Yesterday and Today
Page 9
“Yeah, well, no. Not really. Most of it is really dumb. But I write in it almost every day. I’ve been doing it since sixth grade. And let me tell you something. When I go back and read some of the stuff I wrote, even just last year, I usually cringe at the person I was. So much of the stuff I once thought was a crisis seems so unimportant now. So immature. But then I remind myself that a journal is just like a snapshot in time. It’s a picture of a person on a given day, at a certain time of her life, captured on a page. That’s the same with your mother’s diary, I’m sure. If she had read later the stuff you’re reading now, she would also probably think it’s immature and unimportant. I wouldn’t be too hard on her.”
As Lily talked, I thought about what my journal might read like today, if I had written one a year ago or two years ago. Would there be some seriously cringe-inducing material in there?
Absolutely.
“People use diaries and journals for all kinds of things,” Lily went on. “To vent. To say stuff they’d never say to anyone else. We don’t get to go back and rewrite them.”
“That all makes sense,” I said. “But why did my mother seem to want me to find the journal? If she wasn’t proud of what was in it, then why did she go to so much trouble to send me the message through Duggan?”
Lily shrugged. “Not sure. But that’s why you need to finish reading it.”
It was such a simple answer, but one I had not thought of myself.
Lily was right, as usual.
I promised Lily I would finish it. And that I would report back to her about what I’d learned. I also told her I was getting ready to tell my dad and Lady Azura about it. But that first I was going to read it to the end, just by myself.
I went home. Headed straight upstairs to my room. Took the diary out from where I’d stashed it behind my old boots. Then I sat down on the floor next to my bed to read it. Again.
I picked up where I’d left off. I read page after page of a twelve-year-old girl’s thoughts and fears and insecurities. It progressed through the winter and continued into the spring of her seventh-grade year. There was no more about having powers. By April, there were just sporadic entries, spaced a week, ten days, three days, then a whole month apart. My mom seemed to be losing interest in the diary a little. There was stuff about clothes. Boys she liked. A new camera her mother had bought her. How her photography teacher had told her he thought she had a lot of talent. That made me smile.
And then the journal seemed to end. There were about fifty remaining pages, left blank, after the last entry, dated May 12, 1985, where she mentioned that her mom had bought a house in Connecticut, and that they’d have to start packing the second school was out, and would move there sometime in late June.
I was about to set the book down when I noticed a page with writing on it. It was a final entry at the back of the book, a few pages from the end. The writing covered several pages. It was dated November 1988.
That meant my mom was sixteen when she wrote it.
Three and a half years had gone by between the last entry of the diary and this final one.
My breath caught in my throat as I began reading what my mother had written there. It was a letter.
A letter to me.
Chapter 17
Dear Sara,
You don’t know me yet, but I’m your mother. Gosh, that was a weird sentence to write.
I’m only sixteen, so I am technically not your mother yet, but I will be someday. I haven’t even met the guy I’m going to marry yet. I don’t know when that’s going to happen. I kind of hope it doesn’t happen too soon, because the first thing I want to do is go to college, and then graduate, and become a world-famous photographer. So I don’t even know what your last name will be. But I feel pretty sure that after I do grow up and do all these things and then get married, I’m going to have a baby and she will be you. And your name is going to be Sara. I feel sure because you told me it would happen.
I know this is hard to understand, but last night you came to visit me in a dream. It was a dream unlike any I’ve ever had. It was definitely a dream—I was asleep when it happened—but it’s like it really happened in real life and not just in a dream. Does that make any sense at all?
I’m staying at my grandmother—your future great-grandmother—Lady Azura’s house. That might explain a lot, because whenever strange things have happened to me in my life, they’ve happened when I was around my grandmother.
My mom and Lady Azura have patched things up. If you’ve read the beginning of this diary (cringe—some of it is really dumb, sorry), you will know that they had a big fight. The summer after my year at Stellamar, we moved to Connecticut. That was almost four years ago. Now they get along okay. They are really different from each other. But deep down, they do have a lot in common. Hopefully by the time you’re reading this, you will know both of them well, so you’ll know what I mean.
My eyes teared up as I realized that my mom would have had no way of knowing, at sixteen, that her own mother was going to die so young. That I would never get to meet her, either.
I kept reading.
On a side note—I promise I have grown up a lot since the beginning pages of this diary. I was a pretty dippy twelve-year-old, right? I hope you understand. I was tempted to tear out some pages because they were so embarrassing and I didn’t want you to be ashamed of your mother. But I thought you wouldn’t like it if I did that. So I left them in. I hope that was okay.
So in my dream, I met you. You told me you were my daughter. That your name was Sara. We talked for a while. It was so amazing to meet you. You look a lot like me. Same hair, except yours has a pretty wave that mine doesn’t. Lucky! Similar voice. But we’re different, too. More about that later. And then you told me that I was going to die having you.
That was a really hard sentence to write.
Then my dream changed. I stood and watched you play with some sort of spirit board with some other girl—a friend of yours. Who looks really nice, by the way. Then you went to a hidden cupboard in this bedroom, and you found my diary. So that’s where I’m going to hide it for you, since I know you will find it there. Thanks for showing me that hiding place.
A big part of me hopes the dream doesn’t come true. But in case it does, I wanted you to know that I made a wish for you last night, after I woke from that dream. I wished that you would have the power to see spirits the way I used to be able to do. That way, if I really do die in childbirth, we can still meet each other. You could meet my spirit.
I once had powers, as you know because you’ve read this diary. But I was scared and wished them away. I know from meeting you even so briefly in my dream that you are strong and confident. (And beautiful, I might add—looks like I marry someone pretty good-looking. I wish I’d had a chance to ask you your father’s name. It would probably save me from a lot of lousy future dates.)
I know that you will be able to make the most of having powers and will come to see them as a gift.
So until we meet again, Sara. Whether it’s in this world, or the next, or a combination of the two places. This diary is my gift to you.
Love,
Natalie, your mom
I closed the book. Sat there with it on my lap for a really long time with tears rolling down my cheeks.
Once when I was about four years old, I fell off our play set in the backyard. I landed flat on my back. For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t cry out. Couldn’t feel pain. I guess it’s called getting the wind knocked out of you. I just lay there, staring up at the blue sky. I remember it so vividly. I could hear the leaves rustling on the trees.
And then my dad came barreling out of the house. He’d been watching me from the window, I guess, and saw what happened. He scooped me up and suddenly I could breathe again, and talk, and I cried even though I wasn’t really hurt. Just shocked.
That was the way I felt now.
But slowly, I felt a warmth spread over me. It started in my chest,
and then spread steadily outward, until I felt it warming my fingers and toes and the top of my head. It was an amazing feeling. It was love. Love for my mother, who had written me this letter. Given me this gift.
I couldn’t wait to make my wish on the solar flare. I knew it was going to come true. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but someday it would come true.
My wish was to meet my mother’s spirit.
About the Author
Phoebe Rivers had a brush with the paranormal when she was thirteen years old, and ever since then she has been fascinated by people who see spirits and can communicate with them. In addition to her intrigue with all things paranormal, Phoebe also loves cats, French cuisine, and writing stories. She has written dozens of books for children of all ages and is thrilled to now be exploring Sara’s paranormal world.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON SPOTLIGHT
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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Copyright © 2013 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. SIMON SPOTLIGHT and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Text by Sarah Albee
ISBN 978-1-4424-8961-5 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4424-8962-2 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4424-8963-9 (eBook)
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2013935643
Cover illustration by Erin McGuire by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Cover design by Laura Roode