paper. An envelope with her name on it lay on the top of everything else. She recognized Miss Janie’s perfect penmanship and held what she hoped was a letter to her chest.
Teresa plopped down beside her and set her box on the floor. “What is that?”
“Don’t know. Open it up and see. I think I’ve got a letter,” Kayla answered.
Teresa flipped the lid off her box and set it on the floor in front of her. She grabbed the envelope and opened it carefully, exactly like Kayla had seen her opening her Christmas presents. Kayla ripped into hers like she had when she’d unwrapped the gifts Miss Janie had put under the tree for her. When she started to read, the first line brought on a fresh batch of tears:
My dear child, Kayla,
Everyone needs good memories from their past to overcome the bad ones. When you came to live with me, I started this little box of memories for you—pictures, recipes I cut out of magazines that I thought you might like someday, your report cards from school, and even your high school transcript, just in case you ever needed it. There’s a copy of your birth certificate and your shot records. I had so much fun putting together the album of pictures for both you girls. Christmas had a whole new meaning to me when you came to live with me. Oh, how I enjoyed buying presents for you two. The privilege of walking into church with two daughters all dressed up on Easter was such a blessing. You’ll find the Mother’s Day cards you made for me in this box, along with that last note you left on the table. I’m sorry I didn’t come to find you and drag you back home, but in those days, I was both sad and angry. I hope you will forgive me for that. I’ve been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, so I’m writing now and hoping and praying that the time will never come when I don’t know you girls if you should decide to come home. Remember that you are loved and enjoy the memories. I hope they make you happy.
Love,
Miss Janie
With tears leaving wet spots on her T-shirt, she looked over at Teresa, who was now holding her own letter close to her heart. “I expect,” Kayla sobbed, “that yours pretty much says the same as mine. She thought of everything. Even after we didn’t treat her right, she’s given us a past.”
“My biological mother didn’t keep anything for me. When I came here, it was with the clothes on my back and one picture of Angel in my purse.” Teresa scooted over and hugged Kayla. “Angel just flat-out didn’t have the ability to love me, but Miss Janie loved me enough to do this. I’m going to add everything in here to what I’ve kept through the years.”
“I know.” Kayla wept with her. “I can’t go through the rest of this stuff right now. My feelings are too raw. I’ll do it another day. Right now we’ve got to get her room cleaned out. I was worrying about doin’ this, and I heard her voice this morning. She told me that it was all just stuff and to move on.”
“You hear her voice, too?” Teresa asked.
“I did this morning.” Kayla moved away, laid the letter in her box, and put the lid back on it. “I take it that you do, too?”
“Not often, but sometimes.” Teresa returned her letter to her box and stood up. She extended a hand toward Kayla. “We should get back to our jobs. We don’t want to disappoint her after what she’s done for us.”
“Amen!” Kayla replied, and took the offered hand.
Chapter Nineteen
So many paint swatches in one place downright bewildered Teresa. Even when she narrowed it down to only the minty-green colors, the selection was huge. She had thought that they would walk into the store, choose between two or three hues, and leave with gallons of paint.
“This is way too much,” Kayla sighed. “How will we ever choose?”
“Each of you will pick out three colors and then compare notes without even looking at the rest of the swatches,” Sam suggested.
“That sounds like a solid plan.” Kayla pulled two swatches out and couldn’t decide between three others, so she took them all.
Teresa only liked two, so that at least narrowed the selection down to seven. When they laid them on the counter, they discovered that two of Kayla’s were the same as Teresa’s.