Lark, My Daughter.
Dad squats down by the grave and picks up a stick that he traces through the grass.
I hold the letter to my nose automatically, but there’s no smell other than paper and that gummy stuff to seal envelopes with. I imagine Mom licking this envelope, sealing it shut. I open it and read:
Dearest Lark,
I look at you now, fourteen years old, your face full of worry, which you try to hide from me, your body throbbing with anger. When you open this, you’ll be seventeen years old, and I’ll be gone. I can’t imagine now not being there for you, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there to mother you, to hold you, to help you grow into the woman I know you’re going to become. I would give anything right now to stay.
But I can’t. All I have to leave you with is my love.
My eyes blur with tears.
Listen to the quiet of your heart. Follow it. The world is more layered than it seems, and in those hidden depths, you’ll find yourself—
Dad coughs. “Uh, Lark . . .” He sighs. Then he clears his throat again. “I . . . uh . . .”
I shove the letter into the pocket of my jeans. “What’s happening?”
“I feel a little—The flutter is back.”
“We need to go to the hospital.”
He nods. That’s when I get scared. Dad never wants to go to the doctor.
“We don’t have the car,” I say, stating the obvious. He doesn’t reply but sits on the bench and sighs again. He closes his eyes.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Should I call 911?” As I say it, Dad puts his hand to his chest. I wish Alec were here to help me. “Dad? What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll be okay in a moment.”
I try to call Alec, but he doesn’t pick up. After staring blankly at my cell for a couple of seconds, I call Reid. He answers right away. “Dad’s feeling pretty bad. I’m not sure what to do.”
“Where are you?”
“At the cemetery.”
“I was going to head over there in a bit—I like to pay my respects. But I’ll drive over right away.”
I sit in the small waiting room in St. Mary’s hospital, on one of the three worn-down leather sofas. A TV babbles in the corner.
Reid is next to me on the sofa. After Dad was taken through to be looked at by the emergency room doctor, Reid took hold of my hand. I hardly noticed at first, but now this detail focuses me. His hand is a lifeline.
Alec’s voice breaks through to me. “Lark?” He fills the doorway.
I drop Reid’s hand, burst into tears and rush into Alec’s arms. His jacket is wet.
“It’s raining out. Huge storm,” he says. “How’s it all going in here?”
“I think we’re doing okay, but I’ll be glad to have an update.”
Alec kisses the top of my hair.
Reid stands and straightens his glasses. “It’s been a long afternoon,” he says.
“I was worried—you were supposed to be coming over, but you vanished,” Alec says to me softly. “You didn’t reply to any of my messages. In the end, Lucy got back to me.”
“Sorry. I’m really sorry. I wanted you here so badly. I just . . . I meant to message you back . . . Time just went . . .”
A doctor with two different coloured eyes—one bright blue, one very dark—and white hair sticks his head round the entryway. He speaks quickly, like a rapid drumbeat. “Lark Hardy? Your dad’s a lucky man.”
Lucky man lucky man luckyman.
“He’s okay?”
“He’s sleeping now. He had afib, which is normal for him—we’ll need to adjust his meds. Anyway, it made him dizzy, but he’s okay. You guys bringing him in saved the situation from getting worse. We had to . . .” He launches into medical speak.
“Can I see him?”
His drumbeat speech stops. “Of course. He’s resting but doing well. We’re hoping to have him out of here tomorrow.”
Alec takes both my hands. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Yes,” I say.
“They said he’s going to be okay. Remember that.”
“I’ll go and call everyone,” Reid says. “Let them know what’s happening.”
I nod and follow the doctor.
The nurse guides us to a small room. Alec rests his hand at the base of my neck—it feels like he’s holding me up.
The nurse smiles warmly. “Lark, are you doing okay?”
I don’t answer. My dad looks as if he’s just having an afternoon nap.
She says softly, “He’s doing great,” before she leaves.
I reach for Dad’s hand, but gently so as not to wake him. His skin is warm, and I squeeze his hand with relief while Alec rubs my back. A while later, he goes to get coffee. Sometime after that, another nurse comes in and suggests I go home and get some rest. I take one last look at Dad, who is still sleeping, and reluctantly agree.
Lark:
I’m heading back to
the waiting room.
Xxxx
Alec:
Okay.
I’m deciding whether to go right or left when I spot Suzanne coming out of the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. Her eyes are heavy with dark circles, but she smiles.
“Visiting hours are over. You can come another time, Lark.”
“No. I’m here . . . I’m here because my dad had a heart thing happen. He’s fine. He’s sleeping.”
“Oh. I had no idea.” She hugs me. “I’m sorry.” She smells of coconut body lotion. I remember that she always bulk-ordered the stuff. “But I’m glad he’s going to be okay.”
“How’s Annabelle?” I ask as we pull apart.
“The same. I wasn’t really doing anything—just going for a walk. I’ve just got myself comfortable with leaving her room for short bursts. For a while, I was convinced she’d wake up if I left.” She surprises me by saying, “You know, I’m sure I could slip you in now to see her, even though visiting hours are over.” She gestures at the Pediatrics door. “It’s so quiet at night—no one will notice.”
