Hours later, when Mitchel and everyone else are leaving, I find it hard to breathe let alone process the news I’ve been given. We’re standing in the foyer of Ava’s home, one she no longer occupies, but in moments like this, and since her death, I feel her presence here more than ever. Maybe that’s why I’ve kept it together? Because though she’s gone, I’m not entirely sure she is from my life.
The room is too hot, too intense, heat licking my cheeks. With each movement of my body, it shifts the heat in overwhelming abundance like the deep red paint of the door making it seem that much warmer.
My eyes eventually drift, finding others in the room. The faces and voices around me hold pain. We’re by the door, soft chandelier lighting, stray shoes, and worn coats.
Before Mitchel leaves, his black leather briefcase in hand, I want to reach out and run my fingers over the bulky stitching. I love colors, bright and bold, fabrics, leather, silk, buttons and the way touch has a way of evoking even the smallest of reactions inside of you.
Mitchel catches me alone, leaning in, our eyes level. I’m wearing my bright green dress, the one Ava loved, and my mother said was hideous for a funeral. I wore it anyway, and still today, the day after, I’m wearing it again. Something inside me doesn’t ever want to take it off, like River and her dress.
Mitchel breathes out slowly, his wrinkled olive skin stretching over high cheekbones. “Your sister left you something else,” he whispers, words he only wants me to hear, tucking a letter inside my hand. “You’re a strong woman, Amberly. Take care of that little girl.”
Mitchel Robinson has been a friend of the family for years and our family lawyer just as long. I’ve known the man my entire life and trust him with it just the same.
I take the letter, tucking it away in my cardigan. Do you notice the way Alexandra’s standing at the door? She shifts her weight from one foot to another, sweeping her hair behind her ear. Her dark brown eyes move from the door to the letter I hide from her.
Do you think she’s wondering what it says? She’s dying to know. When I was twelve and she was fourteen, her boyfriend at the time asked me out in a letter. To this day, anytime I’m handed a letter, I think she thinks back to that letter Quincy Sadler gave me. For the record, I didn’t go out with him. It wasn’t in my nature to steal my sister’s boyfriends. I can’t say the same for Alexandra.
Mitchel leaves, and I’m left standing in the foyer with my mother and Alexandra. Terrance reaches for the door handle. “Alexandra, I have a meeting I need to get to in LA. Are you staying here?”
Terrance is a music producer and spends the majority of his time working while Alexandra spends his money.
Nodding, Alexandra purses her lips, her focus on me. “What did he give you?”
I breathe in slow and deep, in search of calm. I knew it’d come to this. Now look, both her and my mother are staring at me like they want to burn my body and take the letter I’m hiding. Do you see the look on Alexandra’s face? Do you think she’s looking at it, and me, and reminded of Quincy and the love letter on the back of a Taco Bell receipt? I bet she is.
I ignore, deflect, distract her with telling River to give her a hug. River hasn’t willingly hugged anyone in the last four days, unless it’s me and Kona. She wouldn’t even go to Papa Taylor and she’s always loved Cullen’s grandfather. But can you really blame her? She lost her parents. Nothing about the last four days since she witnessed her parents die has been comforting. Even a hug won’t change that.
Alexandra forces the hug, as does my mother.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay with this? Maybe until we figure this all out, River should come stay with me,” my mother suggests, straightening her wrinkled light pink blouse. I don’t like light colors. I like bold and distinct because if you’re going to wear color, be anything but ordinary.
I shake my head, straightening my posture, hold my determination. Our eyes catch and I stand strong. I usually don’t when it comes to her, I can’t, I want to please my parents, though I seldom do. “River’s better off here, for now. I’ll figure out something and if and when we have to sell this place, I have an apartment.” My words sure and decided, and for once, they don’t feel foreign coming from me.
“We have to put it on the market,” Alexandra adds, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. Her perfectly manicured, acrylic nude nails stand out against the white leather bag. “It’s not a matter of when, Amberly. We have to and immediately.”
We don’t have to, and she knows it, but to distract, deflect, I nod and reach for River’s hand beside me. I hold the chubby baby-soft hand, my fingertips tracing the scar on her palm where she fell a year ago and a stick stabbed her. Three stitches later and now the raised skin feels puckered and edgy, like the way two pieces of metal feel when joined together.
I look down at her, but the familiarity of her eyes doesn’t match Ava’s, and I’ve never seen Cullen in her features. She’s unique in her beauty, dark eyes framed by thick black lashes. Tender touches of golden freckles sweep over her nose and cheekbones. Her hair, unwashed, unbrushed, wild and free, falls in her eyes and catches in her pink pouty lips.
“Ava wanted me to take care of her,” I breathe out, letting River hear those words. She watches me as I speak, and I wonder, does she understand? “We’re going to be okay.”
Do you see it? Do you notice the way those pink pouty lips pull at the edges and the gentle lift at the corner? Did she smile?
My heart soars, constricts in both sadness, and happiness.
