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He’d left me unattended while he ran a few errands, so fried plantains, right to my door. And perhaps it was time to at least take a peek at the journals my mother had left me. I’d been putting that off.
Sterling arrived and caught me with a plantain in my mouth.
“What are you eating?” he demanded.
I offered him a plastic fork. “Food.”
He groused and fussed and stabbed some of the shredded chicken and pointed it at me. “Eat your protein.”
“Oh, come on,” I said, exasperated. “You’re worse than Jun!”
“You say that like I have fed you nothing but quinoa and plain chicken.”
I let him feed me the chicken, then I defiantly shoveled plantain into my mouth.
He took another bite of the food. “You should be resting. We need to leave for New York in a few days.”
“I’ve been resting, and I am ready to go do this Belated Solstice thing with your family. Have I not been docilely letting daytime television rot my brain?”
He watched another bite of plantain go into my mouth, disapproving. “Even a little silver is a huge strain on your body.”
“Really, Sterling, I’m better.” My throat caught on raw emotion. Eight months. We might only have eight months left together. Alan was a hardened, experienced, highly trained, fully-feral Alpha who had been training with elite warriors his entire life. Sterling was no pushover, but he just didn’t have those advantages.
“Hmph.”
“In fact, I feel up to taking a little look at the journals. Just a peek.” I didn’t know if I could bear to look at them too closely. Even having them on the table while I ate felt too close. I didn’t know how much more anguish I could stomach. But if it demonstrated to Sterling that I was feeling my usual perky best, then excellent. I could manage a few pages.
Sterling looked at them. “I didn’t realize how powerful your mother was.”
“Neither did I,” I said softly.
He speared one of my plantains and popped it in his mouth.
I set aside my fork and picked up the journals. Both of them were crammed full of extra bits of paper. Of the two, the first entry was dated right after SilverPaw had moved to Montana, and the last a year later. The second was her very last journal, with the last entry dated the day of her diagnosis.
“These aren’t her last two,” I told Sterling, nonplussed. “There’s at least one missing.”
“So she wanted you to have these two,” Sterling said.
The journals were crammed with extra papers, but one sharp corner and stiff leaf stood out. There was a bright pink card tucked between the pages, addressed to me, complete with the “i” of my name dotted with a snowflake.
The fanciful card inside was all bright, tacky pink and crusted with glitter. The sort of thing she and I would have laughed and snickered over, but never spent money on. Around the card’s saccharine text she had doodled snowflakes in silver ink and scratched over the verses.
Mom. Not sentimental. Not at all.
Winter -
I found out I won’t be here to see you grow up.
You will probably see this long before your 25th birthday. In my dreams you are mated, married, and living far away with a handsome wolf-of-silver. They are nice dreams. They have a good scent.
Did you meet your wolf-of-silver?
I know it’s strange to tell you it’s a silver wolf and the dreams are good, but go with me on this. It’s a dream. They don’t make sense. The dreams smell good.
If you haven’t met him: there is a wolf-of-silver living far away, near water. Gaia chose him for you. Maybe you can still find him. He is a lone wolf with pale hair and pale eyes. I saw chess pieces and coins. I believe he is smart. He is a peculiar wolf (aside from being silver), all storms and snow. He will hold you in his heart and never let you go.
I know that kind of love. I’ve felt it. I’ve had it.
