Page 88 of Pieces of Me

“Yeah, she used to do the same with Big H when he was little.”

I smile, trying to picture Big H as Little H. “Holden took me there the night before I left, and he told me about the gates of Heaven…”

“How you can ask God one thing?” she asks, leaning back on the bench and turning to me. “Did Holden ask you what your one thing would be?”

With a nod, I answer, “Yeah. I told him that I’d ask God if He knew my mother. I guess it was my way of asking if her soul was good or bad.”

Maggie smiles, but it’s sad. “Oh, honey…”

I hug my knees tighter, rest my chin on them. “But I take it back now.”

“Yeah?” she asks. “What would your one thing be now?”

“I’d ask him who my mother was… you know, before her disease took over. Not because I think it would change my opinion of her. I just… I want to know who she was so that maybe I can know who she could’ve been.” Emotion clogs my throat, and I swallow it down. “Because if I had my wish…” I say, tilting my head slightly so I can face her, “I wish that she was just like you.”

Maggie’s eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them away, keeps them on mine.

“I wish she had your sense of humor, your wit. But most of all, I wish she had your heart and your willingness to accept everyone just as they are…”

“Jamie…” Maggie cries, wiping at her tears.

“Because I think if she had all those things, I would’ve grown up pretty damn happy…”

* * *

“Dad just sent me a text, says you broke Maggie again!” Holden calls from where I assume is his bed.

We’d left the main house over an hour ago after having dinner with Big H and Mags. Then we went tomygarden and lay on a blanket until it got too dark to stay out. Afterward, we came back here, where I stripped the bedsheets and replaced themjust to be safe.

Now, I look toward the closed bathroom door while I finish drying myself. I’d left it cracked open just in case Holden wanted to come in and... you know. When I got out of the shower, the door was closed. “I didn’t mean to!” I yell back. “I was just being honest.”

He doesn’t respond, and I dress quickly, open the door.

Holden’s sitting up in bed, his back against the wall, the blankets pulled up to his waist. In front of him sits a brown paper bag. I freeze mid-movement and look from him to the bag. Again and again. “What is that?”

“It’s a gift,” he says.

“Holden, you need to stop—”

“Just open it,” he interrupts, rolling his eyes.

I’m not going to lie; I’m giddy with excitement, and I couldn’t hide it even if I tried. I rush to the bed and scoot over on my knees until I’m sitting in front of him, the bag between us. “I’m serious, though. You don’t need to keep buying me things.”

“Oh my god,” he practically growls. “Would you quit being a brat and just open it?”

I glare at him, causing him to chuckle, and then slowly, carefully, I open the bag and peer inside. I stare at his gift, confusion mixed with anticipation pulsing through my veins. “What…?”

Holden, far less delicate with the bag than I was, tears it open and pulls out the box set of books. He holds it out between us, showing me exactly what it is: a collection of fairy tales. “There’sSnow White,Cinderella,Little Red Riding Hood…” he says, reading the spines of each book. He looks up, his smile, his words, making me dizzy with adoration. He pulls out the copy ofSnow Whitebefore sliding down the bed, patting the spot next to him. “Come on.”

I crawl in beside him and tuck myself under his arm, lay my head right next to the tattooed compass I drew on him all those years ago.

“You ready?” he asks, cracking the book open.

I lift my eyes to his. “You’re going to read it to me?”

“Of course,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No childhood is complete without a good bedtime story.”

I cozy in, let his voice, his words, bring me to another world. To afairy tale.

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