“I’d like to see her.” I remember how that tear appeared in her eye last time. “But I’ve . . . um . . .” I remember the vanished watermark. “Alec’s waiting for me. I’ll come and visit soon. I promise.”
“Okay, sure,” Suzanne agrees, her tone cooling slightly.
I walk away, bile in my mouth, disappointed with myself, toward the waiting room.
Lark:
You there?
Alec:
Here.
Ur other friends came.
Lark:
Who?
Alec:
Band. Lucy.
Said they all love your dad ;-)
You okay?
Lark:
Be there 1 min.
Tell the others all okay.
Alec:
Told them already—
told them I’d stay with you
and they could go.
Okay? I’m here.
Lark:
Thanks. Yeah.
It’s no big deal, I’m just tired
so glad not to have to visit with them all.
Happy you’re here though.
When I get to the waiting room, I lean against Alec, still annoyed with myself that I don’t have the guts to visit Annabelle.
He strokes my hair. Says soft things like You smell good and I’m here. Then, “How’s your dad?”
“He’s fine. I’m a bit emotional—having Dad here, it reminds me of . . . When I was here was with my mom,” I say, letting out a deep sigh. “I’m just really glad you’re here.”
He kisses me, lightly at first, then deeper. Everything but the kiss disappears.
Day 24: lunchtime
Alec:
We need to talk.
Lark:
Like last time you needed to talk?
I don’t remember much talking happening ;-)
Alec:
I’m serious.
But I don’t kno
w how to say it.
Dad calls from upstairs. “Lark? Are you coming?”
His voice is strong, and I smile, trying not to overanalyze Alec’s message. This week everything’s been fine with him, but I’ve been so busy looking after Dad that I haven’t seen him much outside of school, and even there, I’ve been distracted.
“On my way,” I call up.
“Don’t bring me soup. I only want water.”
“Too late.” I put a slice of sourdough bread next to the chicken soup I tipped out of a can that I found at the back of the cupboard. I haven’t done much cooking without Dad grocery shopping for me. Reid’s mom has brought over a few things, though. And Alec brought the bread over yesterday. We had time for a quick kiss and a few minutes’ conversation. His message probably doesn’t mean anything—I’m reading too much into it because I’m tired and stressed.
My phone rings, and for a moment I don’t look at it. I don’t know if I want to hear what Alec has to say. There’s a small grip at my heart, like a creature with tiny hands has seized a hold of it. I pocket my phone, which goes off again, and carry the tray up to Dad’s room. He’s propped up in bed with his phone in his hand and a book discarded on his bedside table. I glance at the space next to him, where Mom used to sleep.
He says, “Tomorrow, I’m done with resting.” Then he yawns.
“If you say so.”
“They’ve gotta get these meds sorted so I’m not so tired.”
“You love playing the wounded soldier, Dad.”
Putting his phone down, he pats the bed. I place the tray on his lap and sit gingerly next to him.
“I’m serious. You’ve been amazing, Lark. But I’m okay.”
“You might not be.” My eyes settle on my grandmother’s quilt, on a square patterned with clocks. She loved clocks—antique ones, brand new ones, bird ones, all kinds. Her house was full of the tick, tick, tock of clocks on every available counter space and wall. When the hour arrived, every hour, a crescendo of cuckoos and bells would drive the rest of us crazy, but Grams thought it was marvellous.
“Something might happen, Lark,” Dad says. “We have no control over life and death. Since your mother died, that’s been . . .” He falls silent.
Dad and I both know that if we could have found a way to save Mom, we would have.
I sigh. “It’s not just what happened to you. Actually, Alec just sent me this.” I hold up my phone, the screen facing my dad. “It might be nothing, right?”
“Are you showing me your messages, Lark? Sweet.” He frowns. “What does it mean?”
I turn the phone.
A tear slides down her cheek.
I really . . . hope he was happy.
“Song lyrics?” he asks.
I shudder. This is the fifth message like this in the last three days. But it’s the only one that anyone else has ever seen. I was starting to think I was imagining them, like Alec said—hallucinating phone messages. A sob escapes my lips.
“Hey, Lark, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know. That wasn’t even what I was trying to show you—oh God, it’s freaking me out. And on top of that, I feel bad because Suzanne asked me to go and see Annabelle, but I couldn’t, because last time I got weirded out. And now Alec is saying we need to ‘talk,’ and I really like him, and you almost died.”
“Whoa, whoa, my sweetheart. One thing at a time. I didn’t almost die. I had a flutter. You know that. I’m perfectly fine.” He smells of his shaving foam, and his pyjamas are warm and soft as he hugs me.
“It was a scary flutter.”
“All this fretting is bad for my recovery,” he says softly, but teasing me. “You’ve only been dating Alec, what . . . a month? Even if it doesn’t work out, you’ll be fine.” He holds my hand. “You’re much stronger than you know. Like your mother. She looked like you could break her by sneezing, but she was the strongest woman I ever knew. Until you. You need to read her letter.”
“Her letter? Oh, right. I forgot about it after the cemetery.”
He chucks me on the chin. “Go get it.”
