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She opens the manila envelope and removes a large stack of paper from within. She sets the envelope aside and lays the stack of paper on top of her lap.
“After your parents decided that it would be better for us not to be part of your life, I grieved for a while. I hadn’t just lost you, I had lost the right to know all the things that would make you who you are today. All the birthdays and holidays. All the school projects and bedtime stories. All the triumphs and failures. All the lessons and heartbreak. I was going to miss all of it. That was the worst part. But I quickly realized that, if I was diligent, it’s possible that you wouldn’t have to miss out on any of that stuff.”
She hands me the stack of paper and I lay it gently in my lap. “For the past seventeen years, I’ve kept a journal, an unpublished memoir of sorts. I tried to record all the most important events of our lives over the past seventeen years, in hopes that one day I would be able to gift it to you. And I’ve documented what I remember most from the time your father and I met up until the day we lost you and beyond. I’ve tentatively titled this memoir Shattered Hearts, but it will never be published. It’s for you and only you. I printed you a copy and emailed you the file.”
I hug the stack of papers to my chest as I stare at the carpet. “I wish Caleb could read it with me. He… He really loved you guys.”
She wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes me. “We loved him too. And we love you. It hurts me so much to see you in so much pain.” She strokes my hair and I sigh as she wipes the tears from my cheeks. “I just need you to promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll write the last chapter of that book. The one where Abby realizes what a beautiful second chance at life she’s been given and she uses it to get her happily ever after.”
I nod and she takes me into her arms, holding me tightly until my body stops trembling. When she finally lets go, I look into her eyes and, for just a brief millisecond, I see her as a seven-year-old girl. If she could survive losing her whole family, like Caleb, then I can survive this. It’s time to open that email.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Four months later
I SLIDE INTO THE driver’s seat of my new white Volvo and the door closes and locks on its own. I press the start button, then I begin entering the Cary address in the navigation system. I confirm the destination and my self-driving car sets off on the short journey from my house to my other house.
I had originally wanted to call them House #1 and House #2, but Junior thought it was so funny that their house was #2. He certainly didn’t need any more material for his arsenal. So I settled on “my house” and “my other house.”
I mostly stay at my house, but I have spent a couple of weeks at the house in Cary. And I even convinced my parents to spend Christmas with the Knights and the Pollocks. I like to see it as pulling double-duty, making sure Caleb’s heart is always surrounded by family.
But today, I’m headed to Cary, in the car Chris insisted he had to buy for me, for a very different reason. It’s been four months since I opened Caleb’s final email to me. And today would have been Caleb’s nineteenth birthday. Today, I’m finally going to fulfill Caleb’s final request.
When I opened that email four months ago, I thought my parents were going to have to take me back to the hospital. My heart—Caleb’s heart—was pounding so hard just from seeing the words “Hey, sunshine!” But I managed to calm myself down and read on. And what I found was a very short email containing the log-in information for Caleb’s YouTube account. In the email, he explained how he had some private videos he wanted me to see, and how he would leave it up to me how I wanted to use those videos.
Immediately, I thought to myself, “Caleb is giving me what I want. He’s giving me a chance to hear his voice one more time.” And I didn’t know if I was ready for that. So I saved the username and password and tucked them away for another day. A stronger day.
Two weeks ago, on New Year’s Day, I made a resolution to be stronger. To do more with the awesome gift Caleb bestowed upon me. And the first thing I did was log into that YouTube account.
There are six videos in all. Each one is of him sitting on the stool in his bedroom with his guitar in his lap. He introduces himself and talks about the song he’s about to play. The first video I click on is titled “Chasing Abby.” And the first time I hear his voice, it’s like a kick in the chest.
“I wrote this song after you ran away from me in the mall and you hid in that shoe store. Don’t worry. It has nothing to do with malls or shoes. And I’m not actually going to sing the song. The lyrics are in the description, down there.” He points downward and I resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand on the screen. “I’m kind of hoping you’ll sing while I play, ’cause you know my voice is shit. But you sing like an angel. So, yeah, here it goes. ‘Chasing Abby.’”
