Over dinner, Siobhan tells us about how it came to be that my mum returned home without her, about how she met the love of her life, John, in a little bookshop in this town. She explains that John really wanted to meet us but got called to some urgent pack business, apparently there’s a lot of unrest with a nearby pack.
It’s later than planned when we get up to leave. We have the drive back to Anchorage to do tonight, so we can catch an early flight.
“I’ve got something for you,” Siobhan says, retrieving a folded piece of paper from a wooden sideboard. “I got a copy made when I knew you were visiting,” she explains. I open the piece of paper to see the familiar scrawl of my mum’s handwriting.
“It’s a copy of the letter she gave me before she left for home.” Her eyes are misty when she comes in for a hug. I’m not sure what to say, but the paper burns a hole in my hand. It’s the last new thing I’ll ever read from her, and that thought makes my eyes sting.
“Thank you,” I whisper before letting her go.
“Have a safe trip home, you two.”
On the walk back to the car, Noah grabs the keys from my hand.
“I’ll drive,” he says, nodding to the letter.
I can’t bring myself to read it right away. I’m feeling oddly vulnerable, trapped inside the car with Noah right next to me.
“Can you pull up over there?” I ask when I spot a sign for a viewpoint on the side of the road. Noah pulls in but remains in the car when I get out.
It’s dark, so I can’t actually see much of the view; it appears to be some sort of river below. There’s a small bench, though, so I perch on the edge of it and use the torch on my phone to shine a light on the piece of paper.
Dear Siobhan
I won’t lie to you. I’m pretty cross with you right now.
I hardly have a single memory that doesn’t feature you in it. I thought we were cradle to the grave. But maybe that was a little naive of me.
Over the next few years, I’ll be married and probably have babies. It never crossed my mind that you wouldn’t be a part of that, so I’m feeling immeasurably sad right now. For me, anyway.
When I manage to pull my head from my arse, I’ll be happy for you, though.
With you as my cousin, I’ve never gone a day of my life without a best friend, and even with oceans between us, I know that won’t change.
Nobody deserves a happy ever after more than you do. I hope John knows that his mate is a precious gem that he must treasure until the end of his days. (OR ELSE!)
I hope you know that I love you more than words can say and that I’ll miss you like a missing limb.
I’ll email you every single week and you better reply. Because we both know I’ll come and find you to be having words if not.
Don’t forget about me?
Love,
Your favourite cousin, Cara x
I can see my breath in the cold air when I exhale. There was nothing earth-shattering in her letter to Siobhan, and yet I can feel myself hoarding every word like a Doomsday Prepper. There will never be enough.
I’m also sad for my mum because she was wrong. Those oceans between her and Siobhandidchange things. Regular emails became irregular calls and promised visits never happened. Siobhan became a distant relative who eventually added us on Facebook and ‘liked’ all the photos Mum posted of us on there. It’s sad to read the letter that marked the beginning of the end of a relationship my mum clearly treasured a great deal. I fold the letter up carefully and return it to the safety of my pocket, probably to be read over and over again until the ink is faded and the paper falls apart.
Noah is munching on a giant bag of Hershey’s Kisses when I climb back in the passenger seat.
“Alright?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m alright.”
We’re a few miles further down the road when the quiet in the car begins to feel heavy.
"Any plans for when you get home?" I ask.
