THIRTY-THREE
coming home
sloane
April 16, 2010
Dear Sloane,
The guys and I were talking tonight about the importance of good-byes. Doing what we do, we become acutely aware of how to do them right, how to live every moment like we might not get the next one. So I promise you, Sloane, every day of my life, I will make sure to tell you how I feel. I will kiss you and savor the moment. Every single day, I will do that good-bye well so you never have to question how much I love you.
All my love,
Adam
EVERY TIME MY PHONE rang when the boys were at Mother’s Morning Out, I imagined a million worst-case scenarios: they had fallen off the jungle gym, choked on a Goldfish, gotten pummeled by a kid on the swings, and most horrific of all, an active shooter was in the preschool. I know. But, due to my past, I’m allowed to have these irrational fears.
So, when Emerson, out of breath from sprinting, appeared at the top of the guesthouse stairs where I was sitting with Caroline, my phone in her hand, and eked out, “Scott,” I was panicking before it was even time to panic.
“Why didn’t you just answer it?” Caroline asked disdainfully, as I said, “Hey Scott!” My tone was supposed to be breezy but ended up sounding forced and high-pitched.
I think he said, “Hey, Sloane. I made it,” but the reception on the other end was staticky, so I only got about half of what he was saying. Then I heard, “mumble, to, mumble, civilians.”
“What?” I asked, putting my finger in my other ear and running downstairs, as if it were my reception that was bad.
“I’ve talked to a couple of townspeople about the accident,” he said. “I think I might be able to get some—”
“Hello!” I shouted. “Scott! Hello!”
He was gone. I sighed and walked back upstairs, tossing the phone onto the bed, where Emerson was now lying and Caroline was saying, “You’re so sweaty. Get off my clean-ish sheets.”
Emerson shot up when she saw me. “So?”
I shook my head. “He’s there. He’s talked to a couple civilians. I think there may be more, but he got cut off.”
“He’s there, Sloane,” Caroline said excitedly. “He’s looking.”
Emerson took the sweater she was holding and cuddled it to her chest, saying, “Oh my gosh . . . Scott is going to find Adam and bring him home. Then Scott will win a Pulitzer for the story he writes, I will get to play Sloane in the film adaption, I will win an Oscar . . .” She sighed, dreamy-eyed, and Caroline and I laughed.
“But you’re ready to give up acting?” Caroline asked, a note of teasing in her voice.
“Well . . .” Emerson said.
“Now if only my sister would go to the doctor—” I began, but Mom’s loud, “Girls!” from downstairs interrupted my sentence.
“Up here, Mom,” I called.
Caroline eyed Mom warily as she came up the steps. “Where have you been?”
Emerson raised her eyebrow at me. I had always been so jealous that she could raise one eyebrow, while mine seemed to be attached as though connected by a long string.
Mom crossed her arms. “I was up working out early, you’ll be happy to know.”
Caroline gave her the up-and-down and said, “Uh-huh. Likely story.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “I thought you would be proud.”
“Oh, I don’t think she doubts you were getting exercise, Mom,” Emerson said. “I think she’s questioning where you were exercising and with whom.”
“Gross, Emerson,” I said.
Mom was predictably beet red now. “Emerson!” she scolded as Caroline was simultaneously saying, “Emerson, gross!”
Now it was Emerson’s turn to roll her eyes. “You are all such prudes.”
Mom was holding a box in her hands, and I noticed she looked very teary. “What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a box from Grammy,” she said, sniffing. “There’s a letter and a piece of jewelry for each of you.”
“I miss her so much already,” Caroline said, wiping her eyes. “What are we going to do?”
I hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. We all sat down on the floor, in a haphazard circle, and Mom handed us each a letter and a box.
I did a double take because I noticed Mom was wearing an engagement ring. But it was on her right hand, and it was definitely my grandmother’s.
Breaking the tension, Caroline pointed to Mom’s hand and said, “So what you’re saying is I’m not getting Grammy’s big diamond?”
We all chuckled through our tears, as the giant diamond James had given her twinkled on her right hand, and Emerson said, “It’s a shame, really. You needed a big diamond.”
I took a deep breath as I opened my envelope to find a letter in my grandmother’s handwriting.
My dearest Sloane,
How I wish I didn’t have to leave you now and add to your sadness and turmoil when your life is so up in the air. But life seldom delivers what we wish. What I want you to know, my darling girl, is I see in you a quiet strength that will deliver you through whatever battles life throws your way. You are an incredible talent and a terrific mother, and you possess the kind of loyalty and character not often seen in the world today.
I believe in you, Sloane. I believe in you and the power of your dreams and the strength of your conviction. I want you to know that no matter what happens down there, I am up here fighting for you. I hope you feel that. I want you to feel that. And, in case you can’t, I left you something that might help. I miss you already, sweet Sloane, and I’m not even gone yet. I miss you. But I will always be with you.
All my love,
Grammy
I WAS, NEEDLESS TO say, a total mess, as were my sisters and my mom. I could barely see as I opened the box, but I didn’t really need to because it was a piece I knew well. Grammy’s wide gold bangle with her hand-engraved monogram on the front was in a nest of cotton, waiting for me. She wore that bracelet every day. And now I would. I couldn’t have imagined a better gift.
I knew I would do what Grammy said. I knew I would be strong. But I didn’t like the feeling—one I had for the first time in months—that it was perhaps possible that someday soon, I could be mourning in this same way, only much deeper, for the man I loved with all my heart.