The Last Wish of Sasha Cade

by Cheyanne Young

  I shake my head. “Not this way. Go home, Elijah.”

  “I don’t have a home,” he says, his voice like rocks clashing together. Those blue eyes pierce into mine, and there’s a fire inside him that’s trying to burst out. “I’ve never had a home.”

  “Go back to the apartment with Anthony,” I say, as much as it hurts me to send him back there. “You can’t live on the streets.”

  “Fine,” he says. In one movement, he slips into the driver’s seat of his new car. The engine starts and he doesn’t look back at me. He just drives away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I don’t sleep at all that night. I split my time between wishing I’d said things differently to Elijah and checking my emails hoping to hear from him. Yes, I want him to quit his job, but not like that. He needs stability. And I need Sasha. If she were here, she’d leap into action and help me figure this out.

  But Sasha’s help won’t come to me in the form of a pre-recorded video. It won’t show up on my doorstep in an envelope with my name written in pink Sharpie. This is up to me.

  It’s the end of the school day, and I’m stuck in traffic, ready for another day of work. I definitely miss the animal clinic, but working at Izzy’s feels like where I need to be right now. Flowers can die just like the animals at the clinic, but at least I don’t mourn a few wilted petals.

  While I’m waiting in a long line of cars trying to get out of the school parking lot, my phone alarm goes off, which is a little weird. I glance at the screen and see an alert from my calendar. Tomorrow is Mrs. Cade’s birthday, and I almost forgot. When I’d saved the date in my phone a few months ago, I knew I wanted to do something special for her in case Sasha passed away before then. I was going to carry on the tradition of going to Gigi’s Cupcakes. A knot settles into my stomach.

  When I first got the idea to take her out for a birthday cupcake, I’d felt a rush of excitement. This tradition she’d always shared with her daughter could still be carried on through her daughter’s best friend. Maybe we’d even make it our own tradition now, remembering Sasha once a year with stories and cupcakes piled high with icing. I can’t stand knowing that our first year of this new tradition will be darkened by my worries over Elijah.

  I try to focus on cleaning the flower shop and fulfilling orders, but of course Elijah is always on my mind. His entire life changed when he met Sasha, but he’s homeless because of me.

  After sweeping, I get the mop out and scrub the floor. Izzy gives me a curious glance as I slide the mop past her feet, but she doesn’t say anything. I dust and wipe and organize the flower accessories on the back shelves. I peel off the old Credit Cards Accepted sign that was crooked and curling and print out a new one, then tape it neatly to the counter.

  When it’s closing time, I help Izzy lock up. Then I’m sitting in my car in a dark parking lot, staring at a new message from Elijah on my phone.

  Elijah0Delgado: Still mad at me?

  RockiBoBocki: Still homeless?

  Elijah0Delgado: Yes.

  RockiBoBocki: Then yes.

  ***

  Mrs. S. smells like cigarettes and coffee as she slips through the rows of students, dropping a graded chem test on each desk. I wonder where she gets time to smoke when there’s only five minutes between classes. The coffee isn’t a mystery; she keeps a coffee machine at the back of her classroom and never lets us have any.

  She used a black Sharpie to grade our tests, and my paper still smells faintly like permanent marker. The Sharpie makes me think of Sasha. The grade — a seventy-two — is all thanks to her brother.

  How the hell am I supposed to know what happens when a fluorine atom becomes a fluoride ion in a chemical reaction when I can’t stop thinking about a boy?

  In my next class, I’m attempting to focus on Mr. Green’s lecture about the civil war when my phone vibrates in my back pocket. We’re not allowed to have phones in school, but people can usually get away with a sly text or two without the teacher caring. The thing is, no one really texts me anymore. Zack has forgotten I exist, and few other people even have my number. When the vibrating doesn’t stop, I realize it’s a phone call. Maybe it’s a wrong number.

  I slip the phone out of my back pocket and bring it into my lap, keeping my eyes focused on Mr. Green to make sure he doesn’t see. Mrs. Cade’s name flashes across the screen. Dread slams into me, making it hard to breathe. The only time she ever called me at school was when Sasha was having a cancer emergency.

