4. It’s Not Goodbye – Laura Pausini
Shay – 18 years; Skye6 years
“You’re leaving?” Skye’s wounded expression drew my gaze.
We sat out on the back porch overlooking the mountains and had just finished lunch with my parents when I finally decided to tell Skye I was leaving. Mom and Dad had known for almost three weeks and like me, they’d been reluctant to tell her, worried she might not take it well. We were right.
“I have to, Blue. I’m going to train—”
She jumped up from her seat, cutting me off. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me,” she accused through tears that defaced her laughter just moments ago. “I hate you!”
I recoiled at the vehemence in her tone then sighed, looking from Mom to Dad for help before shifting my gaze back to Skye. “If I could—” She didn’t let me finish.
She shot off down the wooden stairs and across the back lawn. “You’re leaving!” her breathless shout carried over her shoulder.
“Blue!” I yelled, leaping to my feet, and moving to the top stair, knowing she wouldn’t stop.
“Go after her, sweetheart.” Mom came up behind me and gave my shoulder an affectionate rub.
“Probably headed for her hideout, Shay.” Dad moved to my side, referring to Skye’s favorite place among the cherry blossoms at the end of our property.
When in full bloom, they formed a beautiful pink and white arch over the path that led down to a fork. One side branched off to the river while the other draped around a knoll which opened into a cave. That was Skye’s hideout, she’d discovered it one afternoon when we’d gone for a walk.
Giving them a quick nod, I took off after her. At the fork, I veered right toward the cave, weaving my way through the pinkish white curtain created by the low-hanging branches. “Blue,” I called out when I reached the opening. Soft sniffles caught my ear. “I’ll wait as long as it takes,” I said, dropping my knees to the carpet of thick green grass and peered inside.
She emerged a few minutes later, bright eyes glowering at me. “You’re leaving,” she pouted, lowering her gaze to the ground.
“Blue.” I slid a finger under her chin and tipped her head up. Apprehension swam in her eyes like she knew whatever I was going to say would take me away from her forever. “It’s only for a short while. About three months.”
“You promised you wouldn’t leave me.” She folded her arms over her chest and turned her back on me in her typical angry pose when she didn’t get her way.
Slowly, I shook my head. “I know. But this is important to me.” Griffin and I had enlisted in the army and later today we were leaving for our basic training in South Carolina. “You know all those soldiers in my room.” She’d once asked me why I kept so many figurines on a shelf. I told her that soldiers were heroes and I planned to be one when I could. “I’m going to become a soldier.”
She turned then, tears spilling down her cheeks. Sighing, I wiped the droplets away with the pad of my thumb.
“Why?” she asked. “You’re already my hero, you don’t need more training.”
My laugh soft, I gathered her in my arms, kissing her nose before pressing my brow to hers. I fought against the tightness in my chest, swallowing repeatedly to ease back my own tears. This was what this little girl did to me. She came into my life unexpectedly and took over my emotions with just a single look. Eventually I leaned back and taking hold of her hands, I kissed the tip of each finger then smiled.
