“Look,” she said, pointing to a page.
I knelt on the floor at her side and took in the words in front of me.
Dear Diary~
I like Brice Billings, and I think he likes me.
He’s so cute with red hair and freckles, and his dad teaches economics at the college, so he gets me.
We saw each other at camp and talked about how the summer was the best because our parents aren’t as busy. We both like to go for ice cream in town and the pool. Then he asked if I wanted to wait with him in the Popsicle line.
Me!
Of course I said yes. We stood there, his arm touched mine, and I think he did it on purpose.
I smiled and pretended not to notice.
I didn’t tell Mom tonight either. It felt like it was a private moment. I should have shared. Maybe tomorrow. I can keep this just for me for one more day.
Brice Billings!
Then came a long string ofx’s ando’s and a signature in cursive:Abby Billings.
“She never told me. I guess she wanted the moment just for her,” Claire said, staring down at the journal. A tear fell onto the paper. “I’m so glad I read this. She won’t ever get to be Abby Billings, but some part of me is happy that she experienced that small crush. That she had the experience.”
Squeezing her hand, I suggested, “Why don’t you hold on to the journal and crack it open when you’re feeling down?”
“Who is the therapist here? Me or you?”
“Only a suggestion.” I brought her knuckles to my lips and ran a kiss across them. “You’re the strongest woman I know. Don’t be too proud to admit it.”
“Sometimes, I feel like I’m watching a movie…that it’s not really me, Claire Richards, getting this second chance at life.”
“Open your eyes. It’s you, and I’m damn glad it’s with me.”
She continued to stare down, her wet lashes grazing her bottom ones. “That’s why this feels even harder. I’m moving on…I know, I’m remembering the good stuff, but still. I can’t seem to put it into words.”
“Look at me, Richards. You, me…we’re going to remember every fucking thing about Abby. Okay?”
She nodded, turned, and opened a desk drawer without another word.
There were classroom poetry assignments, birthday cards, school pictures, and a ragged teddy bear shoved in the bottom drawer. Claire cataloged each item, placing a few mementos to keep into a large box, placing the old homework assignments and greeting cards into a recycling box.
I watched, helped sort, but didn’t say much. There was no judgment from me. This was her daughter, and she could hold on to and discard whatever she wanted.
Next up came the closet. Most of the clothes, Claire set aside for the women’s shelter. “Abby would be happy to help someone less fortunate. I told her one time over dinner about the building close to campus, the yellow brick one near the pet supply store, how it was an unmarked shelter and women and their children could go there to be safe. She’d like that these clothes went there.”
I closed the box and labeled itShelter.
“Oh my God, look! I forgot about this guy. The elf. Abby was so miserable on her ninth Christmas. Everyone had the elf and we didn’t. She knew it wasn’t real, but loved the magic of it, the story, making him do funny things. She and her friends would talk about the elf all month.”
Claire dangled one of those Elf on the Shelf dolls in the air, its legs flying around.
“Do you know what this is?”
“Babe, I wasn’t born yesterday.”
She eyed me up.
