Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Wiping my eyes, I find her beautiful face over Raine’s head and beckon to her; and when she joins our family hug, the words I love you, Aubrey crash into me, unbidden.
As we break apart, I avert my eyes from Aubrey, so she won’t detect the truth in my eyes. Paula told me Ralph’s lawyer will probably ask me about my relationship with Aubrey in court, in an effort to prove I’ve improperly influenced her testimony. When that happens, Paula said, I’ll need to be ready to answer with a straight face, “Aubrey Capshaw is my nanny and friend; also, Raine’s beloved auntie.” So, I can’t tell Aubrey the depths of my feelings for her now. But the minute all the bullshit with the hearing is behind us, however, I swear I’ll say everything that needs to be said, without holding anything back.
I put Raine down, and she immediately begins twirling and dancing to the next song on Aubrey’s playlist. When my hands are free, Miranda steps up and wraps me in a warm hug.
“I’m so happy for you,” she murmurs.
“I wish Mom were here to see this,” I choke out.
“She’s watching right now and smiling.”
After one more tight squeeze and an exchange of “I love you’s” with my sister, we decide the time has come to scatter my mother’s ashes on the lake, as planned. Due to my tantrum in New York and subsequent, court-ordered trip to rehab, we never got the chance to properly mourn our mother together. So, this evening, we’re finally going to give Adele Hayes Baumgarten the memorial she deserves.
I call to Aubrey, “Would it be okay if we take Raine with us on the rowboat for the ashes thing?” True, Raine’s my kid, so I don’t technically need Aubrey’s permission to take her anywhere, especially now that I'm free of all those pesky rehab requirements. But by now, I trust Aubrey’s judgment. Not only about what’s best for our sweet girl, but also about what’s best for me. For all of us. In fact, I think it’s fair to say, just this fast, Aubrey’s become my North Star. My moral compass. My guiding light.
“If Rainey wants to go, and as long as you bundle her up and she wears a life jacket, I think it’s a great idea.” She calls to Raine who’s still twirling and dancing. “Rainey, do you want to go on a rowboat with Auntie Miranda and Daddy to say goodbye to their mommy in heaven?”
Raine stops twirling. “Me, too?”
Every adult exchanges an apprehensive look.
“No, not to you, honey,” Aubrey says gently. “Your daddy is never going to say goodbye to you.”
“Not ever,” I add quickly.
Raine looks puzzled. “Me, too?” she repeats. “I say bye-bye to my mommy in da heaven, too?”
This time, every adult collectively wilts for the poor kid. Aubrey told me they had a small memorial for Claudia here in Prairie Springs, a few days after she and Raine arrived. But I can’t imagine Raine remembers that or even understood what it meant at the time. Surely, only the passage of time and the continued absence of her beloved mommy have helped her begin to comprehend the absolutism of it all. The hard, cold reality that Mommy’s not at work. Mommy’s not at the store. Mommy is simply gone, forever.
I touch Raine’s soft head. “Of course, you can say goodbye to your mommy in heaven, while Auntie Miranda and I say goodbye to ours. I think that’s a great idea.”
“And den Mommy come back?” Raine asks hopefully, looking up at me.
My shoulders droop, along with my spirit. “No, my love. Your mommy and mine are both in heaven, forever. But they still love us and watch over us, all the time.”
“Oh,” Raine says sadly, bowing her little head.
“You know what I think?” Aubrey interjects. “I think your mommy and Daddy’s mommy are having fun together in heaven. I think they have tea parties together, and they feed ducks and play barn all the time. But only when they’re not busy watching over you from a cloud and giggling about how much fun you’re having down here.”
Raine contemplates that briefly, before murmuring softly, “I luh Mommy.”
The comment isn’t accompanied by tears. It’s not the catalyst for a meltdown. It’s a simple, and heartbreaking, statement of fact.
“I love your mommy, too,” Aubrey says. “So, so much.”
“So do I,” I say. “We all do.” I’ve never thought that before, let alone said it. But suddenly, I realize something big: if Raine loves someone, then I do, too. It’s as simple as that.
The sound of tires traversing nearby gravel attracts everyone’s attention; and when I turn my head, I clap my palms in celebration. The sparkling new truck I ordered from Billings has arrived with a sedan trailing behind, and now it’s coming to a stop alongside the house.