Chapter 32
Emerson
Some days, I felt like Winnie had come back to visit me.
It was usually in those in-between moments—like when the light first broke over the mountains and chased away the shadows, or when the wind rustled the leaves just right, almost like they were carrying her voice.
It was in the quiet pauses between heartbeats, the stillness that accompanied a deep breath, or when the sunlight hit the rearview mirror as I was driving her old car.
Those were the moments I knew Winnie was with me.
It was the small stuff I missed the most. Bird-watching, reading poetry, cooking in her kitchen.
I could handle the big things, like when Wren and I spread her ashes out the window as I drove along the Million Dollar Highway (which, by the way, was terrifying).
Or when I got accepted into the University of Denver, and we threw a party—Gill even shared his chocolate with me.
Or even when my doctor told me I didn’t need any more surgeries, and my mom and brother surprised me and took me out for dinner.
I knew what to expect in those moments. Winnie couldn’t be a part of them anymore, and yeah, it sucked, but grief would always suck.
What got me was the little things. Like hearing a hummingbird call and being reminded of her, or catching a whiff of freshly made lemon meringue pie, or seeing brightly colored beads in the window of a store.
That’s when I felt the empty space she’d left behind the most. Henry said that when people die, we tend to say we loved them, like it was a thing of the past. But the love doesn’t stop.
You don’t have to leave it behind; you can carry it with you.
We would all still love Winnie, and that love was alive in us.
It was the end of summer here in Everston.
The days were still hot—like, why-did-I-wear-jeans kind of hot—but the nights were starting to cool just enough that you could pretend fall was on the way.
In a couple of weeks, the town would be packed with tourists for our harvest festival.
The birds were starting their migrations south, which was basically the Super Bowl of bird-watching.
Species that spent summers in the mountains—like warblers, flycatchers, and tanagers—were passing through, along with shorebirds stopping over on their way to the coast. You never knew what you might see.
Olivia promised she’d come bird-watching with Wren and me, as long as I only shared one bird fact an hour instead of fifteen. I said I’d try. No guarantees, though.
These days, my plate was pretty full. School would start in September and UCLA was no longer on the table; I guess I just didn’t want that dream anymore.
The University of Denver felt right—still in Colorado, and they had a great creative writing program.
It wasn’t what I had planned, but maybe that’s the point.
I also ran Wren’s social media accounts now.
Turns out, I was actually really good at it—who knew?
I even did a little PA work for her, which meant bossing people around on her behalf.
Mostly Dana, her publicist, but that was fine because she loved me.
It’s funny, I used to think my life was over when gymnastics didn’t work out.
I thought I’d lost my one shot at a future.
But it turns out life doesn’t end when one dream does.
Winnie was right. Dreams can change, and they can be just as amazing, sometimes even better.
I went back to New York. First, to get Winnie’s car—it couldn’t just stay parked outside Wren’s brownstone forever, and second, because Wren wanted to lease out her place and bring her things back to Everston.
Yep, she officially moved here. She even went by Wren now—not like, in print, because even Henry said that would be very confusing for readers—but to her people, she was Wren.
That’s right, I was one of her people. The trip was so great.
Henry came with us, and so did Olivia. Wren showed us some of her favorite food spots in New York, and then we jumped in Winnie’s car and drove back to Everston.
We stopped at a bunch of places from Lucy’s coasters along the way.
And guess what? I drove part of the way.
I was a pro now (well, sort of). It really did get easier.
Oh, and I met someone too. He hated football, made homemade ice cream, and made me laugh the way Winnie used to.
He accepted every part of me, scars and all.
I know she would’ve liked him. She was right about my scars—they were never going away, but that wasn’t the point.
I was so busy trying to get back to my old life and the old me that I didn’t realize those versions of me were gone.
But that was okay. A new me showed up. And I liked her.
Maybe there’ll be more versions along the way, but the point is, I was still here.
I got to choose who I wanted to be and where I wanted to go.
Oh, and ravens were still my favorite bird—but honestly, bluebirds were pretty cool too.