Nevaeh
When Michael called me early this morning, I wasn’t surprised to hear the grief in his voice.
“She’s gone, Nevaeh.”
“Do you want me there with you?”
“Yes. Dr. Yara set it up so her cremation would be expedited. I’ll get her ashes back today. Will you spread them with me?”
“I’m on my way,” I said.
When he didn’t hang up, I stayed quiet, giving him a moment to get his thoughts in order.
“She died Friday night. I held her in my arms on the back patio, rocking her. As the sun set, she took her last breath. I swear I saw a flash as the last bit of the sun fell below the horizon. I think it was her saying goodbye.”
“I’m sure it was,” I said, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. “I’ll be there in two hours, Michael.”
“Thank you, Nevaeh.”
On the way to the beach, I t
