Page 35 of Remember Me
Fear.
Frustration.
Sadness.
When it all comes to an end, the only one that lingers is shock. I still can’t believe I’ve been reunited with my husband and child. While I yearn to shout out who I am, I need to collect myself and remember why I’m in the Witness Protection Program. Someone tried to kill me and that someone is likely still out there. I could be a threat to their safety.
“Scarlet, isn’t it pretty!?” chirps Maddie, her enthralled voice erasing my unsettling thoughts and brightening my spirits. Bubbling with pride, she leads me inside.
It’s a far cry from her closet-sized pink and white nursery. A pang of melancholy jabs me. My baby girl has grown up. Whimsically decorated in lavender, white, and moss green, the roomy, sunlit space reflects the personality of a sophisticated but fun-loving little girl. Optimally placed on the whitewashed plank floors are various pieces of sturdy but stylish bleached wood furniture, including a large armoire, a dresser with a mirror, and a queen-size sleigh bed. The bed can easily fit the two of us.
“Scarlet, do you like my room?” She lets go of my hand and prances over to the bed. Hopping on to it, she begins to jump up and down as if it’s a trampoline. “Daddy and I picked out everything together from Pottery Barn. He let me have this big girl bed!”
“I love it, sweetie,” I say, my eyes roaming. They land on an antique white rocker in the corner. Even with the newly upholstered green gingham cushions, I recognize it instantly. Tears brim in the back of my eyes. It’s the chair I sat in while nursing Maddie. Night after night.
She catches my gaze on it and breaks into a smile. “That’s my special chair! Daddy says my mommy used to like to rock me in it.”
My heartbeat speeds up; my stomach knots. “Your mommy?”
She stops jumping and bobs her head. “She died when I was a baby.”
Cautiously, taking advantage of her chattiness, I ask, “How did she die?”
“My daddy told me she was in a terrible car accident.”
“I’m sorry.” And I’m sorry I can’t take you into my arms and hug you to pieces. And that I’ve missed so many formative years of your life. Your first steps. Your first words. Your first birthday. Your first everything. I’m so, so sorry, my baby. Regret eats away at me like burning acid. My eyes sting.
“Don’t be sad, Scarlet. It’s okay. I don’t remember her.”
“Not at all?” Such a stupid question. She was only nine-months old! Yet, there’s a hole in my soul that longs to hear that there’s some kind of recollection. A connection.
She shakes her head. “My daddy says my mommy is in heaven.”
Her words pain me, sending an ache to my gut so great I almost wince. “Sweetie, I think she’s right here with you.”
Puzzled, my little girl furrows her brows. “What do you mean?”
My heart stutters. I falter for words. “What I mean is that she’s in your heart.”
“That can’t be!”
“Yes. I’ll prove it to you.” I put her little hand to her heart and hold it there with mine. “Do you feel that?”
She nods. “Why is my heart beating so hard?”
“That’s your mommy. Her heart is beating with yours. Every second. Every minute. Every hour of the day.”
“But dead people can’t be alive!”
“They are in a different kind of way. They live in your heart forever. I want you to believe me, Maddie.”
What I can’t believe is that I’m having my first conversation with my daughter about me, and it’s so heady, so profound. My wiser-than-her-years little girl seems to be taking it all in stride.
“I do believe you, Scarlet!” She jumps off the bed. “Do you want to see a picture of her?”
“Sure.”Unsure.
“Look!” She lifts off a small, framed photo from her night table. With hesitant steps, my heartbeat accelerating, I join her. She shows me the picture, pointing at the radiant young woman. “That’s my mommy.”