Page 56 of Haunted Hearts
My thoughts stop mid-sentence. Where just a moment ago Will stood on the sidewalk, I swear I see a shimmering streakof silver light. I blink a couple times. Maybe I’m seeing things. But the shimmering mist is still there, and it’s dancing, rippling, swirling toward the book. Will said he had help tonight. I’d thought he meant the book had helped him somehow, but now I’ve got a strange feeling that he meant something else entirely.
He said someonewho knows me. He said youtwoshould have some space.
And then I realize, with a jolt of joy and wonder and utter disbelief, that there’s a reason this silvery mist seems so excited for me to open this book.
“Mom?” I whisper. I must be going batshit crazy.
But the book flips open, almost on its own, and I know she must have done it. I watch as she flips through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for. An envelope with my name on it.
With shaking hands, I tuck the book under my arm and open the envelope. There’s a letter inside, which I can already see is laced with Mom’s delicate, loopy handwriting. A wave of longing hits me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen that handwriting. I can almost see her slim hand, imagine it moving across the page. Unless this mist can somehow hold a pen, my mom must have written this for me years ago.
I unfold the paper and begin reading.
Dear Lydia,
If you’re reading this, it means you’ve had to say goodbye to me.
Straight out the gate, the tears come. I wipe them away and continue on.
It also means that there are tons of things we didn’t get to do together. Experiences we didn’t get to share. Conversations we never got to have. This letter will never make up for the time we don’t have, but I hope it’ll be comforting. I hope you can read it and feel me nearby.
I won’t get the chance to show you how to be a woman—and being a woman can be tough. But you can do it. You are my strong, strong girl. I don’t know how your dad’s going to do without me, but there’s one thing I’m sure of, and it’s that you are going to come through this an even stronger, even more loving person. Take care of your dad for me. He needs you, even if he doesn’t show it.
Which reminds me… When it comes to taking care of people, please take care of yourself, but don’t become so strong you don’t let anyone else take care of you. When the time comes—many years from now—make sure you find a man (or woman?!) who loves you deeply. Who puts you first. And don’t settle for anything less. You are worthy of being someone’s #1 priority, and I need you to promise me you’ll remember that. Okay?
And Lydia? I may not be with you in person, but I promise you: I won’t be very far away. Infact, I suspect that if you only just talk to me out loud, I’ll be able to hear it. I thought you might want a tangible reminder of me, so I’m putting this note inside our special copy of Nancy Drew. Any time you feel alone, just crack it open, read a few pages, and remember how much I love you.
All my love,
Mom
I stare at the note a moment, swiping desperately at the tears to keep them from soaking through the paper. My hands are shaking, but I feel strangely light. Like there’s been a boulder in my stomach these past twenty-five years, and now it’s suddenly lifted.
It’s all so crazy, but… it’s real.
Mom. This handwritten note she never got to give me before she died. Our copy of our favorite Nancy Drew book. The swirling mist that still hovers on my doorstep. Mom’s not at the library. She’s here with me.
I reach out a timid hand toward the mist. It wraps around me, entwining with my fingers. This form of my mom is physically colder than she used to be, but every bit as warm inside. A sense of peace washes through me, and we stay like that for a moment longer, relishing in this strange, wonderful experience of each other.
“What do I do?” I ask. It feels weird, but I know she hears me.
The mist unwraps itself from my hand. It gathers itself up, and it’s almost like Mom is looking me straight in the face. Then the silvery plume curls backward, whirling, spiraling down the steps. She makes a beeline across the sidewalk, and comes to ahovering stop in the driveway, right where Will’s truck was just parked.
Mom waits a minute, making sure I’m picking up what she’s laying down. I shake my head at her, chuckling. And, I swear to god, the mistcrackles, looking like one of those fountains kids light off in the street on the Fourth of July. I’m pretty sure Mom’s laughing at me.
Then, with a little twist, the plume of silvery mist begins to rise. Up, up, up… I watch her twirl, getting farther and farther away, like sparks floating up from a bonfire.
And then she’s gone. The last shimmer of silvery light has faded.
I set the Nancy Drew book on the kitchen counter and pull on a pair of Keds. Mom may not have used words just now, but she got the message across. I know what I need to do. Not even bothering to grab a jacket or lock the door, I take off down the street like a bat out of hell.
thirty
WILL
Benji: How’d it go?
Zeke: Shh. Benji. Don’t bother him. He’s probably getting some
