I’m seated at the head of an oversized picnic table with so many pairs of eyes staring at me with what I can only describe as love, but something is amiss.
All these faces—have I missed time, or just forgotten?
A brilliant light appears to my side and I search for the source, finding glowing candles flickering on top of a round vanilla frosted cake. Leah is holding the pastry, walking with slow steps as she approaches the open space at the table where she sets the cake down. “We’re going to sing now, okay, Mom?” she asks.
“Yeah, Gran, are you ready?” Makena echoes Leah—the two sounding almost identical when hearing them together.
What a sweet gesture this is, but my mind is foggy, I suppose. I glance around, searching for Everett but he isn’t here. Neither is Dad, Lewis, or James. Why aren’t any of them here? “Well, sure, that would be lovely, but whom are you singing too?”
“It’s Dad’s birthday,” Carter reminds me again. Dad’s birthday. Everett is their father, of course, I know this. I must have known today is his birthday.
“Yes, I know, but your father, he isn’t here, am I correct?” I ask, watching the wax drip down the sides of the candles onto the sparkling whipped frosting.
“Sure he is, Gran,” Makena says. “He’s home, just like you always say.” Makena points up toward the dark clouds and my heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach. He’s home, but I am not. It shouldn’t be this way. It was never meant to be like this.
My eyes fall to the dessert plate set down in front of me as I catch the reflection of my eyes through my glass of water. “Well, then, I suppose it might be time I finally go home too. Lewis and James, and my father—they must all be wondering where I am.”
“Mom, what are you talking about?” Leah asks, placing her hand on my shoulder.
I glance down the length of the table at Daniel who I recall sharing much of my story with today. The look on his face tells me he understands what I mean, but I’m not sure such a powerful explanation would go over too well for the others tonight. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just a chatty old lady, I guess,” I say, waving the questions away. “Makena, do you know where the journal is—the one you gave me recently?”
I find Makena’s eyes, watching a downcast expression match the slump in her shoulders. “Gran, I didn’t give that journal to you. Papa did, when you were just a girl, remember? It’s full of your memories.”
“Everett gave this to me. My memories?” I question. “I thought the book was for me to keep track of reminders.”
“Mom, you have, for most of your life. We make sure you have the journal in case you want to remember anything you might have forgotten,” Leah explains while handing me the leather-bound book.
I flip through the pages to the back cover, finding a yellowed envelope.
I trace my fingers across the soft paper with my name written in all capital letters. Beneath, are the words “Just in case—”
“What is that, Gran?” Makena asks.
My memories are in pieces sometimes, but this envelope—I know what is inside.
I lift the envelope, feeling something fall to my lap.
It takes me a moment to glance down because I know what fell. This time, it has fallen face down and the words I have refused to read are staring back at me.
Doll-face,
This photograph isn’t just a portrait of me—it’s the person I became because of you. When you see the smile on my face, remember it’s there only for you.
I flip the photograph over, instantly going back in time when we were young and carefree, laughing and running blissfully along the shore. That smile. It was one in a million.
“Oh, that’s papa,” Makena says, easing it from my hand. “Wow, he was a good-looking guy, huh?”
“Only the most stunning man in Hollywood during the 1930s, but I believe my bragging rights ran out quite a while ago,” I joke.
While the others are fawning over the photo, I tend to the envelope, slipping out the piece of paper I could never get myself to read. Was dying of old age worthy of reading his “just in case I die before you” letter?
I suppose it won’t matter for much longer, so I unfold the paper and find more of his beloved handwriting:
My Dearest Elizabeth,
I apologize for the formality of this letter, but if you’re reading this, it means I’m gone, and I assume there isn’t a proper nickname to soften these words.
I’m so grateful for the time we’ve shared, even in the sparse moments we’ve stolen together here in the United Kingdom.
I know neither of us know what tomorrow holds, but I fear the worst in our current situation, and I need you to know what my intentions are in case I’m not able to tell you myself.
Elizabeth Hope Salzberg, I planned to ask you to marry me, have babies together, and make a large family that would fill our hearts with more joy than we could even imagine. I would never let you give up your endeavors, and I would be an equal partner, happy to share our life together, side by side.
We would go to Paris, Rome, Greece, Switzerland, Fiji, the Caribbean Islands, and yes, through the clouds too—all your adventurous longings would become a reality. Your spark for life, sparked my life, and I wish I could have seen the world with you and experienced the best of what should have come for us. But I suppose I must have fulfilled my purpose in other unexpected ways. Please, for me, go on your adventures, live like you own the world, and be the person you dream of becoming. And always remember that, no matter where you end up, I’ll be watching over you to make sure you find your purpose.
I love you more than I’ve loved anyone or anything in my life. I’m sorry I had to go so soon.
Someday, after you have lived a long, full life and you are ready to come home, I’ll be waiting for you in the clouds, riding on top of that crazy flying elephant.
I love you, Lizzie.
Always and forever,
Everett
You gave me all of that and more, Everett. You made all my dreams come true. Every single one.
My heart aches with a pain I haven’t felt in longer than I can remember, which I’m thankful for now. I wish I knew how long I’ve been living this way, or how many years I’ve gone without finding my way home—the one I belong to with Everett. But I realize my purpose is sitting at this table because it was something we accomplished together.
Yet, I’m still here. Why?
“I shouldn’t still be here, should I?” I ask aloud. My question is another cause for concern judging by the multiple sets of wide eyes and fallen jaws. “I’m sorry if I’m upsetting any of you. It’s just—there’s something next, something unknown, another adventure that’s waiting for me.”
No one says much, but I hear a low rumble of mutters along both sides of the table. “We don’t have to do this right now, Mom,” Carter says.
I look at my son, a stunning replica of Everett. How could I not see it before? “You look just like your father,” I tell him.
“You’ve always said this,” Carter says, smirking in the same way Everett did. “And Leah looks like you, and so does Makena, Mom. We have some strong genes in this family.”
The more I look around, the more familiar everyone’s features look. “So, when I leave to go home, part of me will still be here, right?”
“You shouldn’t talk this way,” Leah says. “But of course, you will always be with us no matter where you are, Mom.”
“I miss them all so much, especially your father. Maybe this is the reason my memory doesn’t want to work anymore. It’s probably a blessing. I suppose there isn’t anything easy about being the last one left.”
“You always told us Dad said the last one home would have to be the strongest. Neither of you wanted to go first, but if you recall what he said the day, he—went home?” Leah asks, a hitch catching in her throat, “He told you, ‘I always knew you were the strongest of us all.’”
I close my eyes and recall holding Everett’s hand. His dazzling smile made one more appearance just before he said:
“I’ll be home waiting for you, but take your time, doll. Take your time.”
Those words filled his last breath, and I know I didn’t want to spend a minute without him. The pain was insufferable, but since then, whenever that was, I’ve been staring aimlessly into the sky in search of my love, wondering why he isn’t by my side. Maybe, I’ve wanted to forget the rest just so I could hold on to him.
“Mom,” Leah says, her voice full of concern.
“I remember what he said that day,” I say. “How could I forget?”
I push myself up to my feet and take a few steps over to the white fence settled beneath the starry night sky. As I glance up toward the clouds highlighted by the moon’s glow, I blow a kiss to my sweetheart and whisper, “Happy birthday, darling. I’m coming home to you now.”
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Last One Home. I hope you enjoyed the story!
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