  Why would she call me now?

  I panic until it stops ringing, then a few seconds later, a new voice message notification pops up. I can’t stand waiting any longer, so I jump up and ask to use the bathroom.

  Mr. Green gives me a sideways look, like he wants to say no, but I still get a little dead-best-friend sympathy, so he lets me go.

  “Hurry up,” he says before turning back to the whiteboard.

  Out in the hallway, I jog toward the nearest bathroom. Getting caught on the security camera with your phone is a fifty-dollar fine that I don’t want to pay. Once I’m safely locked inside a stall, I play Mrs. Cade’s message.

  “Honey, call me back! Hurry!”

  A million terrible things flash through my mind, and they only get worse as I realize that she’s my parents’ emergency contact. Did something happen to them? Oh God.

  I call her back and lean against the wall on shaky knees while the phone begins to ring.

  “Raquel!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Raquel, I can’t believe it.”

  It sounds like she’s … laughing? “Mrs. Cade!” I say, my fingers going numb from panic. “Is everything okay?”

  “I got a card in the mail.”

  Goose bumps rise on the back of my arms. I gulp some air, now that I feel safe enough to breathe again. “A card?” I ask, but I’m pretty sure I know what she’s going to say next.

  “It’s a card from Sasha! A birthday card for me that she wrote before she passed.” There are sobbing sounds from the phone and I blink quickly, looking toward the ceiling to hold back my own tears. “She wrote me a birthday note and it’s the sweetest thing, Raquel.”

  “That’s amazing,” I say, choking up.

  “I don’t know how she pulled it off. She must have had some service mail it at a later date for her, but it arrived today and I can’t stop smiling and crying at the same time,” she says, laughing. “Isn’t that something?”

  “That sounds just like something Sasha would do.” I leave the bathroom stall and walk up to the sinks, checking my makeup in the mirror.

  “It does, doesn’t it? My daughter was such a brilliant, caring soul. I was dreading my birthday, but this just made it all better.”

  “Happy Birthday, Mrs. Cade.”

  “Oh my goodness, sweetheart,” Mrs. Cade says. “I just realized what time it is. You’re still in school!”

  “For two more hours,” I say, fluffing my hair in the mirror. “But I can’t wait to get out. I was thinking I could take you out for a cupcake at Gigi’s if you’d like.”

  There’s a slight pause on the end, and I think I hear another muffled sob. “I would love that, Raquel. Thank you. I’m sorry to bother you in class. I just couldn’t help myself after I got her card. I’ll bring it to Gigi’s so you can read it.”

  When the call is over, I stay in the bathroom a little longer, thinking about Sasha and all of her secrets. Though she’s set up this elaborate last wish for Elijah and me, she never told me about the plans she had for her mother’s birthday. I bet she’ll do the same for her dad’s birthday, and maybe even mine.

  Part of the magic is the waiting, I realize. As long as there’s something new to look forward to, it’s not like Sasha is really gone. Not yet, anyway.

  At Gigi’s Cupcakes, Mrs. Cade is an explosion of happiness. I’m not sure she wa
s ever this alive, even before Sasha’s cancer diagnosis. We splurge and order two cupcakes each: the traditional Birthday Cake creation, which is vanilla and sprinkles and heaven all baked into perfection, and another one called the Chocolate Surprise.

  Gigi keeps our coffee mugs filled, and she bursts into tears when Mrs. Cade shows her the birthday card. I picture Sasha huddled over her desk, writing the note weeks before she died.

  Happy Birthday, Mom!

  I hope this day finds you well and happy and moving on. I know you can probably only think of losing me today, but please know that I’m never truly gone. Please don’t ever feel guilty for enjoying a beautiful day, for smiling and laughing, for moving on and enjoying life. I want you to live.

  Take risks, go on adventures and smile.

  I love you, Mom. Hope this birthday is the best.

