Teardrop

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Smile!

If you’re reading this, I imagine that might be hard to do. But I hope you will—if not today, then soon. You have a beautiful smile, effortless and effervescent

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As I write this, you are sleeping next to me in my old bedroom at Sugar’s—whoops, Beau’s— house. Today we drove to Cypremort Point and you swam like a seal in your polka-dot bikini. The sun was bright and we shared the same tan lines on our shoulders this evening, eating boiled seafood down on the dock. I let you have the extra cob of corn, like I always do

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You look so peaceful and so young when you are sleeping, Eureka. It’s hard to believe you’re seventeen

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You’re growing up. I promise not to try and stop you

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I don’t know when you’ll read this. Most of us are not graced with the knowledge of how our deaths will find us. But if this letter makes its way to you sooner rather than later, please … don’t let my death determine the course of your life

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I have tried to raise you so that there would not be much to explain in a letter like this. I feel we know each other better than any two people could. Of course, there will still be things you have to discover on your own. Wisdom holds a candle to experience, but you’ve got to take the candle and walk alone

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Don’t cry. Carry what you love about me with you; leave the pain behind

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Hold on to the thunderstone. It’s puzzling but powerful

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Wear my locket when you yearn to have me near; perhaps it will help guide you

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And enjoy the book. I know you will

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With deep love and admiration—

Mom

9 NOWHERE BOY

Eureka gripped the letter tightly. She pushed back against the possibility of feeling what her mother’s words nearly made her feel.

At the bottom of the page, Diana’s signature was smudged. At the edge of her cursive Mom lay three tiny raised circles. Eureka ran her finger over them, as if they were a language she had to touch to understand.

She couldn’t explain how she knew: they were Diana’s tears.

But her mother didn’t cry. If she did, Eureka had never seen it. What else had she never known about Diana?

She could remember their most recent trip to Cypremort Point so clearly: early May, flat-bottomed jon boats jostling against their slips, sun blazing low in the sky. Had Eureka really slept so soundly afterward that she hadn’t heard her mother crying? Why would Diana have been crying? Why did she write this letter? Did she know she was going to die?

Of course not. The letter said so.

Eureka wanted to scream. But the urge passed, like a scary face in a haunted-house ride at a county fair.

“Eureka.” Dad stood before her. They were in the parking lot outside Fontenot’s office. The sky above him was a pale blue, with pale white bars of clouds. The air was so humid, her T-shirt felt wet.

Eureka had stayed inside the letter as long as she could, not looking up as she’d followed Dad out of the boardroom, into the elevator, through the lobby, out to the car.

“What?” She clutched the letter, fearing anything might take it away.

“Mrs. LeBlanc’s watching the twins for another half hour.” He glanced at his watch. “We could get a banana freeze. It’s been a while.”

Eureka was surprised to find that she did want a banana freeze from Jo’s Snows around the corner from their church, St. John’s. It had been their tradition before Rhoda and the twins and high school and the accident and meetings with lawyers about dead mothers’ bewildering inheritances.

A banana freeze meant two spoons, the window booth in the corner. It meant Eureka on the edge of her seat, laughing over the same stories she’d heard Dad tell a hundred times about growing up in New Iberia, about being the only boy to enter the pecan pie bake-off, or how the first time he invited Diana to dinner, he’d been so nervous, his flambe set the kitchen on fire. For a moment, Eureka let her mind travel to that booth at Jo’s Snows. She saw herself spooning the cold banana ice cream into her mouth—a little girl who still thought her father was her hero.

But Eureka didn’t know how to talk to Dad anymore. Why tell him how crippled she felt? If Dad breathed one wrong word to Rhoda, Eureka would be back on suicide watch, not even allowed to close her door. Besides, he had enough on his mind.

“I can’t,” she said. “I have another ride.”

Dad looked around the mostly empty parking lot, like she was kidding.

She wasn’t. Cat was supposed to pick her up at four to study. The reading of the will had finished early. Now Dad was probably going to wait awkwardly with her until Cat showed.

As Eureka scanned the lot looking for Cat, her gaze fell on the white truck. It was parked facing the building, under a golden-leaved buttonwood tree. Someone was sitting in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead. Something silver gleamed through the windshield.

Eureka squinted, remembering the shiny square—that unusual citronella air freshener—hanging from Ander’s rearview mirror. She didn’t need to see it up close to know it was his truck. He saw her see him. He didn’t look away.

Heat coursed through her body. Her T-shirt felt oppressive, her palms clammy. What was he doing here?

The gray Honda almost ran Eureka over. Cat hit the breaks with a harsh squawk and rolled down her window. “S’up, Mr. B?” she called from behind her heart-shaped sunglasses. “Ready, Reka?”

“How are you, Cat?” Dad patted the hood of Cat’s car, which they called Mildew. “Glad to see she’s still kicking.”

“I fear she’ll never break down,” Cat moaned. “My grandkids will drive this POS to my funeral.”

“We’re going to study at Neptune’s,” Eureka said to Dad, walking around to the passenger door.

Dad nodded. He looked lost on the other side of the car and it made Eureka sad.

“Rain check,” he said. “Hey, Reka?”

“Yeah?”

“You have everything?”

She nodded, patting her backpack, which held the ancient book and the strange blue chest. She touched her heart, where the locket lay. She held up Diana’s tearstained letter, like a wave. “I’ll be home for dinner.”

Before she got into Cat’s car, Eureka glanced over her shoulder, to the spot under the buttonwood tree.