A Good Day for Chardonnay (Sunshine Vicram #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,146
back to Del Sol from Albuquerque?”
“Uber.”
“Wow.”
“Apparently, he was determined,” Quincy said. He took out a flashlight and lit the way. The sun was going down quick.
Her grandparents came up behind them then. “Grandma, Grandpa, what are you guys doing here?” Cruz must’ve been in more trouble than she thought if her grandparents were getting involved.
“We’re here for you and Cruz, peanut,” her grandpa said.
“Here for us?”
Before they could explain, they crested Rosita Peak and Auri saw the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. Cruz standing on a massive rock formation with the sun setting just beyond. He was silhouetted by the bright pinks and oranges splashed across the sky.
“Cruz!” Auri said. She tried to run to him, but Quincy held her back.
Her mom eased forward. “Cruz, honey, how about you step away from that ledge?”
Auri hadn’t even considered that. Her heart leapt into her throat when she realized how close he was. He wore old jeans and a loose T-shirt and he was shivering. He was shivering and wounded and in pain and Auri’s heart shattered.
He turned back and looked over his shoulder. “He can’t spend his birthday in a box.”
“Cruz,” Auri said, fighting Quincy.
“Can we come up?” her mom asked.
He lifted a shoulder and nodded.
Her mom gave Quincy the go-ahead and they climbed the rocks together. A few feet in front of him was a chain-link barrier no more than four feet high. If he were going to jump, he would have to climb over it first.
Auri put her arm on his shoulder. He held the box in both hands as if it were a precious thing. His cheeks were wet and dirty and his hair mussed. He just seemed so lost.
Her mom stood on the other side of her and Quincy on the other side of Cruz.
Cruz held out his elbow like he wanted her to wrap her arm in his, so she did. The lump in her throat grew bigger as he opened the box and gave his dad to the wind. He fought for control as a sob racked his body. Quincy wiped his eyes with one hand and she could hear her grandma weeping softly below them.
He put the lid on the box and reached into his jeans. “I did what you said. I wrote a poem.”
“Cruz, he would’ve loved that.”
But he handed her the folded piece of paper. “Would you mind?”
Did he want her to read it aloud? She stood confused until he stepped out of her embrace and eased closer to the barrier. She realized what he was doing.
She opened the paper and, with the help of Quincy’s flashlight, read the first line as Cruz signed it almost bashfully for his dad.
“If you can hear now, Dad, don’t let it worry you.” Her voice broke, but she continued. “The sound of happiness is summer rain as it falls on the porch. The sound of joy is the pop and hiss of a soda can opening. The sound of excitement is paper crumpling on Christmas morning.”
His signing wasn’t dramatic or sensational or boisterous. It just was. It was his message to his dad. A private thing made public, but still a private thing.
“The sound of serenity,” she continued through her constricted throat, “is an ocean wave rushing onto sand. The sound of sorrow is a sparrow singing to her lost mate. The sound of regret because things were left unsaid is thunder rumbling in the distance. It’s half-spoken words. And sometimes it’s no sound at all. But the sound of love is the loudest. It’s the sound of my heartbeat every time I think of you.”
Auri had to stop and catch her breath. Her mom sniffed beside her and rubbed her back. Cruz waited, his head down, for her to finish.
“If you can hear now, Dad, I hope you hear me talk to you sometimes and I hope you like my voice, because if you can hear now, Dad, my voice will be all of those things, and everything else you ever taught me. Thank you.”
He signed, thank you, looking at the ground because he could hardly stand on his own anymore. Quincy rushed forward and wrapped an arm around him to take his weight as, one by one, lights started flickering in the mountains around them.
Auri watched and realized they were candles being lit in the distance. And then closer, down the mountain around them, a curtain of glimmering lights, casting a soft glow.