I think. Actually, I’ve never tried that.
“I don’t remember exactly. It felt like longer, but Spencer says Mom died just a little bit after this picture was taken. She came home from school to take care of me.”
Remember us. Never forget. Always here.The words repeat over and over in my mind, and it’s strange to me. The only picture of Elise and Claire I keep around is hidden in the broken piano bench. I can’t even fix the damn lid because Claire broke it when we were playing “floor is lava” in my office one night while Elise ran an errand. It was the very first time she trusted me enough to leave me alone with her daughter. I had one mission: keep Claire smiling and laughing, broken furniture be damned.
I’ve buried every precious memory deep in my soul, and yet here Charlie and Spencer spend time with their memories. They cry to feel. They embrace their tragedy instead of running from it.Am I doing this all wrong?
“Do you like cake pops?” Charlie asks.