Chapter 27 Kylo #2
It’s not that kind of journal, though. It’s like something for a kindergartener. On the first page, it says:
Your name is: Audrey Chevalier Porter Joyce.
You live at: Bitter Creek Farm, 154 Route 3, Stafford, VT.
You live with: Clayton Joyce, your husband, married for 11 years, Mathilda Joyce, your stepdaughter, age 16 (Kylo)
Family Members: Stephen Wentworth, brother (adopted)
Burt Porter (father, lives in NY with wife)
Kate Porter (mom, died in car accident when I was 18)
Close Friends: Toni Francesco
What about the Core Four who were just here? And, um, hello? Does she really need to put that Uncle Stephen is adopted? Because he’s also Black, so it’s kind of obvious, and something his sister would know, right?
The journal is divided by days. Every day has the same thing, like some sort of wicked-basic gratitude journal.
Here are three things I was able to do today.
Took Gracie for a walk, brushed horses, made dinner
Here are four things I ate today.
Bagel, apple, chicken, potato chips
Today, I talked to on the phone, on Zoom/Facetime, or in-person:
Stephen, Toni, doctor
Today, my mood was:
Pretty good.
Okay, so that was . . . whatever. She’s filled out quite a few pages, but again . . . basic. Another page on stuff she likes.
Music: Billie Eilish, David Bowie, Adele, Rihanna, Bruno Mars, Dave Matthews but not the live jams.
Food: Nutella, apples, meatballs, brussels sprouts, any kind of pie
Hobbies: Riding horses, taking walks, reading, gardening, flower arranging, home decorating (interior design)
It’s kind of suspicious that she needs to write this stuff down. Maybe it’s some kind of time capsule thing? Then I flip to the back, and there’s another section, and it hits me like a punch in the throat.
Instructions for Everyday Tasks
Brushing Your Teeth
Take your toothbrush. It is yellow
Put a small amount of toothpaste on it. from the blue tube.
Brush your teeth in a circular motion.
Remember to brush the front, back, and sides of each tooth.
When you are finished, rinse your mouth with water and spit it out into the sink.
Now you are done.
Making Coffee (drip coffee maker)
Pour water into the coffee maker. It is black, close to the fridge and has a glass pot on the bottom.
Put in a filter. brown v-shaped paper that goes in compartment above the glass pot. Filters are in the cupboard above the coffee maker.
Add coffee. In same cupboard. White canister. Put in the same number of scoops of coffee as you have cups of water. So if you have four cups of water (the measure is on the side), put four scoops of coffee in the filter.
Turn on the coffee maker. Push the button. The red light will go on if the coffee machine is on. It will beep when the coffee is ready.
There’s more instructions on doing the most basic stuff. Laundry. What kind of foods need to be refrigerated. Making the bed, doing the dishes.
What the actual fuck?
This is so not good. Suddenly, I’m on fire to see what else is in Audrey’s desk. An old dog collar with a tag that says Rusty. Cards from my dad (avoid). Cards from me, tied in a pink ribbon. She’s saved those, no matter how casually I signed them, how reluctantly I’d drawn them.
And then, in the bottom drawer on the right, is an envelope that says For Mathilda after I die. The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh, but I open the envelope with shaking hands and start reading before I can totally process the words.
Dear Mathilda,
I want to call you Mathilda in this letter, not Kylo, because your mother picked out your name the day you were born, and it’s beautiful.
I can only imagine how much love she felt when she saw you that first moment, how dazzled she must have been to see your face at last. I’m so sorry she was taken from you, honey.
You’ve had to carry that loss with you since you were not even four, and that’s something no one should have to do.
I want you to know that I understand how hard it must’ve been to have a strange woman just appear and live in your house and be in charge of you.
Maybe I made your mom seem further away.
Maybe I reinforced all the grief and anger and loneliness you were feeling.
Maybe losing the person you loved the most when you were so little made it feel scary to love someone again.
Whatever the reason, it never took away from how much I love you.
You are so fierce and determined, and I think you have a big heart, even if you don’t want other people to know it.
You’re so smart, and I think you have a lot of love to give.
Don’t be too afraid to do that, even if your heart gets broken by a friend or a romance.
Loving other people is what makes us human.
It’s a gift, and you have been that gift to me.
Since the day you came charging headfirst into my life, I always felt that we were meant to be together.
I don’t regret a single minute of the years I got to be your stepmother.
I know you’ve been wondering what’s wrong with me over the past few months.
I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to have to deal with all that.
I figured that me leaving early would be the best thing for all three of us.
It definitely feels like the best thing for me.
If I made you feel bad, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.
If you ever felt—or someday feel—sorry about anything between you and me, I want you to know I forgive you.
And in case you need to hear this, I’m sorry, too, for any hurt or distress I caused you, honey.
I only ever wanted the best for you, Mathilda, and for all the times I got it wrong, I’m truly sorry.
I hope you’ll see all the beauty of the world and soak it up and breathe it in.
I hope when you see ugliness or cruelty, you’ll do something to change it, even if it’s something small.
I hope your life will be filled with laughter and love and interesting people.
I hope you’ll find something that gives your life purpose, and that you wake up every morning curious to see what’s next.
You changed my life for the better, Mathilda. You gave me the chance to be a mother, to love someone more than myself. I am so glad you ran into the street that day. From that first moment, you were imprinted on my heart forever.
Be kind to yourself, sweetheart. Have a beautiful life.
I love you.
Audrey
My legs go wobbly, and all of a sudden I’m on the floor, the letter in my hand.
Then a wail comes out of me, so huge and awful Gracie jumps off the bed and runs straight into my lap, her head on my shoulder like she’s hugging me.
It doesn’t help. Even Gracie doesn’t have that power.
Audrey is dying. A brain tumor, maybe? I pull my phone from my pocket, find Uncle Stephen’s name and hit the call button, my hands shaking. He answers, thank God.
“Hey, Kylo,” he says in that nice, warm voice. “What’s going on with my favorite niece?”
“What’s wrong with Audrey? She’s dying, isn’t she?” My voice is high and terrified. “I found a journal. And a letter. A letter to me for after she dies. It says so right on the envelope!”
There’s a long pause. I hear him take a deep breath, and I put my hand on Gracie’s head.
“Um . . . well, honey, she doesn’t want you to know, which is why she hasn’t told you herself.”
“Obviously, Uncle Stephen!”
“Right. Are they home right now?”
“No. They went somewhere. I thought they were getting a divorce, so I started snooping.” Oh God. I wish it was just a divorce!
“Okay, hang on, I’m at the hospital and just need to find a quiet place.” I hear some announcement in the background and take a second to grab a tissue and blow my nose. Gracie climbs right back on my lap. An emotional support dog, one hundred percent. “You still there?” asks Uncle Stephen.
“Yeah.”
“Audrey has what’s called early-onset dementia. She’s known about it for a little more than two years, and she’s been showing symptoms for maybe four.”
“But she’s, like, middle-aged. Not even that old. Forty-three or something?”
I hear a smile in Uncle Stephen’s voice. “Right. Not that old. It’s rare, but it’s what she has. Our mom had it, too, I’m pretty sure, but she died in that car accident, so it was never diagnosed.”
“So what will happen? Can’t she have an operation or something?”
He sighs. “No, kiddo. Her brain is shrinking, and nothing can stop that, or even slow it down that much. She’s been taking meds since she found out, but they’re not helping a heck of a lot.
She forgets things—people, names for things, how to work the oven.
And she has times when she kind of checks out and just stares. ”