Page 149 of The Vacation Mix-Up
I won’t, Mom. I promise.
Raising her urn to my lips, I give her one last kiss, position her at my breasts, then take a deep breath, closing my eyes and whispering, “Goodbye, Momma. I love you always and forever.”
Exhaling, I draw as much strength as I possess, open my eyes, and set her free, my chest seizing as she sails through the air and splashes into the ocean, the ship’s wake a bubbly cradle, carrying her to her final resting place. Unbearable pain ruptures my heart, the loss and emptiness so overwhelming that I want to reach out and take her back, to never let her go again. But I know I can’t, and that thought alone is the greatest devastation I’ve ever endured.
“Nooo,” I sob, my knees buckling, my hands slipping from the railing.
Riley encases me in his strong arms, preventing me from crumbling to the deck below my feet, his voice soft as he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”
I hold on to him as if he’s the only thing Icanhold on to, as if he’s the only thing left in my life worth holding on to. Because without Mom, I have no one left, no one to turn to, to share with. No one I love and who loves me.
“You did it, Riles. You gave her what she wanted. You set her free. I’m so proud of you.”
I rest my head on his shoulder. “I want her back.”
“I know.” He squeezes me tighter. “Do you want me to jump in and go after her? Because I will, for you.”
Sadness and laughter simultaneously bubble in my throat. “No. Please don’t.”
He sighs with relief. “Thank Christ for that.”
I wipe my eyes and straighten my shoulders. “She’d swim away from you if you tried.”
“Ahh, so that’s where you get your stubbornness from?”
I force a proud smile. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“Would you like to release the flowers now?” he asks, handing them to me.
“Can we do it together?”
His damp blue eyes glitter, a mirror of the water below, and I know whenever I look upon them from now on, I’ll remember this moment forever.
I’ll remember he was here with me.
I’ll remember I wasn’t alone.
The restof that day and the one that followed were kind of a blur. And in the moments when my despair reared its ugly head, Riley was there to help me confront it or bury it deep where it belonged. He gave me space when I needed it, made me laugh when laughter seemed impossible, and he refrained from arguing when I deliberately pushed to fight, my ill-directed anger unfairly boiling profusely.
He’d been a friend, a punching bag… my saving grace. And I was eternally grateful.
We visited the Long Room in the Library of Trinity College in Dublin, a grand Georgian architectural masterpiece—Riley’s words, not mine. Sadly, all I can remember through my fog ofgrief is the floor-to-ceiling oak bookshelves stacked with a vast, priceless collection of books, one in particular dating back to 800 A.D, each majestic column headed with a marble bust. The library was used as inspiration for Hogwarts, which was fitting, considering I also remember meandering about it, parentless, like Harry.
Staring at the flowers Riley arranged for me after Mom’s interment, an exact replica of Mom’s bouquet, I push off the end of my bed and slide out a single white rose, resting it on my lip as I inhale the lovely scent. Only two other men have bought me flowers during my thirty-two years—one of them an ambitious jerk with an ulterior motive, the other an incorrigible imbecile.
Smiling, I pick up the card and read it for, quite possibly, the hundredth time.You’re not alone.
“I mean every word, Riles,” he says as he slides his hands around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder.
I breathe him in, enjoying the scent of my shampoo in his hair. “I know.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Better today.”
“You’ll have good days and bad days. That will never change.”
“Today will be a good day. I’ll make sure of that. It’s what Mom wanted.”
