For You

by Strong, Mimi

  “I have to tell you something,” he said. “You should sit down.”

  Bell came out, rubbing her teary red eyes.

  He went to her and picked her up, making his goofy weightlifter noises that she loved so much. I stood by the door, numb, as he calmly took her into the living room and got her set up with the TV, telling her he'd join her in five minutes to watch any show she wanted.

  When he came back to me, I was still in the hallway, sitting cross-legged and staring at the wall.

  “I'm not running,” I said. “I can't leave you, and Uncle Bruce, and my grandparents. Even Natalie, who's the kind of woman I never imagined being friends with. Now I am, and… I can't go. But you have to help me. I need a lawyer, I think.”

  “You don't.”

  “I do, but I don't know how I'd pay for one anyway.”

  He whispered, so Bell didn't hear, “Your mother is dead.”

  “No.”

  “The RCMP were there to notify her next of kin, at her brother's house. That's why they were at Bruce's.”

  “They weren't coming to arrest me? Or extradite me?”

  “No.” He sat down across from me and stroked my foot as he stared at me with sad eyes.

  I put my face in my hands. “What is happening? Why do they think my mother is dead?”

  Sawyer had a piece of paper in his hands, folded in half. He stretched his arm out, handing it to me, but I wouldn't touch it. I wasn't accepting anything.

  “There was a bus crash,” he said. “In Colorado. Four people died, including the driver. Your mother was one of the passengers. They think she died instantly, upon impact.”

  I pulled my foot away, sickened by someone touching me while I heard this.

  “It might not be her,” I said. “They can't know for sure.”

  “Yes, they can. It was her, Aubrey.”

  I stared over his head, at a scratch on the white wall. How could she die when I still hated her so much?

  “She had this note in her pocket,” he said. “Not this actual paper. This is a fax, of course, but I'm sure they can send you the real note if you want.”

  “I don't want to read it.”

  “Of course you don't. But you have to.”

  From the other room, Bell laughed at something on her TV. How was I going to tell her?

  He opened the note and put it on my lap, the printed side toward me.

  It was in my mother's handwriting, which looked so much like mine, I thought for a minute maybe it was my own letter, one of the hundreds I'd written to her but torn up. But it wasn't.

  Dear Aubrey and Annabell:

  I'm so sorry that I had to go away.

  I think about that day all the time. I tried to forget by drinking, but there was never enough in the bottle. I've been clean for the last six months, and I want to make amends to you both, but I don't think I'm ready.

  I should pay for what I've done, but I'm not ready for that either.

  Derek was not a good man, and I shouldn't have put you two in that home with him.

  I came home that day and found him with my best friend, Angel. They were just having a drink together, and she said she came over looking for me, but I knew it wasn't true. I could see the lies on their faces.

  After she left, me and Derek got into a few. He made me so mad. I think he wanted me to hurt him. That's no excuse, and I feel terrible for what I've done, but it happened in about a minute and then it was too late to take it back.

  Bell, you were sleeping in your bed, and I kissed you goodbye before I left. Your eyelashes fluttered in your sleep, but you didn't see me go.

  Aubrey, you had been at school, and I passed the bus on my way out of town. I saw you sitting near the back, your nose in a book. You didn't see me, but I waved. I'm sorry.

  Aubrey, I knew that you would take care of your sister better than I ever could.

  I think you both have been better off without me. That's what I have to believe so I can sleep at night.

  You are in my heart and I will always love you both.

  Deenah, your mother.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  DECEMBER

  In this part of the country, December is dark and wet. There's very little snow to reflect the light during the day, so that makes it feel gloomy. At least the grass is green and lush from the rain.

  In November, we had barely finished with the funeral arrangements for my mother and started the process of getting legal custody of Bell, when my landlord decided to kick me out.

  This time, though, we didn't have to run like rats in the light.

  Sawyer found a place for the three of us, and as soon as I walked in, I knew it was home.

  There was a window over the kitchen sink, and fluffy birds and squirrels in the back yard, waging war over the birdseed.

  It's a little house on a quiet street. Nothing fancy, but still better than my dreams.

  Natalie and Dave sold their house, and they found a place just a few blocks over from where we live. I'm so relieved that Taylor won't be changing schools and leaving Bell. Those two are great for each other, not to mention what an amazing friend Natalie has become to me. She says she has a new perspective on life now that she has a friend who isn't so materialistic. She says strawberries taste better, even those pale ones you get in the dead of winter.

  Natalie makes me laugh.

  Lots of things make me laugh nowadays.

  Grandpa Jack is doing well on his current medication. He's got a dark sense of humor, and makes jokes about not buying green bananas, but I think he's going to see Bell grow up and graduate.

  My grandmother had a difficult time with my mother's death. Even though they'd not spoke for over twenty years, it was tough. We talk about her regularly, so I guess she's alive in our thoughts. Between the two of us, we both knew my mother her whole life, yet it seems like she lived two separate lives, because our versions of her are so different. When she talks about things my mother did as a teenager, I imagine her as more like me, just a young girl who fell for the wrong guy, like how I fell for Damion.

  About a month after my mother passed, I was looking through my jewelry box and found a beaded bracelet she bought me at a carnival. And I actually got a good feeling from the memory. The anger is gone. If that's as good as it gets, that's fine by me.

  She'd probably be happy to see how well Bell is doing, and how big she's getting. She'll be taller than a sunflower soon.

  She's not too old to make forts in the living room, though.

  Natalie gave us some of their furniture when they downsized, and now I have a cream sofa that I have to worry about keeping clean.

  We still have our thrift-store sofa downstairs, and I swear it's more comfortable.

  The ceiling is low in the basement, especially since Sawyer added that foam that looks like egg cartons, to make it better for band practice.

