I’ve got about a third of it down when there’s a knock on my door and Patrick peeks his head into my room.
“I have a couple things for you,” he says after I open the door wide. “The first is this.” He places a little black book on my bed that says Diary on the front in faded gold script letters. “This was your mama’s. She was your age when she kept it, I think, based on the first date. I found it in one of the drawers and thought you should have it.”
I look at it, but don’t move.
“I haven’t read it, and you don’t have to either if you don’t want to, but I think you should decide what happens to it. Especially since you’re so much like her with the writing and all.”
“Mama used to call me a little spy,” I say.
“Well, I don’t know if that’s what you are, but I’ve seen you with your notebook. And it always reminds me of your mama.” He takes a breath and continues. “Anyway, I thought you might also like to have this.”
It’s a photo album. It has a worn, dark green leather cover.
Outside, it starts to rain.
“You know, your mama was so happy when you finally came along. I guess you know that things weren’t stable with your and Birdie’s dad, but that didn’t affect how she felt about you. She tried her best. I know that sometimes it wasn’t good enough. But she was alone and I’m sorry for that.” He taps once on the outside of the album. “She was something, that girl. A firecracker, Mama used to call her.” He smiles a little and opens the album up and we look at a few pictures. There are lots with Uncle Carl and Patrick with long hair, like the pictures in Uncle Carl’s junk drawer. There’s even one of Patrick holding Mama when she was a baby. Patrick must have been at least my age.
“This hasn’t been easy,” he says, “with your mama gone. I don’t know what to feel or think.”
The ping ping ping of the rain on the silo shed reminds me of Portland with Mama.
“Your mama and me, we were just too different to get along. Had too many fights. And our oldest brother, George, just spoiled her rotten and gave Carl and me a hard time. Then George died and I hated how your mama talked about the war when it was something he’d just died for. But I said a lot of things I regret.” He lets out a breath. “Anyway. What’s done is done. But you and Birdie, you’re lucky to have what you have. It’s how siblings should be.”
I turn to the last page and there’s a picture of Mama holding a baby.
“You don’t remember me, but I was there when that picture was taken of you and your mama. I should have been more supportive.”
Patrick already seems to be on the verge of tears or maybe just running away, so I resist the urge to say anything about the money Uncle Carl mentioned. I finally let out my own breath I realize I’ve been holding.
Patrick knew Mama for a lot longer than I did. It’s strange to think that he has his own memories.
In the picture, Mama’s face is tired but happy, her cheeks all red like she just ran a marathon.
“Sometimes I’m so mad at her,” I whisper. “Everything she did was perfect and amazing and magical. Almost always, it was that way. But then sometimes . . . it wasn’t. Sometimes she was sad.”
“Jack, you’re allowed to be mad at her. It doesn’t mean you don’t love her. And it doesn’t mean she wasn’t a good mother.”
“But why couldn’t she just do what she was supposed to do? Do the things that made her better?”
“There’s no answer to that, Jack. Only your mama knows that.”
In the next room, Birdie laughs and commands Duke to sits so he can measure his neck again. Then he goes quiet as the rain pounds down and for a few moments, we all listen.
“I’m trying to be okay without any answers,” Patrick says. “That’s what you guys have taught me. That life continues to go on. And I need to be here and not let it pass by. I hope we can help each other be okay. All of us.”
I nod and then look back down at the photo. Even though she’s tired, Mama looks perfect to me.
I say, “All three of us. Plus Uncle Carl and Rosie.”
“Yeah. Them too.”
He taps the album twice and then heads toward the door. But just before leaving he says, “Jack. You’re not a spy. You’re a protector. So you keep watching. It’s what we need. And I’ll keep watching too.”
**Observation #799: Someones
Everyone in the world has lost someone.
Sometimes that someone is a mother.
Sometimes they are a sister.
Sometimes they are a grandfather.
I guess sometimes they are a bearded dragon.
Sometimes they are a teacher, a next-door neighbor, a friend.
The world is full of someones to lose.
But the world is also full of someones to win.
Someone who talks and also listens.
Someone on your level.
Someone in your corner.
Someone to connect with.
Someone quietly looking out for you.
Maybe even loudly too.
EPILOGUE JOURNAL ENTRY NO. 1, DECEMBER 13
Dear Journal,
You know that feeling at the beginning of the school year, when you’re nervous, but also excited?
That’s the feeling I had when we arrived at the lake.
I thought I’d be sad because Mama had now been gone a year. But I knew that this day wasn’t just about me or Birdie. It wasn’t a Wolf Day. It was something more.
Birdie was there and so were Patrick and Duke, both wearing bow ties custom made by Birdie, and Uncle Carl and Rosie were holding hands. And when we walked over to the dock, Krysten’s mom pulled up with Krysten and Janet. They kind
