Page 167 of Severed Rivalry
“Thank you.”
I simply nod.
Sariah
“And then we shoved off and flew,” Renée says, recounting her day with Ayla.
My brain is playing tricks on me because all I hear and see is a four-year-old version of my daughter talking about scaling rock faces and hang gliding off of Lookout Mountain.
Hang-fucking-gliding.
Jackson Hole for lunch seems like candy cane dreams comparatively.
“Look.” She produces her phone. There in all her glory is my daughter, wonder and joy smeared across her face, hanging off a winged contraption way too damn high above the earth.
“Ayla got it all on video and managed to get photos too.” She swipes and shot after shot is my girl. “Jack—that was his name—was really good and got us lots of hang time.”
Hang time. God help me.
“Did Ayla do it too?”
“No.” Renée shakes her head. “She said she couldn’t today, but she would next time. Besides, she wanted to shoot me my first time. Will you come with us and glide? It was so much fun. I mean, after the first few minutes. The jump was pretty scary.”
“Are you becoming an adrenaline junkie?” Dear Lord, please say no.
“I don’t think so.” She pauses, becoming thoughtful. She picks at the hem of her tee as she says, “It was nice to be in control, to be brave, and to choose. After last weekend…”
The sentence dies on her tongue.
I put a hand on her knee and squeeze. “Ayla has a friend that might be worth talking to if it’s hard to process. I’d like you to consider it.”
She shrugs. “Are you going to?”
My smart daughter has revealed something in me I didn’t want exposed.
I don’t want to. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. I would rather just push through and deal. “Does it matter?”
“Not really. Ayla and I talked about Joanie today. She says Joanie has been great and makes her think.”
“How’d that come up?”
One shoulder rises and falls. “I don’t know. I told her what I told you–that at least I got to decide today…”
I’m met with another pause. It takes everything in me not to push. When she doesn’t finish, and it’s been several long moments, I do. “Last weekend was terrifying. The idea I couldn’t save you, I couldn’t protect you. It was my worst nightmare.”
She extends a hand. “I’ll go if you go.”
Checkmate.
I would never withhold from her anything that would be for her good. Fuck me, I’m going to therapy.
I take hers and we shake. “Okay. Let’s let Joanie shrink us.”
“I don’t think they say that anymore, Mom.”
“When did you get so wise, Renée?”
“Sometime in that rickety plane over South Dakota, I decided making smart choices was going to be my thing. That and fabulous toenails.”
