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She folds her arms over her chest. “Why did he give them to you like it was a secret?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
River tugs on my hand. “Juice?”
Instinctively at her touch, I glance down at her, nod and smile.“Thank you,”I mouth.
“I should get her some lunch. She hasn’t eaten since breakfast.”
With his patience running thin and his time pressed, Terrance honks his horn. Alexandra snaps her eyes to his. “I have to go. Call me if you need anything at all. I’m more than willing to come and get her.”
I step back toward the door, River still holding my hand. “I know.”
Alexandra sighs and you’d think by her reaction, I’m forcing her to leave her three-thousand-dollar bag on her shoulder at a bus stop, not the life of her only niece in the hands of her seemingly irresponsible, hardly employed, nearly friendless little sister.
But if Ava was comfortable with it, why shouldn’t Alexandra and my mother be?
Because they have to be in charge and control everything. And they’ve never been able to control the wild yet habitually cautious little sister. I’m a walking contradiction.
And then Alexandra gives me a warning, one I suspected would come at some point and whispers in my ear, “Don’t go to Tiller.”
Sudden silence bears unflinchingly on me. My heart races, uneven and desperate, tripping my thoughts. My family doesn’t approve of my unhealthy relationship with Tiller. Bigger than life, harshly thrust in the spotlight at a young age, he’s not exactly a good guy, but he’s always there for me, aside from now, when I need help. Or maybe it’s that he can’t tell me no because he hopes I’ll eventually sleep with him. Again, probably the latter.
“Would you like some yogurt or a sandwich?”
River’s eyes shift to mine, letting go of my hand. “Sandwich. Only peanut butter.”
I kneel down, brushing her hair from her face. “You know, I never liked jelly either.”
She smiles, so tender, so cute. “Are you gonna leame soon?”
My heart drops to my belly. “You mean am I going to leave you?”
She nods.
“No. We’re gonna be staying together from now on.” Pausing, I watch her face as I ask, “Are you okay with that?”
The corners of her mouth lift before she nods and wraps her arms around my neck, squeezing me. I’m guessing that’s a yes.
It’s when I have River at the breakfast nook, tucked in the booth next to the windows that overlook the back terrace full of rich vegetation and shades of green, I open the letter. River reaches for her iPad, her organic, naturally sweetened strawberry banana juice in one hand and the soothing tones of Chris Stapleton fill the room. She’s obsessed with his music and since her parents died, I’ve enjoyed four days of “Tennessee Whiskey” on repeat.
I don’t know what it is about the song, but she loves it.
Taking out the letter, I peel open the edges of the thick creamy-white paper to find Ava’s handwriting stretching vastly over the page. I run my fingers over the paper, the softness, her words, and without reading them just yet, I know this is her explanation for leaving River with me. Her reasoning’s that were meant for me to hear, and maybe not Alexandra.
Tears roll down my cheeks even before my eyes focus on my name at the top. It’s not that I’m sad that she’s gone, though I am, and I think in some ways, my brain is holding on to the fact that she’s not, and I have River still. But in other ways, these tears, they fall because she had to write letters like this and think of a future without her presence in her daughter’s life. She had to imagine someone else raising her daughter and prepare for a future she’d no longer be a part of.
That’s why the tears flow. Sadness for my sister and sadness for River. She’s three. She will barely remember the beautiful, caring, unbiased human being her mother was. Never in my life had I met a stronger, more capable, loving and witty woman as Ava Anabel Taylor was.
My skin heats, warmer than the sun shining in on us. Knots and nerves plague my body, my pulse rushing like the rapids of a wild river. My tear-stricken blurry stare moves to the letter and it’s Ava’s voice I hear reading it to me, not my own.
Amberly,
I’m sorry. I’m sorry all of this is being thrown at you while you’re grieving, but I know you, and you’re being strong. I bet you haven’t cried in front of anyone yet, have you? I picture you reading this, twirling strands of your beautiful lilac hair, or maybe it’s deeper purple now, or even blue. . . you always seem to match your moods with your hair, and I love that about you. Everything you are is written so clearly in your beauty.
I’m sorry your life is about to change forever and most of all, I’m sorry for taking away your freedom to live life on your terms because now you have a little girl to take care of, but honestly, Amberly, I can’t think of a better person to lead River through life.
I remember telling Cullen when we drew up the will, if it can’t be me, then I’m so grateful it’s her.