Avery
The promised letter didn’t come for a month. It arrived only three days after I’d flown back from a quick trip to Boston to get my affairs in order, pack up my apartment, help find the perfect person to take over my music program. A wet-behind-the-ears Berklee College of Music grad who plays bass in a punk band at night and nannies to make ends meet. The kids’ll like her.
When the letter came, someone delivered it in person.
Avery.
“This wasn’t my idea,” Avery says. She hands me the note.
Jackie,
I think our old home has been waiting for you for a long time.
And I wouldn’t send my daughter to anyone but you. Remember how I said that she’s ready to stay in one place? I can’t go back, but you’re there, and I have a good feeling about it. You finding me when you did—it was a sign. Even if she cheated a little.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to come visit. I’m trying to work up the courage, but it may be some time.
Can you take care of her for me? She won’t admit it, but she wants one bed, and a teacher. I mean you—not whoever she’ll have at school, though I trust you to help her through that. All that junk, like you used to call it.
She wants to stop moving, and I so want to give those things to her.
You don’t have to do this. But I think maybe you want to.
I love you.
Your,
W.
I fold up the note and put it in my pocket, smiling at the girl.
She is angry. She is afraid. She asked to come, but now that she’s set everything in motion, she’s not sure she wants to be here.
I see her defiance and I see struggles ahead and I know nothing about teenagers except what I remember from being one myself. I have no business raising her, but every part of me wants to.
It’s a chance to make it right.
“There’s just enough daylight left for a tour.”
I know the first place I’m going to take her. I’ve made a new rope ladder and fixed the platform. I’ve left the walls bare. She can decorate it how she likes.