Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 130275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
“You’re perfect,” I said and meant it.
“Then come here,” she said and ushered us to the bed. “I missed you both so much.” As we climbed on, we were careful not to sit on the wires that were stuck in her arm.
Poppy wrapped her arms around us both. But I didn’t feel comfort from that hug. I only felt terror. Because Poppy always gave the tightest hugs. But as she held us, squeezing us close like she would never let us go, I felt her weakness. Ida laughed and kissed Poppy on the cheek, oblivious. But I felt a change in my older sister. Some hidden sixth sense made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and a pit of dread burrow in my stomach. When I looked at Poppy, I saw the reason for it in her green eyes.
She wasn’t getting better.
I could tell by her faltering expression that she knew I knew it too. “I love you, Sav,” she whispered, voice choked. Poppy was always strong, but in that moment, she couldn’t stop her voice breaking, and it told me what I feared most. She was going to leave us.
On a choked sob, I couldn’t help but fall back into her arms. I vowed to never let go …
“She didn’t deserve to die,” I found myself saying, too tired to even be shocked at my willing participation. A low buzz of irritation began to build inside of me. I was tired and lonely, and I was so mad at the world.
“Most people don’t deserve to die, Savannah. But sadly, it’s also an inevitability in life.” My hands curled into my palms, my nails digging into my skin. Mia leaned forward. “Some people are only in our lives for a short time, but the mark they leave on us is a cherished tattoo.”
My bitterness fell away at those words and devastation quickly swept in, a flood of sorrow dousing the anger that had built in my veins. A cherished tattoo … She had been.
“I miss her,” I whispered and felt that cold ache in my bones grow stronger. The exhaustion I felt was an anchor keeping me from moving, from sheltering myself from all these thoughts that I didn’t want in my head, memories that I didn’t want to relive. The exertion of the past several days was enough to make me powerless to resist them.
“I know you do,” Mia said and passed me a tissue from the box on the table. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. I wiped at my tears and stilled when Mia asked, “It’s good to remember those we have lost. Is there something you can do that Poppy liked to do? A way to feel closer to her?”
My breathing became as choppy as Windermere Lake earlier today, because there was.
I was depleted from the hiking. But what made me the most tired was the constant running from my sister. I didn’t know if it was because all my fight had been burned away along with my energy over the past several days, but I was sick and tired of avoiding the message Poppy had wanted to give me.
Above all that, I just plain missed her. I missed Poppy so much that at times I thought that how intensely I mourned her would kill me too. “I have a notebook,” I said, never taking my eyes from the fire. I felt the heat on my face, the burning wood scent clinging to my freshly washed hair. “Poppy … she left me a notebook. One that she had written in.” I shifted on my seat. “One I’ve never been able to open.”
“And what do you feel about that now?” Mia gently pushed.
My shoulders dropped in defeat. “That I’m tired of fighting it.”
“Do you feel like reading it now or at some point soon? In private, of course,” Mia said. An oil painting of another part of the Lake District caught my eye. It was hung on the wall, and it immediately made me think of the Lake poets. They came here to escape, to get away from the world that was changing too much and robbing them of their happiness.
They came here to spend their final days in peace.
Maybe I was meant to be here too. Away from everything I knew in a place of calm and peace. Maybe this was where I was meant to hear from Poppy again. Here, on a trip to help me move on from her death and hold on to some semblance of life. To remember her lovingly, how she deserved, and not a memory I should be afraid of.
“I think so,” I said and felt my breathing come a little easier. Though I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a pit in my stomach at the thought of finally opening the first page. What would Poppy have wanted to say to me? I couldn’t imagine.