Sarah shook her head and pushed heavy honey-blond hair from her face, wishing she’d pulled it back in a loose ponytail for bed. “I’m good, Meg.”
“You’re sure? I can go make you something—”
“I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry so much.”
Meg’s shoulders lifted and fell. “I just want you comfortable.”
“And I am.” Sarah glanced down at Ella where she slept curled on her side, facing Sarah, her thumb popped into her mouth. Ella only did that when she was stressed and it made Sarah’s chest ache. “What a strange, long day.”
“And a strange, long year,” Meg agreed, her voice husky. “This time last year we thought everything was wonderful. Mom was healthy. We were all good, and then just weeks later at our Girls’ Getaway, we found out the cancer was back and there was nothing to be done.” Suddenly she crossed the room, adjusted the heavy pale green velvet drapes, which had been drawn for the night, making sure there was no crack between fabric panels. “It was brutal . . . all those months waiting for Mom to die.”
“Praying for a miracle,” Sarah added.
“She deserved one,” Meg said, exhaling hard as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Sarah reached out to her. “Come, sit,” she insisted, waiting for Meg to take her hand and then take a seat on the edge of the bed next to her. “You okay?”
Meg blinked away tears. “No. You?”
Sarah’s throat and eyes burned as she shook her head. “No. Miss her, Meg. Miss her so much already—” She broke off, sucked in air, tears trembling on her lashes.
“She was my best friend. She gave the best advice. And even though I live on the other side of the country, she still managed to be part of everything. Calling, sending cards, little texts, and her Facebook messages . . . those updates . . . hilarious.” Sarah wiped away tears, trying to smile through her tears and failing. “What are we going to do without her?”
Meg’s lower lip quivered. “Try to make her proud.”
“Yeah.” Sarah was quiet a moment, thinking about her mom, her sisters, the whole family. “What do you think Dad’s doing right now?”
“Probably watching TV with Tommy,” Meg said.
Sarah nodded. It’s how she pictured him right now, too. Dad was a simple man. He liked his routine. “I wonder how he feels . . . not having had a chance to say a last good-bye.”
Meg shot Sarah a swift glance. “It was probably hard for him, not being there at the very end, but I don’t think he blames Brianna.”
Unlike me, Sarah thought fiercely, meeting Meg’s gaze. “Yes, I am upset with Brianna. Yes, I feel cheated. I needed that final good-bye. I wanted to be there at the end with Mom, too.”
“But maybe Brianna was right,” Meg said carefully. “Maybe Mom couldn’t let go when we were all there. Maybe it was too hard for her to leave us, when we were around the bed, hanging on to her for dear life.”
“Of course we were hanging on to her for dear life. We loved her.” Sarah drew her knees up to her chest, defensive, even as the ache filled her chest, heavy, suffocating. “I just can’t believe she’d want to . . . go . . . without me there.” There was a defiant note in her voice but she didn’t care. “I thought I’d be the one, holding her hand, at the end.” Not Bree.
“We’ll never know why Mom chose to let go then, but she had to have a reason. You know Mom never did anything by chance.”
Suddenly Sarah didn’t want to do this anymore, talk about Mom anymore, talk about death and dying and letting go. She’d spent so much of her life letting go, saying good-bye, leaving friends, starting over in new cities with new teams. Since she’d married Boone he’d been traded five times, which meant five huge moves. But even when they were settled with one team, she wasn’t. Because Boone wasn’t settled. He was constantly traveling and training and nursing a real, or perceived, injury. And when he was home, she fluttered around him, alternately thrilled and resentful. And when he was gone, she was constantly trying to stay busy, trying to kill time, trying to feel stable and content even though in her heart, she was lonely and empty and just getting emptier . . .
“It doesn’t matter,” Sarah said roughly, collecting her long hair and drawing it over her shoulder. “It’s not as if we can bring her back. All we can do is move forward.”
Meg reached out to cup Sarah’s cheek. “You were always Mom’s baby. She absolutely adored you, Sarah. You know that, don’t you?”