  Love,

  Sasha

  Mr. Cade takes off work early to join us, and he orders another round of cupcakes for everyone. Even though I might get the stomachache of a lifetime, I chow down on my third cupcake and bask in the joy of being with these two people who share so many of my memories. For the first time since I met Elijah in the cemetery, I feel free. I can talk to Sasha’s parents about this message after death. We can’t talk about everything, but this is good enough for now.

  Mrs. Cade slides the birthday card back into her purse and then flashes me a wry smile. “A little bird told me you have a new gentleman in your life.”

  “Huh?” I swallow. “I mean … what?”

  “Sue,” Mr. Cade says. “Don’t embarrass her.”

  “I’m not.” She puts a hand to her chest. “I’m just curious. I still want to be in the loop, Raquel. Your mom told me you had a Halloween date. So, who is he?”

  “Just a friend.”

  She leans forward. “Is he cute?”

  If my cheeks weren’t on fire a minute ago, they are now. Mr. Cade clears his throat. “I think I’ll head back to the office and leave the boy talk to you girls.” He gives me a quick hug and whispers, “Plead the Fifth if you want to.”

  Mrs. Cade slaps his arm playfully and I wiggle in my chair as we watch him leave. Please change the damn subject, my brain screams at me. But I’ve got nothing. “He’s cute,” I say, staring at my empty cupcake wrappers. “But we kind of had an argument. I’m not sure where we stand now.”

  “I’m happy that you’re going out,” she says, her hand soft on my arm. “I want you to live your life and be happy.”

  “Thanks.” I try to smile. “I am.”

  “Good.” Mrs. Cade gathers our trash into a neat pile in the center of the table. “This new boy … would Sasha approve of him?”

  I swallow. Maybe this is why Sasha never sent the MAYBE_DELETE video. This thing with Elijah and me — it’s too new, too raw. Too steeped in history and blood and loss. I can’t keep him in my life and live this lie forever.

  I also can’t tell Sasha’s parents about the brother they never knew she had. “Yeah,” I say after a moment. “I think Sasha would love him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Our sparkly black roses have been exchanged for a cornucopia of Thanksgiving floral arrangements. Literally. I nearly strain my back moving a box of cornucopia horns from the storage room up to the front, where Izzy has me sorting them out by size. There’s something hearty and contented about our fall selection. Maroon and orange flowers with yellow sunflowers fill our stockroom, kicking aside the traditional red roses, if only for one month of the year.

  If you ask me, red roses are kind of snobby since they’re so popular. The more you see them, the more you prefer an exotic arrangement of multicolored petals. Izzy shows me how to make one of the cornucopia arrangements with sunflowers, a sprinkling of orange and auburn roses, and some plastic squash and apples thrown in.

  We also have really cute plastic pumpkins filled with flowers. Though my love for our creepy Halloween vases ran deep, Thanksgiving might be my favorite season in the floral world.

  It’s only the third of November, and already we’re filling up order forms with our most popular fall harvest arrangement. Izzy insists on giving me a bottle of essential oil that smells like orange, ginger and cinnamon, swearing it will give me happiness that will endure the season.

  Unless she can bottle up Elijah, she’s wasting her time. He is what made me happy, back before the fight. I rub the oil on my wrists anyway, because a girl can always use extra happiness (and bonus points with her boss).

  “Raquel!” Izzy singsongs from the front of the shop. “You have a visitor, my dear!”

  Frowning, I set down the box of plastic pumpkins and check my phone. No new messages. It’s probably Mom, coming to buy more flower arrangements we don’t need. Now that I work here, she’s developed a habit of stopping by.

  Izzy makes moony eyes at me when I walk into the front of the shop. Crinkling my brow, I look past her to see what’s got her all swoony.

  Elijah.

  His windblown hair is swept over to the side. He’s holding a bag from the burger shop down the strip, his motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm.

  That helmet can only mean one thing, right?

  “Hey,” he says, one dimple forming. “You hungry?”

