I could have killed her.
I would have killed her.
Why couldn’t they have killed me first?
Chapter 4
Emma
“Happy birthday to you, our dearest Emmaline!” Mom leans into the camera lens and smiles. Her green eyes are so full of life, so bright and happy. Who would have known that, less than two months later, they would be forever closed?
“We love you so much, baby!” Dad calls out from behind the camera. He turns it on himself and waves; then the video ends. I’ve seen it so much that I know it’s coming, yet when the camera cuts out, the loss hits me just as hard as it did that first year.
“Love you guys, thank you.” Tears stream down my cheeks, but I let them fall, soaking up the grief from losing them as well as the happiness they gave me for the first eighteen years of my life.
Every year on my birthday, I watch that video right after waking. That way, I can spend my morning with them and get all my crying done before I head out into the world. Since church is this morning too, I imagine I’ll get a whole mountain full of happy birthdays, and I want to embrace them with a smile rather than with the gnawing grief that sinks in when I remember that I won’t get to eat my mom’s chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting or enjoy the steak dinner Dad always made every year.
I stand and unplug the USB connecting the camcorder to my television, then place it gently in the cabinet where it will wait until next year to be used again. Then, I head into the kitchen for the tea I left steeping.
As I make my way toward the counter, my gray tabby, Ash, comes trotting out of my bedroom, his fluffy, squirrel-like tail swishing behind him. “Oh, hey there, bud. Finally decide it was time to wake up?” I ask as I squat down to run my hand over his back. He arches beneath me, already purring. “I know what you want. Breakfast, right?”
At the mention of food, he shifts his bright blue gaze up to me for a moment, then heads for the laundry room where I keep his food.
Chuckling, I top his bowl off, then return to my tea while he eats.
After adding some honey and a splash of milk, I carry my mug out onto the back porch to officially greet the day. The sun is just beginning to climb over the horizon, sending rays of gold, purple, and orange out over the world.
My backyard is a beautiful array of colors, thanks to the Knock Out Roses I planted at the beginning of the season. With a smile on my face and my feet bare, I step out onto the soft grass. The breeze toys with my hair, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Thank You, oh Lord, for this day,” I say aloud. “Thank You.”
I remain where I am for a few moments, letting serenity surround me. “It’s going to be another great day,” I whisper, then turn to head back in so I can get dressed for church. As I do, a vase overflowing with colorful wildflowers catches my eye.
It’s sitting on the railing of my porch, closest to the gate that leads out to the front. Sunlight makes sparkles in the glass glitter wildly, but they turn into one massive blur as tears fill my eyes.
Every year.
He does this every year.
Yet he can’t say more than three words to me.
Anger hits me out of nowhere. Whether it’s due to the lack of sleep I got last night or Charlene’s confusion yesterday, I’m not sure. But I know that I need to let him go. That I need to stop waiting for some miracle to happen and just move on with my life.
Because, even if I want to believe I wouldn’t accept him if he told me he still loves me, I know—without a doubt—I would go running right back into the arms that broke my heart.
So I stomp over to the gorgeous flowers and carry them inside. Unlike years before, though, I don’t display them on my kitchen island. Instead, I shove them into the same brown box I’d used to carry in the crockpot I just recently ordered online, then get beneath the counter and grab the other vases left for me over the years.
Ten of them.
One for every birthday he’s been back.
By the time church is over at noon, my anger has dissipated, and the box full of vases in my car makes me feel a bit ridiculous.
I’d had every intention of driving to the Hunt Family Ranch this morning but changed my mind the second I got behind the wheel. Why should I give him the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply he cuts me?
What’s worse is I know that’s not what he means to do.
The vases are Dylan’s way of showing me that he still cares. Even if it can’t be what I want, he’s trying to be kind.
