Page 134 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout

I went back and forth between typing this letter and having it read with my will (which only includes my old Trolls collection, please split between Lilah and Molly, one day, they will be worth money), but then I decided it would be better served here. I know for a fact you haven’t looked at this diary for at least two years (because I’ve had it that long... and if I haven’t died yet, you might kill me after this paragraph, but I’ll continue in case you decide not to).

We got home from the Sparks’ game a little while ago, and you didn’t say much on the way home. I realized that I might need to explain myself one day. And if you’re reading this, I might already be gone. And maybe you came back to this diary because it’s where you went when you lost grandma, and maybe you need it. There are so many blank pages left, almost like they’re waiting for you to finish your story.

I didn’t really understand cancer when I was first diagnosed. Most kids don’t. But after it came back and I was older, I knew what it really meant. The only time I ever remember panicking about having cancer was when I overheard you telling Henry that the doctor said it would take a miracle.

I wasn’t a little kid anymore, but I was scared. And sometimes, when you’re scared, you do odd things—like dig through your closet, yanking everything out, trying to find a miracle like you stuffed it on a shelf last month and forgot about it.

What I found instead was a box of what was left of this room when it was yours. And in that box was this diary. And in this diary, I found a love story. I won’t call it the greatest one I’ve ever read, only because it isn’t finished. But you know me, I’m a sucker for a good romance. You know, boy meets girl, girl punches boy in the face (I can’t believe you did that), boy falls for girl... in your story, boy broke girl’s heart.

But we all make mistakes (like me, reading your diary). And life is too short to have more grudges than forgiveness. Life is too short to spend so much time being sad or heartbroken, to count the days that have passed since lifewasbetter. Every day is a chance for things to be better, Mom.

Cancer has taught me a lot. It taught me that if you hold on to things, they really stick. The good things we keep fill us up. The bad things become toxic the longer they sit—exactly like cancer.

I don’t know Beau. I remember Papa talking about him a lot and watching him on TV. “The best damn wideout I’ve ever coached,” is what he would say every time Beau came on screen. I’m sure he’s other things too, even though judging by what I’ve read, he doesn’t really seem to think so.

I don’t know what will happen to me. You and I both know that remission isn’t guaranteed. So, I’m taking it day by day. I want all my days to be full just in case one might be my last. I hope that I’ll have lived long enough to at least see the next chapter in your and Beau’s story.

And if I don’t, I hope he stands by you when you miss me too much. I hope he does what he did for you when Grandma died—teaches you that it’s okay to live and love while grieving and missing. If he did it once, he can do it again if you give him a chance. She’d want that, I’m sure. And Papa. And that’s what I want if the time comes and I go before you do. I’m so sorry if that happens.

Sienna brought a hand to her mouth to quiet the sob that broke loose from her chest.

My life has been anything but ordinary. No Dad around, single uncle standing in for Father’s Day events. Almost teen mom. I learned to read at Maloney’s while you and Emily were unloading a beer delivery. Cancer. But I wouldn’t change a thing. Because it’s been awesome, thanks to you. I never had to wish for anything because before I’d even think to, you already gave it to me.

I’ll fight my hardest to stay by your side because I know you tried so hard to keep me there. But in case it does happen, and I have to go sooner rather than later, know all I want is for you to keep doing all the living I won’t get to do. And I want you to do it with the person who puts the biggest smile on your heart (after me, of course).

Love you as high as the sky,

Grace

“Mom?”

Sienna barely heard Grace’s voice over her crying. She looked up with blurry vision at Grace standing in the doorway, fiddling with her pajama top.

“What... why... ”

Grace looked between her mother and the diary she held in her lap. “I just want you to be happy even if I’m not around.”

Sienna closed the diary. She wiped her face with the back of her hand before holding it out to Grace. “Youdon’t have to ever think about that, do you hear me?” She cupped Grace’s face. “I’m the mom. You’re the kid. Kids don’t worry about parents, that’s not how this works.”

“I do worry about you though.”

Sienna was struck with the painful reminder of Grace’s letter to Beau and she had to take a deep, heavy breath.

“What your grandma did, she wassick. And it’s sad we didn’t know how sick she was. But me? I’m okay. I’m not perfect. I’m not strong all the time even when I want to be. But I’mhere, Grace. I know how hard it is to be left that way and I’dneverdo that to you. I want you to know it and believe it. I’m your mom and—"

“You’re my best friend too,” Grace whispered, approaching the bed and taking Sienna’s hand.

“Grace—”

“Who takes care of you?” Grace’s voice cracked. “I thought... he took care of you back then, you know? When Grandmadied, Beau took care of you, Beau made it better. I thought two people who loved each other as much as you two did even all those years ago, well maybe if you had another chance... and thenifsomething happened to me, he’d be there this time. I didn’t know how to contact him, and when the GPF accepted my application, I thought it was a sign.”

Sienna lowered her hands, clasping Grace’s when she sat on the bed. “That’s what you wasted your wish on?” She waited for Grace to nod. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me. It was foryou.”

“I mean.” Grace sniffled. “It kind of was for me, too.”

“What do you mean?”

Grace’s gaze fell to her lap, and Sienna watched her mouth open and close repeatedly, as if she were struggling to find the words. “Do you know I’ve never been kissed? I’ve never held a boy’s hand apart from Jimmy Martin’s in third grade, and that was a dare. Maybe it will never happen. I don’t know whatwillhappen, you know? It’s anemia today. Maybe in a few months—”

---