  He's still working at his father's shop, where they make custom mill-work for fancy houses. They do everything from cabinets to tables and chairs to custom shelving, like those bookcases with the glass doors on them.

  It's the kind of work where he's usually done at five o'clock and home by five-thirty.

  He's home just in time that we can eat dinner before Bell gets cranky.

  Sawyer is still making his art, but he's not taking commissions anymore. He just paints or draws what he feels like making, and if someone likes what he's made, he'll sell it or give it to them.

  I'm the one who uses his paintbrushes the most. He got me started with a few pointers, and now I'm painting things. Just silly stuff, like flowers and fruit, but it's fun. There's no purpose to what I paint, no agenda, but it makes me happy. I can understand why there's such a thing as art therapy.

  On Wednesday nights plus weekends, Sawyer turns into a rock star. Now he's the bass player in his friends' band, and the other guy is the spare. Sawyer sings backup on a few songs, and he's so cute when he's concentrating. He says he only forgets lyrics when I'm down ther
e watching, but I've heard him forget plenty of times when I'm upstairs.

  The first time he told me he loved me was right after we'd been to the RCMP detachment for me to make my sworn statement about what I'd seen in the trailer. I'd gotten a deal that they wouldn't press charges against me for my role in attempting to destroy evidence, as well as taking my sister over the border, but I still worried they'd haul me away on some technicality.

  We'd sat in this awful room that reeked of disinfectant, and by comparison, giving my statement hadn't been that terrible. Not compared to the waiting.

  It had been four years since Derek was killed, and imagining the sight of the body still shook me, but I could also look at it in a new way, like a picture that I was outside of. Detached. In a good way.

  We walked out, and the sky was already getting dark, plus it was drizzling rain.

  There was a Tim Horton's across the street, and Sawyer made a joke about cops and donuts.

  “I could go for a donut,” I said.

  “You have the best ideas.”

  Bell was with her grandparents, and we had the rest of the evening free, so we crossed the road and got our sugar fix.

  Sawyer pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me.

  As I opened the little box, he said, “Aubrey, I love you.”

  Without hesitation, I said, “I love you, too. What's this?”

  He laughed. “That was easy. I wish I'd said it to you sooner.”

  I pulled the ring out of the box, admiring the heart and the gemstones.

  “It's just a little token,” he said.

  “Nobody's ever given me a ring before.”

  “That explains why you look so confused.” He took it from me and tried it on my fingers until we found one it fit. “I wanted to give this to you at the barbecue, but then you stole my car.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  His green eyes sparkled at me. “I forgive you. Just don't do it again.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, back to where we'd just come from.

  The ordeal was nearly over. Bell's father, Terry, said he wasn't going to contest my application to adopt Bell, but he did want to see her some time, when she was ready.

  I still hadn't explained to her about her mother, and I planned to wait until she was at least twelve. Natalie was going to put me in contact with a family counselor who could help me sort things out.

  But for now, things were good. I had to keep reminding myself.

  The shining ring on my finger would certainly go a long way to helping me remember.

  We drove back to the house, and enjoyed some time together, just the two of us.

  We made love in our shared bed, and as we held each other afterward, he traced his fingers all over my body, asking me, “Here? How about here?”

  I'd wanted to surprise him, but I didn't like keeping anything from him, even something so small.

  “Here,” I said, pointing to the inside of my hip bone. “But can you make the frog look happier in the drawing?”

  “Anything for you, my love,” he said, and he kissed me on the inside of my hip bone, and then all over.

  We didn't get out of bed for hours, and our lovemaking was all the sweeter with a ring on my finger.

  Sawyer said it was just a little token, but it was more than that.

  I didn't just have a ring with a heart on it. I had someone who loved me, and wanted me to know it. I had family and friends, and just like my finger had a band of gold around it, I felt like I had an aura of love and support around me.

  And that wasn't just a little token. It was everything.

  the end

  Author's Note

  I hope you enjoyed Aubrey and Sawyer's story.

  I had a few things in mind when I started this tale, and nothing went quite how I planned, but it still worked out exactly how I would have wanted.

  My own heart has always been quick to trust. I could meet someone days after a bad breakup and be willing to take a chance on new love.

  People who are resistant to love fascinate me. They're probably better at dating than I ever was.

  I don't write about my own heartbreaks ... not without changing the names and identifying details. One of the worst kinds of hurt, besides stubbing your toe on the edge of the bed frame, has got to be the feeling that you were used.

  One time, I was in a relationship with a man who was not very nice. I guess he had the whole Bad Boy thing going on, but not like the Bad Boys in books, who have redeeming qualities and good hearts beneath the tattoos. I put up with a lot in this relationship, and I think if I'd had one good girlfriend in my life at the time, she would have taken me by the hand and dragged me away.

  In the end, it was not my good sense or value in myself that got me to end the relationship. Rather, it was that he accidentally sent me an email intended for a buddy, in which he bragged about using me.

  Lucky for me, I recognized the truth when I saw it in words in front of my face.

  Not long after the dust settled from that, I met a really wonderful guy. Not one I wanted to marry, but wonderful and kind.

  And then, not long after that, I met another cute and sweet guy: my future husband.

  We are married now, and Mr. Strong is the good kind of Bad Boy. He has two tattoos, and was a little rough around the edges when we met, but he was also a nerd. You can tell, because one of his tattoos is a robot from a comic book. The other is from the Canadian military.

  Whenever I was single and thinking about what kind of guy I might date next, I had an open heart, yet I always imagined it would be someone quite different from who I got.

  Nothing ever goes quite how I plan, but it seems to work out exactly how I would have wanted, if I'd known. I hope the same is true for you.

  Love,

  Mimi

  Mimi Strong

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