“Lyric, she loved you.”
“I resented you. I resented how she loved you, and then, I come back here and he loves you too. Everyone has always loved you, Lucy, and I was left unlovable.”
“I always loved you, Lyric,” I said, my chest hurting from the pain in her voice.
She snickered in disbelief as her body shook and tears rolled down her cheeks. “You know the last thing Mama said to me as she was lying on her death bed and I was holding her hand?”
“What’s that?”
“Go get your sister,” she said, her voice cracking. “I want Lucy.”
I felt it, too, the way those words cracked my sister’s heart, how ever since she’d never been able to put the pieces back together.
“Lyric…” I started, but she shook her head.
“No. I’m done. I’m just done. Don’t worry, you can have your life. I don’t belong here. Nothing about this house is home to me.”
“You’re leaving?” I asked, confused. “Does Graham know you’re leaving?”
“No.”
“Lyric, you can’t just walk out on them, not again.”
“Why? I did it before. Besides, he doesn’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here.”
“But you could’ve at least left a note like you did last time,” Graham said, making us turn to face him. When his eyes locked with mine, I felt my heart remember how to beat.
“I didn’t think it was necessary,” Lyric said, grabbing the handles on her suitcases.
“Okay, but before you go, wait here,” Graham said, walking over to me with Talon in his hands. “Lucille,” he whispered, his voice low, his eyes filled with that same gentleness I’d seen a few months back.
“Graham Cracker,” I replied.
“Can you hold her?” he asked.
“Always,” I replied.
He wandered off to his office, and when he came back, he was holding paperwork and a pen.
“What is this?” Lyric asked as he held the sheets of paper out to her.
“Divorce papers, and legal paperwork granting me full custody of Talon. You don’t get to run again without making this right, Jane. You don’t get to walk away and then leave the possibility of you taking my daughter away hanging over my head.”
His voice was stern, but not mean, straightforward, yet not cold.
She parted her lips as if she were going to argue, but when she stared at Graham she probably took strong note of his stare. His eyes always told a person all they ever needed to know. It was clear that he’d never be hers, and it finally clicked in Lyric’s head that she’d never truly wanted him. She slowly nodded in agreement. “I’ll sign them at your desk,” she said, walking into his office.
When she was out of view, I watched the heavy sigh leave Graham’s body.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
He kissed me to say yes.
“You came back to me,” he whispered, his lips against mine.
“I’ll always come back.”
“No,” he said sternly. “Just never leave again.”
When Lyric walked back into the room, she told us the paperwork was signed and she’d be no more trouble. As she stepped out of the front door, I called after her.
“Mama’s last words to me were, ‘Take care of Lyric and Mari. Take care of your sisters. Take care of my Lyric. Take care of my favorite song.’ You were her final thought. You were her final breath, her final word.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she nodded, thanking me for a level of peace only I could give her soul. If I had known how heavy it weighed on her heart, I would’ve told her years ago.
“I left Talon a gift,” she said. “I figured it was better for her than it was for me. It’s sitting on her nightstand.” Without another word, Lyric disappeared.
As we headed to the nursery, my hand fell to my chest as I saw the gift Lyric had left for her daughter—the small music box with a dancing ballerina that Mama had given her. It sat there with a note on top, and tears fell down my cheeks as I read the words on the paper.
Always dance, Talon
When Christmas came around, Graham, Talon, and I had three celebrations. The day started with us being bundled up and drinking coffee in the backyard with Ollie’s tree. Each day Graham visited that tree and he’d sit and talk to his best friend, his father, telling him every story of Talon’s growth, of his growth, of us. I was glad he had that connection—it was almost as if Ollie would live on forever in a way.
It was beautiful to see his tree standing tall every morning and night.
That afternoon, we headed to Mary’s home to celebrate the day with their family. Mari joined us, and we all stayed close, laughing, crying, and remembering. The first Christmas without a loved one was always the toughest one, but when you were surrounded by love, the hurts hurt a little less.