Page 5 of Courage, Dear Heart

“Okay then. Give Jamie our love.”

“I will. Bye.” I hang up before she can say anything else. Before I say something I’ll regret.

I finish closing up the shop, turn off the lights, and go upstairs.

“I’m home,” I call to Jamie, my voice high-pitched with false cheer when all I want to do is scream.

He’s sitting on the couch, sharing an apple with Daisy.

She’s on the couch arm, holding the apple chunk with one leg and nibbling on it. She stops and looks at me.“Hello, my sweetheart.”

I freeze. It’s been years since Daisy said those words. The words CJ greeted me with every time he saw me. The words he always followed with a kiss.

I swallow. Hard. Glance at Jamie, but his face is buried behind that book again. The book CJ wrote and illustrated for us. Our story.

I go through the motions. Get Jamie in the bath, watch him play with boats and airplanes. Set him up with the TV,PawPatrolkeeping him company while I prepare dinner for us. We eat, I talk, he listens, but not a sound comes out of him. Not a word in two years.

The day I lost my husband, Jamie lost his voice. Traumatic mutism is the label the doctors gave it. PTSD from being in the car with CJ. I can’t even begin to imagine what he’s dealing with.

“Bedtime, Jamie. Let’s go brush your teeth and I’ll tuck you in.”

He complies. He always complies. Not a defiant bone in his body. Not anymore. Jamie comes back, book in hand. I have learned to hold back the well of emotions when he asks me to read this particular story to him.

We get into his bed, and he gives me the book.

I’ve looked at these images so many times I have them memorized. I touch the painted illustration, half expecting it to be as textured as the watercolor paper CJ used to create the original artwork. A happy image of fluffy heart-shaped clouds against a blue sky and the three people on it—a man, a woman, and a baby—graces the cover.Us. What we were. What can never be again.

“The Most Important Day.” My fingers caress the name on the cover. ByCJ Heart.

Jamie taps the name.

I know what he wants to hear, and I repeat the words I’ve said a thousand times before. “You know, Daddy’s last name was Miller, but when we got married, he changed it to Heart because he said he loved me so much, he wanted to have every part of me, including my name.”

Jamie shifts next to me, and I open the book. The dedication is printed in CJ’s handwriting. I trace theletters as I read—even though the words are forged in my memory and CJ’s voice is forever silenced—I can still hear the echo of a whisper in my soul.

For Jillian and Jamie, my two loves. Nowhere in the universe exists a creature, a person, or a being more loved than the two of you. My every thought, every breath, the very essence of my soul, belongs to you. Now and forever, I’m yours.

The illustrations are done in watercolors. The story, the memories, are our stories and memories. He didn’t just write and illustrate a book for us. He created a time machine, a memory capsule. Us, forever etched on paper in the pages of this book. One of a kind.

I turn the page and read.“Once upon a time, in a very small town in a very big state called Ohio, there lived many people. But the two most important people in this story were CJ Miller and Jillian Heart. This is the tale of their very first adventure.”

I wait for him to take his fill of the illustration—CJ and me at six years old—the painting of CJ, a blond boy with shaggy hair is a nearly perfect replica of Jamie now at the same age, and me, the girl with honey-brown hair in a ponytail wearing a purple dress. The two of us as children holding hands.

Jamie nods and I turn the page. “It all began on a very special day—the most important day of CJ’s life. It wasn’t just any day on the playground. No, it wasn’t. It was the day CJ met the girl in the purple dress, though he didn’t knowher name yet. But he already knew one thing: she was going to be his friend.”

I wait for him to drink in the images—the school playground. The colors on the page matching those of my memory. An intense blue sky in the late summer day, the green of the trees and grass. The red and yellow slide. Me in my favorite purple dress running to the slide and CJ watching me from a few yards away. Other children painted in muted grays against the vivid colors he saved for us and the playground.

When Jamie nods again, I move to the next page.

“How did he know? Because his heart told him. And CJ always listened to his heart.”

He taps the book and I turn to the next page.“Now, like many schools, there was a bully on the playground. This bully was big. And because he was big, he thought he was better and smarter than everyone else. But bullies don’t know everything, and this one didn’t know that courage and smarts come in all shapes and sizes.”

I kiss the top of his head. “Another page?”

He signsno. This is what he wants. This is our routine. A couple of pages a day until we get to what happened to the bully and then we start again—he doesn’t allow me to read past that part. The part that tells the rest of our story. I run a hand through my son’s hair and lean down to kiss his forehead. I wish Jamie could tell me why.

FOUR

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