“It’s in the pocket of my jeans, I think.”
In my room, I search through the pile of clothes until I find the jeans I was wearing. Then I pull out the letter and return to Dad’s room.
“It’s here,” I say and lie next to him. I pick up reading where I left off at the cemetery.
Listen to the quiet of your heart. Follow it. The world is more layered than it seems, and in those hidden depths, you’ll find yourself.
There is a dream I keep on having.
One world made into two,
but you only need to look in the moment.
I look at Dad. “Are these song lyrics?”
“It’s a song she was writing for you. She never finished it. She was very tired sometimes, writing these. I’m not sure it made much sense.”
A life beyond
Or behind
Another way
To find you
If only that could be
Only this course for me, only this life
I am with you every step, even though you can’t see me
Believe me.
I love you.
Mom
A coldness comes over me slowly, starting at my throat and passing through my body. I hear my phone and reluctantly glance at it.
Alec:
You there?
Before I can write anything back, a message appears:
You’re just jealous Alec
got to go on a date with me
Another message. A million tiny goosebumps. I want to puke. This creepy sender is scaring me.
Dad says, “Lark?”
Alec:
Come meet me after school tonight . . .
I message Nifty.
Lark:
I know we have the show,
but I’m just not up for practice tonight.
Sorry a thousand times.
Nifty:
Send your dad a hug.
I message Alec.
Lark:
See you at five.
I say to Dad, “Is there any more to the song?”
“That’s all she had for your seventeenth. Why, you want to finish it? Make it work?”
“Something like that. You know what? Would you be okay if I go out later?”
“I’m more than okay. But worried about you. That’s what teenagers are for, right? Being worried over.”
“I’m fine. And I’ll go back to school tomorrow. And don’t worry. I won’t be long with Alec.”
“I assumed you’d be going to band.”
“Maybe on Sunday. Not tonight.”
Evening is falling softly, creeping up on us. Alec sits on the teeter-totter, the other end pointing up. His eyes shine with something that makes my stomach quicken.
“I want you to come here,” he says, and I feel undressed, my shirt unbuttoned, my zipper undone.
I reach the teeter-totter, and he tugs me to him. His arms are strong, and he pulls me onto his lap, my legs astride him. Then he leans me back, so I balance along the teeter-totter. It’s the sort of manoeuvre that could easily end up with me falling, but I don’t, even as he lies on top of me. He’s breathing warmly into my neck, kissing me just at the base of my ear, and every pore is opening, ice trickling down my spine, as I help him tug at my jeans.
We both fall off the teeter-totter and land with a hard bump on the sand, and I start giggling. “Yeah, let’s make out in the play park,” I murmur.
“You can’t say we didn’t try.”
“At least there aren’t any kids around.” I shake sand from my long hair as I sit. “So, what’s up? I thought you actually wanted to talk this time. You had me worried . . .”
“I do. Then when you arrive, I get distracted—”
My phone interrupts.
A video this time. It’s of me sitting in the play park. I turn to look over my shoulder. Someone is filming me here? No. It’s almost t
he same, but everything’s different. In the video, I am lying on the teeter-totter, reading my phone. I have short red hair. And I’m not with Alec. Reid stands there. He leans over me. Suddenly, audio comes on. In the video, Reid says, “Uh, Lark, what’s wrong . . . I mean . . . everything okay?”
I stand up. “Who’s doing this?” I shout. A whisper of wind in the bushes meets my cry. I run over, but no one’s there.
“What’s going on?” Alec stands, looking confused.
“I don’t know. Someone sent me a video . . . Reid was here with me.” I walk back to him and hold up my phone.
Of course, the video is gone.
He nods. “Ah, Reid,” he says softly. “That’s what I wanted us to talk about. I mean, that’s why I asked you here.”
“You wanted to talk about Reid?” I’m still reeling from the video. “Why? What?”
“I saw you holding his hand. At the hospital.”
“Seriously?” It comes out more sharply than I intend. “Nothing’s going on with me and Reid.”
He sighs heavily. “Are you sure?”
“Are you jealous, Alec?” I try to tease.
He fixes his gaze on me. “I’m maybe a bit jealous. Not cool, I know.” His gaze is serious. Tender.
The feeling I have for him rises in me. That same tenderness. I say, “You trust me, right?”
“I do.” The air thickens between us.
“I can’t think straight right now. I got this letter from my mother with strange lyrics in it. Then I started thinking about stuff, you know, stuff that’s been going on with me. Then this video. I’m sorry if I’m acting . . . weird.”
“Is this weird like what happened when we went to see Annabelle that time?”
“Post-traumatic stress? Maybe. But Dad saw one of the messages. I’m not making them up. Though I know that sounds crazy.” I pout and hope it’s cute. “I’m sorry that you’re seeing a crazy person.”
“My kind of crazy,” he says. “Look, don’t worry. We’re fine. I’m fine. And you’re perfect. You’re just worn out with everything that’s been going on—the accident, your dad, the anniversary of your mom’s death. Hey, I’ve gotta take my truck over to my uncle to get some work done, but maybe I could come see you before you go to sleep?” He kisses me on the hand.