inevitable as his leaving. But I don’t want to think about that part right now. I curl into him when it’s over, pleasantly noodle-limbed, following the lines of his tree tattoo with my finger, writing Fern over his heart after he dozes off.
It’s the first night since we started sharing a bed that I haven’t been able to fall asleep. I flick on the lamp, and when Will doesn’t move, I reach for the diary and flip to the final entry.
September 8, 1990
Two sleeps until Europe!
I’m going. A couple of days after I’d told Mom and Dad the news, Peter came over with more prenatal pamphlets to help me convince them it was okay to travel. I think they’ve finally stopped freaking out, or they’re doing a better job hiding it. I’m almost out of the first trimester, and hopefully the vomiting will stop any day now.
I’m excited for the trip. I’m looking forward to being a twenty- two- year-old with no responsibilities for a little longer. I’m going for six weeks. Italy, France, and England.
Peter has volunteered to drive me to the airport. He hasn’t mentioned what he wanted to tell me the day I announced I was pregnant. I’m not sure he ever will. But I’ve started hoping he does. I can’t imagine a life without Peter. I think that means something. Something we’ve been moving toward since the day I gave him a tour of the resort five years ago.
Liz was shocked when I told her the news and a little upset about the change in plans, but she’s decided to travel on her own for the full year.
I’ll admit I’m somewhat jealous, but whenever I’m feeling down these days, I rub my belly and talk to my baby girl. I’m certain she’s a girl. I
call her my sweet little pea. I tell her how much I love her. I tell her I’ll love her enough for ten dads. And I tell her stories about all the people who will make up her big, wonderful family here. About her grandparents. And the Roses. And Peter. I tell her how she’ll never feel alone when she’s at home. I tell her I can’t wait to meet her, but that I don’t need to meet her to know I will never love another person as much as I love my daughter.
I put the diary down on the bed beside me. I do my best to sob quietly, but when I take a shuddering breath, Will stirs.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “What’s wrong?”
But speaking is impossible when I’m crying this hard.
“Shh. It’s all right,” he mumbles, still half-asleep.
I shake my head.
“It was just a dream.”
“No,” I croak. “It was real. My mom.”
It’s all I need to say. He kisses my cheeks and wipes the tears, then turns me so my back is snug to his front. He brings his leg over mine, tucking me closer. I grip the arm that’s banded around my chest. “She loved me. So much.”
“Of course she did,” he whispers into my neck, pressing a kiss there. “She was your mom.”
“But she didn’t know,” I say, shaking with more tears.
He holds me until I stop. “Didn’t know what, Fern?”
I take a deep breath. “She didn’t know that I loved her, too.”
Will hugs me tight. “She knew,” he says. He kisses my shoulder.
I nod, but I can’t help feeling that if I’d been a better daughter, she would have told me about Peter. If she knew how much I loved her, she would have confided in me about the resort’s struggles.
“Fern, can I tell you something?” Will says, his lips against my skin.
I roll over to face him.
“I told your mom I met you,” he says.
“What?”
“I told her how we met. I told her how much you loved it here, and that I had to see it myself.”
“You did?”
“I did. We spoke on the phone shortly before the accident.” He brushes my hair off my forehead. “She said I had no idea how happy that made her.”
His words wrap around me like a down-filled duvet. I love you, I almost say. But then I remember the red dress and dancing with Will. We have tomorrow. We can have more than this summer. It’s the last thing I think
before I fall asleep.
When I wake up, Will is gone.
