the temple because they hoped to open the remaining two canisters in a beautiful place. Mattie didn’t want to read her mother’s last words but needed to before Holly arrived. And whatever her mother said in those final words, Mattie planned to leave her a drawing, to show her how much she loved her.
Mattie sketched the temple with no sense of haste. She wanted her picture to be as good as she could make it. She liked how the worshippers had combined all the religions of the world, and felt that in such a place it might be easier for her mother to find her. “Can you see me, Mommy?” she whispered, drawing a dragon.
More than an hour passed before she was content with her drawing. She showed it to her father, who held it carefully, nodding, kissing her cheek. They stood up and walked along the edge of the room, coming to a side door, exiting into a garden crisscrossed with paved pathways. An arbitrary collection of trees, bushes, flowers, and grassy patches composed the garden. Mattie walked toward a shady spot and sat down on a cast-iron bench. She felt the canister’s bulk within her pocket but wasn’t ready to open it.
“Do you think she’ll say good-bye?” she asked, looking above.
Ian shook his head. “No, Roo. Your mum would never say good-bye. Don’t be afraid of that.”
She wished that her heartbeat would slow. “Daddy?”
“What, luv?”
“The people in there . . . would they say that she’s in heaven or reincarnated or something else?”
“I don’t know. But we can ask.”
“What do you believe?”
He motioned for her drawing, unrolling it, studying the movements her pencils had made. “I believe, Roo, that she’s in you, that in some ways, you’re her reincarnation. She helped you learn to draw, and you love to draw. She taught you how to swim, and you love the ocean. And she was kind and caring and beautiful inside, just like you.”
“You really think so?”
“I reckon she’ll always be in you.”
Mattie bit her bottom lip. “Should we open them?”
“If you want to.”
She didn’t move right away, but soon her hand reached toward her pocket. The canister opened; the paper unfurled.
My Angel,
This will be my second-to-last letter to you. Another one awaits you, to find and be opened by you on your sixteenth birthday. But for now, for this trip, these are my last words.
I hope you enjoy Vietnam. It’s a place that once knew only war and suffering but now is different. Now there is hope. And I think you’ll see this hope, and learn from it.
I know that you believed that your trip would end in Vietnam, but this isn’t the case. I would like you and your daddy to pick a new country, a place where he and I never traveled. I want the two of you to create your own memories, to walk through the wonders of a new city and to feel those wonders run from the bottoms of your feet to the tops of your heads. And I want you to tell me about those wonders, through your thoughts, your dreams, and your art.
Speaking of your art, will you do something for me, Mattie? Will you make an exhibit for your daddy and me? Of the places you’ve been? I want to see your first exhibit. I’ve wanted to for so long, but I’m not going to get the chance. At least not in this body. So please create an exhibit and know that I’ll watch from above.
I am so proud of you, Mattie. I could not love you any more than I already do. Please don’t be sad for me. I feel myself traveling somewhere beautiful. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m not afraid. I’ll be fine. And I’ll be with you when you graduate from high school, when you go to college, when you’re out on your own. If you decide to marry, to have a child, I’ll be with you then as well. Just like I’ll be beside you throughout all the highs and lows of your life.
During the past month, I’ve read a lot about the journey I’m about to take. Do you know what Albert Einstein said about that journey? He said, “Our death is not an end if we can live on through our children and the younger generation. For they are us, our bodies are only wilted leaves on the tree of life.”
With all my heart, Mattie, I believe in his words. I’ll