Today, I’m going to learn how to record a vocal track in Chris’s home studio. Today, I’m going to use the many gifts Caleb and the world have offered me. Today, I’m going to sing while Caleb plays.
EPILOGUE #1
Seventeen months later
SITTING IN A TRAILER while Abby has her hair and makeup done is surreal. I’ve only been to three shows where Abby performed, but she wasn’t the headliner. So she didn’t get her own trailer, which is fine. She’s been using Chris’s tour bus to play shows all over the country for the past seven months. Chris has been to nineteen of the forty-two shows she’s played, which is a lot when you have a new baby in the family.
But Chris has his juggling act down to a science. He’s home with me and the kids all week, then he flies out to attend the bigger shows on the weekend. While he’s gone, Junior and Ryder help me with Baby Caleb.
Jimi spent the holidays at home in December, which helped fill the void when Abby spent the holidays with Brian and Lynette at her other grandparents’ lodge. The weird thing is that I went eighteen years without Abby, and now I feel empty when I don’t get to see her during the holidays. I do wish I would have had more time with her before she went off on tour, but I’m just happy to see her blossom into such a gifted, hardworking performer. And I’m extremely proud that it was Chris who made it all possible. In the end, she needed him as much as he needed her.
Caleb is getting antsy in this trailer. I’ve taken him for three walks outside since we got here at five p.m., and it’s only 6:45. He hates being in confined spaces. He’s been sitting on the twin-size bed in the trailer, playing with a box of Legos I brought from home. But now he’s grunting and throwing the pieces all over the floor in frustration. Someone’s going to step on one of these and sue me.
I scoop him up in my arms and hold him while I kneel down to pick up all the stray Lego pieces. I thought these days were over after Ryder reached a certain age. But it turns out having a new baby in the house has been a blessing in disguise. A very stinky, messy, sickeningly adorable disguise. Even before he was born, Caleb has done a good job of keeping Abby tethered to us. He’s very hard to resist.
Abby’s personal assistant, Ariana, smiles as she approaches me in the back of the trailer. “Do you need any help, Mrs. Knight? Perhaps a video or something for Caleb to watch?”
“No, thank you, Ariana. Chris will be back soon, then we’ll be heading out.”
Caleb grabs a red Lego piece out of my hand and stuffs it inside my shirt collar. I laugh as I turn away from Ariana so I can reach inside and dig it out.
“No, Caleb. Stop,” I whisper as he tries to put another Lego in my shirt.
“Please let me know if you need anything at all,” Ariana says, but when I turn around a few seconds later, she’s gone.
I walk about ten steps to the middle of the trailer where Abby is getting her hair done. A woman in a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and a small black apron is styling her hair in perfect beach waves. In her blue peep-toe booties and that silky cream dress, Abby looks more like she stepped off a runway than a beach. But I know I’m ju
st being overprotective. Abby is not a little girl. She’s twenty years old. And she’s endured way more than most girls her age. She deserves to be doted on and glammed up.
The hairstylist spritzes Abby’s hair with a few final squirts of hairspray, then she holds up her arms. “Done!”
“Yay!” Abby cheers, smiling at my reflection in the mirror as she stands from the chair. She turns around and holds her arms out for me to hand Caleb over. “Come here, Bubba.”
“He’ll ruin your dress, and your hair. That’s not a good idea.”
“Mm-hmm,” the hairstylist agrees with me as she coils the cord around a curling iron.
“Oh, who cares?” Abby protests. “I’m not the star of today’s show.”
“I beg to differ,” I say, handing Caleb to her. “I believe it’s your name plastered on all the concert posters.”
She smiles as she rubs noses with Caleb and he laughs. “You’ll agree with me after you see the show.”
