Page 74 of Like A Moth To A Flame

“She would want you to be happy,” Amelia said.

I nodded, clutching the dress in my hands as if it were a lifeline. Memories of her flooded my mind, her laughter echoing in the recesses of my heart.

“I just wish she was here,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. “Sometimes I just wish I could go into her room and lay my head in her lap and tell her about everything and get her advice. Advice about life, about cooking.” I swallowed hard. “About boys? I never got that, ya know.”

Amelia wrapped her arms around my shoulder and pulled me into a deep hug.

“I wish she was here, too,” she said, nuzzling closer to me. “She sounds like an awesome mom.”

“She was,” I said, pulling in a shaking breath. My chest was burning, my throat tight with tears. “She was the best mom. I wanna be just like her when I have my own kids.”

I let myself dissolve into Amelia’s embrace, the weight of my grief finally breaking through the carefully constructed walls I had built around my heart. As I clung to her, the dam holding back my tears finally burst, and they flowed freely down my cheeks, unchecked and raw. Each drop carried with it a piece of the pain that had been festering inside me, a long overdue release. Amelia held me through it all, offering silent comfort. Her steady presencegrounded me in the turbulent sea of emotions threatening to drag me under, a lifeline in the storm.

Eventually, as the tears subsided, I pulled back from Amelia’s embrace, wiping away the remnants of tears from my cheeks.

“Why don’t you try it on?” she suggested, her voice gentle. “I bet it would look amazing on you.”

“I can’t,” I grumbled, my hands coming up to slap at the tears that had settled across my cheeks. “I’m on my period. I don’t wanna ruin it.”

“Oh dude, come on. Shark week is the perfect time to get a little dolled up, makes you feel better. Besides, peroxide can fix any oopsies.”

I hesitated for a moment, but something in me urged me to take this small step toward healing, toward honoring her memory in a way that felt intimate and personal. I looked down at the dress in my hands, my fingers tracing the delicate lace that lined the scooped neckline. The deep red fabric was still soft, adorned with black roses and lilies. The back of it laced up in a corset style that was form-fitting and flattering. Could I ever pull it off like she had?

Without a word, I stood up and made my way to the bedroom where I could change. Amelia followed silently behind me, giving me space but remaining close enough to offer support if I needed it.

As I slipped off my clothes and carefully put on the dress, memories flooded back to me. My mother twirling around in it, picking dandelions and telling me to make a wish.

What had I wished for?

I couldn’t remember now. All I could remember was her smile and the way the wind drifted through her red curls.

I smoothed down the fabric over my hips and took in a deep breath before turning to face Amelia. She sighed, her eyes shining.

“You look beautiful,” she said softly. Tears welled up again as I looked at myself in the mirror. It fit me perfectly.

19

I love you so much, I wonder how your blood tastes

Moth

We spent the day talking and going through clothes. Mice had invaded some boxes, unfortunately, and they were impossible to salvage. We took those boxes to the curb.

Amelia did my makeup and braided my hair in twin French braids across my shoulders. I wondered how long I could keep them like that. Having my hair out of my face felt nice. Tomorrow was Monday, and she would have to work. She offered to stay, but I waved her off, insisting she go. She didn’t need to lose her job on account of me, after all. She stayed until long after dinner, and then we said our goodbyes, and she was on her way back home.

It felt odd, being alone again, though somehow I was more lonely than I was scared.

Now, it was late, and I sat on the couch in my mom’s old dress, with one of my dad’s journals propped open in my lap. I’d finished the first one and moved on to the second. This one was more mundane than the rest—or at least it started that way. About athird of the way through the journal, I found the jagged edges of a page that had been ripped out. Wrinkling my nose, I pulled the shade off the lamp behind me, and brought the journal closer to my face, squinting as I struggled to see the indents on the next page. Beneath the words written, there was evidence of other words pressed deep into the paper from the ripped-out passage, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t read it.

Sighing, I flipped the page. That mystery would never be solved.

Instead, I focused on what Icouldread.

“The station is in shambles. No one wanted me to hire him, but I gave P.J. a chance, and now I’m wondering if I made the wrong decision. After what he did to that girl, I don’t know what to do. Every single officer is mad at me. Do I fire him? I’m the chief. It’s my decision, but I’m at a loss.”

I stopped, wracking my brain. P.J.? That sounded so familiar. Who was P.J.? Unfortunately, the passage ended there, and the ripped-out page wasn’t much help. On a whim, I reached over, swiped my phone off the corner of the coffee table, and pulled up Google. I searched for ‘P.J. Cottonwood Falls KS’ and every single different way you could rearrange the words, and nothing came up. I was just about to give up when a sudden thought struck me, and instead, I typed in: ‘Sheriff Banner, Cottonwood Falls’.

The first article that came up was from our local paper, The Cottonwood Gazette, and it spoke of the newly appointed Sheriff, Parker James Banner. Memorizing the spelling of his name, I returned to Google and plugged it in.

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