Page 41 of Crazy for You
He typed, “One more thing, Skyler. I would like you to make a decision on your guardian soon. I need to take Aunt Clara out of the trust. Mr. Wilson wants to make sure we have the paperwork in order before I go. Otherwise, my sister might be forced to take care of you, and with her new job, I would rather not put her or you in a tough spot.”
Nan handed me the letter. “So don’t take too long.”
I heaved a sigh as I neatly folded Dad’s written words. I had two choices—Nan or Georgia’s parents. I wasn’t about to live with a woman I didn’t know, blood or not.So what if she gave birth to me? She didn’t want me seventeen years ago. Why would she now?
Nan engaged the attendant control wheel on the back of Dad’s wheelchair.
“I don’t have to think,” I blurted out. “I want Nan to be my guardian.”
Nan’s expression was a mixture of happiness and hesitation. “Are you sure? You don’t want to reach out to your birth mother?”
Dad studied me, eagerly waiting for me to answer.
I tucked the letter in the front pocket of my shorts. “Doesn’t matter if I do or don’t. You’re more family to me than she is.” The woman who’d carried me for nine months was a stranger. “This house is mine when Dad goes. And I want to stay in it. I want you to stay here too.” Nan wasn’t married. She didn’t have a boyfriend. Her only family was her mom, who lived in Arizona. Her dad had died of cancer many years before—that was how she’d become a caregiver. She’d taken care of her father alongside her mom, and she’d “gotten the bug,” as she told Dad and me.
“Let’s just sleep on it,” Dad said. “See how you feel in the morning.”
I didn’t think I would change my mind, but I nodded. It wouldn’t hurt to see how I felt in the morning.
I thought to ask about my bio father, but I didn’t want Dad to feel awkward or make him feel even worse than he already did.
Nan drove Dad up the ramp and into the house.
I collected my skateboard, feeling somewhat lighter now that a major decision had been made. But with one problem gone, I had another one to noodle on.
16
Oranges and reds blazed through the sky. The cemetery glowed like something out of a watercolor painting. Sweet-scented flowers graced carved headstones far and wide as the fragrance floated on a light breeze.
Sometimes, sitting in front of Mom’s grave took me to another place—peaceful, tranquil, no worries, no problems, and just a wonderful sense of belonging.
I wiped off the ledge of her headstone before placing a single yellow rose I’d cut from our yard on top. I tried not to visit without one. Roses and maple trees had been her favorites, and Dad had picked out her plot specifically because of the maple swaying nearby.
“Mom,” I said out loud, “I miss you so much. I wish you were here to guide me through what I’m about to face. To help me navigate this crazy time with Dad and the shocking news that I was adopted.”
The leaves swished together, and I took it as a wishful sign that maybe she was with me. If she was, she would have said, “Skyler, you’re tough. You’re brave, and you can get through anything.”
I didn’t have her confidence. I didn’t consider myself the least bit strong. I’d barely handled her death. She’d been taken from us in a blink of an eye, and now I was watching my other parent wither away, limb by limb and muscle by muscle.
At least I was getting the time to say goodbye to Dad. I’d never had that chance with Mom. That fateful morning, she’d left work before I’d even gotten out of bed.
I didn’t know what was worse, watching Dad erode or enduring Mom’s instant death. I swore, with each day that passed, it felt like someone was plucking my heart out, one tiny piece at a time, and I was dying with him.
I closed my eyes, clasped my hands in front of me, and prayed. I mainly prayed for Dad, that he didn’t suffer or experience pain. I prayed he would be around another couple of years or three or five, although he didn’t have much of a life. I knew he was fighting as hard as he could for me. But I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t want to think of a future without him.
“God, if you’re listening, please take care of my dad, and make sure he goes peacefully. While you’re at it, can you also find a cure for ALS? I know my dad won’t see a cure, but for all those people who will come after him.”
I blinked away tear after tear as I glanced up at the beautiful painted sky, looking for some sort of sign that God had heard me. All I got was a rush of air from a hard wind that blew out of nowhere.
I ran my fingertips over Mom’s name. Candace Lawson: mother, wife, and a woman who had put her heart and soul before anyone else’s.
Her name began to blur as my thoughts took a sudden shift to Dad’s letter.“I will always and forever be your father, but I am not your biological father. Your mom and I adopted you when you were just a newborn.”
I wasn’t ready to know my birth mother or even my biological father. Heck, I wasn’t even ready to deal with the fact that I was adopted. Yet I had so many damn questions.Why did she give me up? What does she look like? Where is my father? Are they married? Do they have other kids? Does she think about me?
My stomach twisted at the notion that my own birth mother had carried me for nine months, then given me away.
A salty tear slid into my mouth as I replayed the scene on the deck with Dad and Nan. I knew it had been difficult for him to break the news to me, and I believed he’d died a little more inside.
