“Go, go, go, Marissa! Yeah!” He shouted as I ran past him.
I was so confused, I started running off the side of the road. Dirt and pebbles kicked up at my ankles, and I redirected my feet back to the pavement. Brandon? Had he forgiven me then? Was he just trying to be nice? Had my family put him up to it?
For the next two miles, all I could replay over and over again in my head were Brandon’s face — his big, vibrant smile — and his homemade sign. And then at mile five, I saw him again.
“Go, Marissa, go!” He screamed, and the sign he held read, I’m here for you! It also had a big pink ribbon drawn on it. I wanted to pull off to the sidelines and kiss him. Even if he was just trying to be nice, and even if we never were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend again, but maybe good friends, I still wanted to kiss him just one more time.
I felt the runners’ high as I hit the last quarter mile. Spectators were on the sidelines cheering us all on.
“You’re almost there!”
“Only a quarter mile to go!”
“Keep at it!”
“Run, run, run!”
My adrenaline was skyrocketing, and I just wanted to finish and grab my phone to call Brandon and thank him. I just prayed that he’d pick up. As I crossed the finish line, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my back. All the pain and self-consciousness I’d been carrying around with me seemed to fall off like rain to a slicker. I wanted to collapse to the ground and thank my mom for helping carry me through. One of the race helpers congratulated me, handed me water, and placed a light pink ribbon around my neck.
Gram, Marc, and Zoe all rushed me at the same time. I wrapped them up in a sweaty hug, and each one of us was crying. As I was squeezing Marc, I looked to my left and saw him.
Brandon crossed slowly to me. I walked toward him with my eyes to the ground. When he stood before me, I was afraid to look up. Then he grabbed me and lifted me up off the ground.
“Marissa, that was amazing!” He set me down, and I saw his face was beaming.
“But I thought you hated me.” I didn’t want to cry, but I couldn’t help it. There was no longer cause to keep up my guard around him anymore. He knew everything.
“I don’t hate you, Marissa. Believe it or not, I understand you.” He kissed my forehead. “Just think of me as your socks.”
I crinkled my face up. “My socks?”
“Yeah, I’m with you every step of the way.” He grinned.
I burst out laughing. “That is so cheesy!”
He joined me in my laughter. “Yeah, but you smiled.”
I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight as a sea of pink surrounded us. I knew my mom would carry me through each and every day. I would now live for her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The first time was always the hardest, and I knew that going in. I felt scared, nervous, and a bit like I might throw up. But I knew I wanted to do it. I wanted to do it so badly.
This was going to be it. I took a few deep, cleansing breaths with my eyes closed. After a few moments, I opened them, and I could see clearly before me. The air was sweet smelling, and I felt my heart begin to pitter-patter. After I made sure my laces were tied, triple knots, I began.
The sidewalk was nice. Much fewer cracks and more level then Fletcher Street. Who would have known Cranville Street was so great for jogging? I came up to the edge of Sacred Path Cemetery, and without a second thought, I kept running. Not holding my breath, not fearing it, just embracing it. I felt light and free, like something, or someone, was helping me. As I dashed past the section where her grave was, I called out, “Morning, Mom.” And in my mind’s eye, my words were a heart-shaped balloon, floating up to her in Heaven.
About the Author
Susan Soares lives in a small town in Massachusetts where she balances writing fiction with raising her three daughters. When she’s not writing she can be found reading, experimenting with photography and planning her next Disney World trip.
Susan recently received her master’s degree in Creative Writing and English from Southern New Hampshire University, and will be pursuing teaching soon. You can follow her on twitter: @susansoares1 and on YouTube: shewritesbooks, and on Facebook: Author Susan Soares.
Also from Astraea Press
Chapter One
September 1985
When my mother talked about Lori, she always got a funny look in her eye — not ha-ha funny but strange funny. When I was little, I never understood. As I got older, I wondered more about Lori, but I hardly ever asked because it just seemed to make my mother sad.
Lori was locked away in my mother's past life like the things in the old attic trunk. I wondered about them too. But Mom would always say when I asked her to open the trunk that the past was best forgotten. Yet, every now and then, I would say something or do something that made her sigh deeply and exclaim: "You remind me so much of Lori!"
Not long ago, I was sitting on the living room couch reading a novel I found on the bookshelf. My mother walked into the room and gasped.
"Something wrong?" I asked.
She stared at me for a moment and shook her head. "No, but for a moment, it seemed like I was looking at Lori. I remember when she read Rebecca. She loved to read old-fashioned romances."
"Mom, what happened to Lori?"
I'd been to one or two family gatherings