My mother hugs River, says her goodbyes and tells me she’ll be in touch. This means, she will be, probably more than I want her to because she can’t not meddle in my life. Why can’t she be like my father and never care? I’m surprised he found time to come to the funeral.
Alexandra lingers at the door and then on the front porch. Terrance is in the car, waiting impatiently, staring at his fiancée, willing her to get in the car. But the fact that I have River, and a note she wants to read, keeps her from moving.
“What did Mitchel give you?”
“Phone numbers for her doctors and emergency contacts,” I lie, and it’s not something I do very well. My face heats with the words. I look at her, internally begging her to approve of me, and I don’t think I’ve ever realized just how much she looks down on me until this moment. And even through my hazy thoughts, I see how much I don’t need it.
She folds her arms over her chest. “Why did he give them to you like it was a secret?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
River tugs on my hand. “Juice?”
Instinctively at her touch, I glance down at her, nod and smile. “Thank you,” I mouth.
“I should get her some lunch. She hasn’t eaten since breakfast.”
With his patience running thin and his time pressed, Terrance honks his horn. Alexandra snaps her eyes to his. “I have to go. Call me if you need anything at all. I’m more than willing to come and get her.”
I step back toward the door, River still holding my hand. “I know.”
Alexandra sighs and you’d think by her reaction, I’m forcing her to leave her three-thousand-dollar bag on her shoulder at a bus stop, not the life of her only niece in the hands of her seemingly irresponsible, hardly employed, nearly friendless little sister.
But if Ava was comfortable with it, why shouldn’t Alexandra and my mother be?
Because they have to be in charge and control everything. And they’ve never been able to control the wild yet habitually cautious little sister. I’m a walking contradiction.
And then Alexandra gives me a warning, one I suspected would come at some point and whispers in my ear, “Don’t go to Tiller.”
Sudden silence bears unflinchingly on me. My heart races, uneven and desperate, tripping my thoughts. My family doesn’t approve of my unhealthy relationship with Tiller. Bigger than life, harshly thrust in the spotlight at a young age, he’s not exactly a good guy, but he’s always there for me, aside from now, when I need help. Or maybe it’s that he can’t tell me no because he hopes I’ll eventually sleep with him. Again, probably the latter.
“Would you like some yogurt or a sandwich?”
River’s eyes shift to mine, letting go of my hand. “Sandwich. Only peanut butter.”
I kneel down, brushing her hair from her face. “You know, I never liked jelly either.”
She smiles, so tender, so cute. “Are you gonna leame soon?”
My heart drops to my belly. “You mean am I going to leave you?”
She nods.
“No. We’re gonna be staying together from now on.” Pausing, I watch her face as I ask, “Are you okay with that?”
The corners of her mouth lift before she nods and wraps her arms around my neck, squeezing me. I’m guessing that’s a yes.
It’s when I have River at the breakfast nook, tucked in the booth next to the windows that overlook the back terrace full of rich vegetation and shades of green, I open the letter. River reaches for her iPad, her organic, naturally sweetened strawberry banana juice in one hand and the soothing tones of Chris Stapleton fill the room. She’s obsessed with his music and since her parents died, I’ve enjoyed four days of “Tennessee Whiskey” on repeat.
I don’t know what it is about the song, but she loves it.
Taking out the letter, I peel open the edges of the thick creamy-white paper to find Ava’s handwriting stretching vastly over the page. I run my fingers over the paper, the softness, her words, and without reading them just yet, I know this is her explanation for leaving River with me. Her reasoning’s that were meant for me to hear, and maybe not Alexandra.
Tears roll down my cheeks even before my eyes focus on my name at the top. It’s not that I’m sad that she’s gone, though I am, and I think in some ways, my brain is holding on to the fact that she’s not, and I have River still. But in other ways, these tears, they fall because she had to write letters like this and think of a future without her presence in her daughter’s life. She had to imagine someone else raising her daughter and prepare for a future she’d no longer be a part of.
That’s why the tears flow. Sadness for my sister and sadness for River. She’s three. She will barely remember the beautiful, caring, unbiased human being her mother was. Never in my life had I met a stronger, more capable, loving and witty woman as Ava Anabel Taylor was.
My skin heats, warmer than the sun shining in on us. Knots and nerves plague my body, my pulse rushing like the rapids of a wild river. My tear-stricken blurry stare moves to the letter and it’s Ava’s voice I hear reading it to me, not my own.
Amberly,
I’m sorry. I’m sorry all of this is being thrown at you while you’re grieving, but I know you, and you’re being strong. I bet you haven’t cried in front of anyone yet, have you? I picture you reading this, twirling strands of your beautiful lilac hair, or maybe it’s deeper purple now, or even blue. . . you always seem to match your moods with your hair, and I love that about you. Everything you are is written so clearly in your beauty.
I’m sorry your life is about to change forever and most of all, I’m sorry for taking away your freedom to live life on your terms because now you have a little girl to take care of, but honestly, Amberly, I can’t think of a better person to lead River through life.