  My mouth opens, but I am too startled to speak. I’m still wearing the leggings and oversized PCHS shirt I wore to school and my makeup is twelve hours old. Not exactly how I want him to see me.

  “Of course she’s hungry,” Izzy says, shooing me with her hand. “Take as long as you need, kiddo.”

  “Are you sure?” I glance at our table full of order sheets.

  She pulls a scrunchie off her wrist and wrangles back her mess of hair. “I’ve worked alone way longer than I’ve worked with you. I’ll be fine.”

  We walk down the historic shopping strip a little way until it ends in a small park that overlooks the lake. “You got your bike back,” I say, taking one of the sodas he offers me.

  “Yep.”

  The next part is tricky. “So … why are you here? Are you back to work, too?”

  We sit on a bench and he hands me a cheeseburger and fries. He has this playful grin on his face, like he’s as weak as I am when I am around him. It’s pathetic, but despite everything, I think we could just sit in a room together, staring and smiling, and be happy.

  “I got the day off unexpectedly.” He shoves two fries into his mouth at once. “The, uh …” he says, scratching his forehead. “The cops were there. I guess they raided the place? I don’t know, but when I showed up, Monty’s wife told me to leave.”

  “That seems like a big deal. Why aren’t you freaking out?”

  He looks up from his burger. “It’s probably not a big deal. This kind of thing happens a lot. They never get caught. They’re good at what they do.”

  I nod, staring at my food. Even if it’s not a big deal, it’s still a big deal. The police don’t just raid a place for no reason. Sasha would want him out of this job even more than I do.

  His fingers slide across my shoulders. “Why the long face, beautiful?”

  I love his honeyed voice, the way he talks, the way he’ll slip in a compliment like it’s nothing.

  “I’m worried about you,” I say. “I’m glad you’re not homeless anymore, but we still need to find you a job and a place to live. I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of something.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Elijah gazes out at the lake. “There’s this older guy named Mr. Reinhart.”

  It seems like he’s going to continue, but he doesn’t. He just grabs another fry and chews it slowly. I poke him in the arm with the pointy end of my fry. “What about him?”

  “He lost his son in a drunk-driving accident. I guess it changed his life or something, because he started volunteering at the group home when I was about ten.” Elijah’s features us
ually darken when he talks about the group home, that muscle in his jaw always taut during his flashbacks. Now, his forehead relaxes and his lips curve upward slightly. He looks over at me. “I liked him a lot. He took us out to baseball games, me and Anthony and some of the other guys. Even bought us a Christmas present a few years in a row, before I got moved to a different home.”

  “The world needs more people like that,” I say. The tragedy here is that not only did someone as wonderful as Elijah end up completely alone, but there are kids in group homes right this second, probably experiencing the same neglect.

  Elijah nods, his eyes crinkling when he looks at me. He reaches out and runs his thumb across my cheek. “One time, he gave me his home phone number and told me to call him if I ever had an emergency and needed help. I lost it a long time ago, but I’ve been thinking about trying to find him. Maybe ask for a place to crash for a while until I can get my life together.”

  I shift on the bench until our knees touch. “Elijah! That would be awesome. You need to find him.” I set down my food and pull out my phone. “What’s his first name?”

  “Joseph. Last name Reinhart, and I’m pretty sure the area code of his number was 512.”

  I’m no private investigator, but I get to work. There are four Reinharts in Austin, Texas, and my heart leaps at the first result. I turn the phone to Elijah. “Is this him?”

  He pulls his brows together as he stares at the screen. “How did you do this?”

  “Facebook,” I say with a shrug. I click on Joseph Reinhart’s profile, and it’s set to private, but there are a few public photos of an older man and his wife.

  Elijah looks up at me. “That’s him.”

  “I’m emailing you the link to his page. Make your own profile and then you can send him a message. Do you want me to do it with you?”

  Hesitation colors his gorgeous face and he shakes his head, reaching for another fry. “I’ll do it later.”

  “Okay.” I kiss his cheek. “I’m excited for you.”

  “Thank you.”