Captured Again (30 page)

Emma laughed. “Rickey, go on now. Let me finish this. Go play with Uncle Jake and Dusty.” She encouraged him as she pulled his fingers apart and removed his arms from around her neck. “Go play cowboys and Indians or something.”

Rickey ran off yelling with his hand over his mouth, patting it to make the sound of a wild Indian. He darted around the tree where Dusty and Jake sat and snuck up behind Dusty, wrapping his hands around his neck. “Gotcha!” he whispered, leaning over Dusty’s shoulder.

Dusty dropped his head and played dead.

“Wake up, Dust! You don’t have to play dead jus’ cuz you is captured. You captured Mommy and she didn’t play dead."

Dusty opened one eye to find Rickey inches away, still leaning over his shoulder. "I sure did, little man. And I'm not ever letting her go. You either," he said as he reached around behind him to flip Rickey onto his lap. He nuzzled his chin across Rickey’s head as he tickled his little belly.

Emma watched them from over her shoulder, her face the picture of happiness. She looked down at her left hand, at the dirt caked around her fingers. She spit on her normally shiny and sparkling ring, rubbing it with the bottom of her shirt. She smiled and stuck her hand right back in the dirt, laughing at her own silly happiness. She’d already spit and polished the ring a dozen times since they’d started, but she refused to take it off—or leave it dirty for more than fifteen minutes at a time. The ring was a reminder her that in less than a year, it would be the first day of the rest of her life... her new life with Dusty and Rickey—as a family.

Seeing Emma taking another ring-cleaning break, Gabby chuckled and took a quick break too, just to get off her knees for a few minutes. She’d forgotten her kneeling pad she normally used when planting. She pulled herself up into a squat, swiping her arm across her forehead to wipe away the beaded-up sweat, and then slapped some of the itchy dirt off her knees. She looked at the headstone, now surrounded with the vibrant orange fingers and stoic black eyes of the flowers, looking tall and proud on their green stems, seeming to nod their respect at her mom’s grave.

She gasped and fell back on her bottom. Olivia and Emma looked up from their work.

“What?” Olivia asked.

Gabby pointed at the headstone, unable to speak.

“Yeah, I think we all saw it already, Gab,” Emma said and laughed. Gabby didn’t laugh back. Emma looked at Olivia and then back to Gabby, who was still pointing with her mouth hanging open, and then asked, “Are you okay?”

Gabby looked at both her sisters, then back at the headstone.
They can’t see her,
she thought. She lowered her hand and her mouth curved into a smile. Her chest swelled and she sucked in a breath.
Mom’s here to see me—only me.

Mom seemed to sit down on the gravestone, running her hand across the dragonfly carving. Her face and her soft, caressing touch told Gabby she loved it. She met Gabby’s eyes and smiled back at her. Her lips moved, making a silent message:
I’m truly free now,
her lips said.
I love you.

The wind blew and Gabby gasped again. Mom was fading away, her image scattering along with the petals that had dropped while the girls were planting, but not before Gabby felt an absence. The burden that she’d constantly tried to hide... it was lifted from her soul—the guilt. It was gone. The endless nagging guilt for causing the accident that took Mom away from them. Gabby had still carried it everywhere she went, in every waking moment, unable to shake it. But not now. Mom had come back to take this from her and leave her whole again.

Gabby placed her hand over her heart.
Thank you, Mom,
the gesture said in silence. Gabby felt this would be the last time she visited. She’d helped save Emma and freed Gabby from her guilt. Her girls were happy and her job here was done.

One wayward petal blew up, the yellow sunlight spotlighting the orange dancer, flittering and floating around to capture Gabby’s eye, beckoning her to follow. The wind twirled it around and around and then gently let it swoop down, landing gracefully on her mother’s stone. Gabby read it again, this time truly believing the message:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awake in the morning hush,

I am the soft, uplifting rush,

Of quiet birds in circling flight,

I am the soft star that shines at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there. I did not die.

~poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye

The End.

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Olivia will
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Thank you so much for reading
Captured Again
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Let Me Go
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

L.L. Akers is originally from the Midwest where she grew up climbing trees, haystacks, and haylofts—escaping into other worlds with a good book. She now lives in the South as the silly wife of a serious man and mother of two very gifted and fetching male humans, a chubby beagle that looks astonishingly like a mini-cow, a deranged terrier, as well as five very elegant Koi fish, a herd of tiny but boastful lizards, and dozens of obnoxiously loud but beautiful serenading frogs.

After a career in human resources, she is now pursuing a life as a writer/recluse(?). She’s happy hanging out at home in her PJs with her iPad, Burt’s Bees lip balm, and posse of creatures. Regardless of her self-isolation, she can still be lured outside for brief moments by the scent of freshly mowed grass and a bowl full of cherries. Contact her at
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I apologize in advance for such a long acknowledgment, but an incredible thing happened to me, and I have 80,000 Facebook users around the world to thank!

While I was writing the first book of this series, I decided to include a brief glimpse of my own life hidden within: in which a young, unwed teenage girl gave her baby up for adoption.

I was that girl. I’ve always longed for my baby boy and finally reached out when he turned eighteen, but his file was closed to me. I continued to call each year, always hoping... Finally, in writing about him in
Let Me Go
, I opened up the deeply buried memories of his birth, and after that, I was unable to
stop
thinking of him. I published the book in July 2013. By October 2013, there had been a family spat, in which the subject of his birth came up, and I’d had enough of keeping the secret—as long as it was a secret, I couldn’t get help in finding him.

So I exposed my secret to the world through Facebook. That original post circled the world, was shared 984 times, and seen by 80,000+ people, revealing the secret I’d kept from nearly everyone in my life—even my eleven-year-old son. Instead of being ridiculed or insulted, I was sent encouragement from hundreds of people, publicly and by private message.

To make a long story short, six weeks later, on 11-12-13, I had my son—the one I’d given up almost twenty-six years ago—in my arms again. I wish I was the kind of writer that could let you feel the emotion I felt, finally seeing my long-lost son. I’ve got two words: heart-wrenching & amazing. Truly, it is indescribable for a novice like me. Turns out he wanted and needed me as much as I did him.

I hope you will continue to read this series. If all goes well, I plan to reunite Gabby with her son, too. Maybe by then, I’ll be able to find the words to give the emotions their due and their HEA. If you’d like to be alerted when the next book comes out, click
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Also, special thanks to my readers of
Let Me Go
, for encouraging me to forge ahead with this series. Especially to my new close friends who started out as readers of my debut novel: Kim Ronse in Canada, Moni Mobley in Missouri, USA, and Katy Pearce in Australia, my Sister-Survivors. Thanks for the late-night chats and welcoming me into your lives—love you girls!