… I just wanted to say I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened.” Crystal approaches and places something in my hands. “For you. Good-bye, Bec.”
The opening and shutting of a car door sounds from the curb, and then an automatic window rolls down. “Bye, Ms. Rebecca! I’ll miss you so much!” Savi’s joyous voice blasts into the open space, and despite myself, I press a hand to my chest. It’s been months since I’ve heard her sweet little voice. My eyes fill with tears, and I’m thankful for the sunglasses.
I offer a timid wave as they pull away, and something releases. Blame. Guilt. Anguish. That part of my life is over. This part of my life is what matters. Despite that reality, I still wonder how Oliver is doing. I never even got to say a real good-bye.
Once inside, I release Jackson to his play mat, and the mad jingle of bells makes me smile as he takes off in a loop around the first floor. Beethoven follows. I drop my keys in the dish, remove my shoes, and cradle the envelope. I walk to the couch, curl my feet underneath me, and tear open the envelope to remove a few pieces of heavy paper. The letter is written in braille. I’m shocked by the effort. I take a breath, then my fingers begin to read.
Dear Rebecca,
Words cannot express how sorry I am. I can’t imagine what we put you through when Jackson went missing, but please know—what happened forced me to look at my life and all the denial that had become a part of it. I was so afraid to face the world … and even myself.
I want you to know that Savi is getting the help she needs. I should have put her in therapy the moment Paul died, but she was so resistant, I let her guide me instead of the other way around. As her mother, I should have known there was a difference between acting out and crying out for help. I am the parent—the parent of Savi and the parent of Oliver, who, as it turns out, is a wonderful, inquisitive, amazing little boy.
He’s changed the fabric of our lives, and it’s not a bad thing. I’m not hiding anymore, and I really think this move will be our new beginning. I hope, with time, you will be able to forgive us too. And I hope, with time, I will be able to forgive myself.
We are moving to California. A little sunshine and ocean breeze are just what the doctor ordered, I think. There are some great music programs out there too. Savi is so excited. (Thankfully, she’s outgrown the magic.)
I wish you luck, Rebecca. You are, by far, the most capable woman I have ever known, and the best mother a child could ever ask for. Believe in yourself.
I know we all do.
If you continue to do that, you will always have all the support you could ever need.
We will miss you.
Your friend (hopefully again someday?),
Crystal
The letter softens the last remnants of anger I cling to. I reread it, fold it carefully, and place it in a drawer in my desk. I walk to the dining room, where her braille art still hangs, and run my fingers over the quotes. All of the angst, frustration, and terror I’ve experienced … it’s not all their fault. I wasn’t taking care of myself back then either. I was so exhausted. I was drowning in grief. I was imagining a world out to get me.
I step away from the painting and realize, by some miracle, that we all got the help we needed. We all got a second chance.
I move through the rest of the day, preparing my interview questions for the nanny and my music lessons for the end of the week. At exactly six, the doorbell rings. Jackson is once again crawling through the house after a massive afternoon nap, his ankles like a Christmas jingle on repeat. Beethoven follows him protectively, the steady clop of his nails slipping on the refinished hardwood floors. The doorbell rouses his attention and he comes trotting to see who’s there. I let him know it’s okay. I’m smiling before I even unlock the newly installed screen door.
“There she is.” Jake’s arms are around me in an instant, and I surrender against his chest and breathe him in.
“Hi, handsome.”
“Hi, beautiful.” He tips my chin up and kisses me softly. Though his lips are familiar, they still electrify