I remember telling Cullen when we drew up the will, if it can’t be me, then I’m so grateful it’s her.
I know I’ve already asked so much of you, but I have one more request.
I want River to know her father. . . .
Please don’t freak out, but. . . I guess in order for that to happen you would have to know who her father is. And please understand this is something I had to keep from you. Not because I didn’t trust you, but because I didn’t want you to ever look at me and judge the choices I made. God knows I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time of her conception.
Let me start from the beginning.
About a year after Cullen and I got married, we were excited to start a family. And after two years and that not happening, we found out that Cullen couldn’t have kids. It hit us both really hard, but I think I took it way harder than Cullen. I couldn’t live with the fact that I would never have my own baby to hold. He felt such guilt at never being able to give me something he knew I wanted more than anything and I resented him for the same reason. It almost broke us. We fought constantly.
One night I went out. With you. Do you remember it? I called, and you jumped at the chance. I needed some time to be away from Cullen and our life, or I was afraid it was the end of us. I wanted to escape the disappointment and feeling of resentment. That night led to River.
It was that night in Mammoth. The Warped Warriors tour. Do you remember it now? We were at that after-party, and everyone was just having such a great time and I had all those lemon drops? It was so freeing to be able to just let loose and be in your presence. I envied you. I did, I still do. No one lives life like you do.
If you remember that night at all, we really let loose, and I ended up at the Sawyer Mansion. When I woke up the next morning, I was naked in bed with him. The one person I never thought I would end up with. Tiller.
But. . . there’s more. I never meant to betray Cullen like that or stray from our marriage. Thinking it was over as soon as I told him, I came clean because I could never live with a lie that huge. You have to believe I didn’t go out that night looking to sleep with a Sawyer brother, especially not Tiller. I was ashamed and heartbroken. I couldn’t believe what I’d done.
It was four weeks later when I found out I was pregnant. I told Cullen immediately. . . my feelings, that night, all of it. It was his idea to keep the baby. He even called it a blessing in surprise because now we had the chance to experience parenthood from the very beginning. Just like I had always dreamed. So we kept the baby and no one knew she wasn’t Cullen’s biological child.
Tiller never knew. I never told him. He saw her once, and I think he might have had an idea, but he said nothing to me. Cullen and I agreed it was for the best that I not say anything to Tiller as you and I both know what his reaction, or lack of one would have been. It’s not like he ever gave the impression he ever wanted a relationship, let alone a kid, so we felt it was a good choice for everyone.
Well now that Cullen and I are gone, River is going to need her father. I know it won’t be easy. Believe me when I say I know Tiller is a real son of a bitch when he wants to be, but I also believe that when he meets River, and he realizes this little girl is a piece of him, he’ll come around. And I know you’re the person to make that happen. If anyone can get through to him, it’s you.
So please, Amberly, give me this one last thing. She needs to know him.
I love you.
Ava
Is your heart pounding like mine? Are you mad at her? I don’t know if I can be mad at her because she’s dead and she can’t defend herself, but as I look at River, peanut butter covering her lips and cheeks, I am mad. Not because of her, but because Ava slept with Tiller. My Tiller.
Dropping the letter on the table, the corners of my eyes water and I look up at the ceiling. Swallowing, I beg Ava to tell me what she had been thinking sleeping with Tiller. Why him? Of all people, why him? She knew how I felt about him. Everyone knows.
I never saw this coming. Tiller Sawyer is her biological father? Seriously though. . . my Tiller? And to think I thought I knew my sister so well. Alexandra’s warning rings in my head, a warning. She knew. She had to. “Don’t go to Tiller.”
My eyes dart to my phone on the table in front of me. My fingers itching to pick it up and call him. Should I? Should I demand he tell me why he slept with my sister? I don’t though, because I think I might know the answer. He’ll blow the question off, deflect and redirect the way he always does when he’s avoiding.
My heart pounds in my chest and I can’t believe how much it aches. Straining against the pressure of my next inhale, my chest burns with beats of jealousy that she had him in a way I’ve never experienced. . . with anyone. My thoughts return to how could Tiller have slept with my sister? He knows how I feel about him. . . or does he? Truth is, he probably doesn’t.
Rubbing my eyes to catch the stupid helpless tears occupying my jealous thoughts, I think of Tiller. What can I say about him besides that in the world of motocross where he’s a legend for the tricks he’s created and mastered. Unwilling to conform to the industry standards and labeled the bad boy of the sport, they call him Wild Cat.
I knew him before he was the sinfully gorgeous FMX freestyle rider with infinite hate in his blood. I knew him back when he was a shy little boy hoping a girl would love him back.
That guy, the one who gave me a flower and then ate it when I told him I didn’t want it, he’s nowhere to be found inside the devil known as Tiller Sawyer. Between jealousy, secrets, and habits, the truth is, I don’t know who he really is... the crazy, sadistic, angry introvert who uses drugs and alcohol as a way to mask his own demons.
Revoltingly blind when it comes to him, I know what I wanted to know, and it was pretty far from who he really is.