Ava is seventeen today, and I am all of thirty-five. She's in her pajamas, and floating on a cloud this morning. I take a sip of coffee and watch her as she whirls about the room; buttering toast, pouring orange juice into a glass, tapping her fingers against the counter and smiling to herself.
Seventeen years ago, this long limbed girl came into my life and stole my heart.
It happened just as the sun rose, filling the hospital room with an ethereal light that glowed in a prism about Jamie's head. I was so entranced in the moment, so in love with the little bundle that had just arrived, that I did not notice her slip away.
Jamie… Jamie…
She must have seen the look on my face; the love and the delight that no doubt played across my features in the early morning light. She must have given my hand a last squeeze; must have whispered a faint and soft goodbye. But I did not hear. I did not notice the moment when Jamie left the far corners of my heart, nor did I notice until much later just how much of my life I had given to Ava as soon as she wrapped her tiny fingers about my fingers; about my heart.
Ava sits down beside me, and I can't keep my smile to myself. She's lovely with her dark hair and hazel eyes, and there is something soft about her, despite the angular proportions of her body. She's always been a rowdy, happy child. Unlike her mother, she has never been one to sit silently. She's always in constant motion, and that has helped the pain ease over time. I've often yearned for a daughter more like the girl I married, but deep inside I know that a similarity between the two would hurt too much.
"Dinner at grandpa's?" she asks, taking a bite of toast while simultaneously moving the sugared donuts just out of my reach. I nod and grab a donut.
"Daaaaad!" she exclaims, "you know I made these for tonight! Lay off!" She swats my hands playfully and rises to go, brushing crumbs off her lap.
"Will you go straight from school or do you want to come with me?"
"To grandpa's?"
"Yes."
"Math club meeting today. I doubt we'll get out before five. I'll just drive myself over, okay?"
"Sure, honey. See you later."
She kisses my cheek and springs out of the house, leaving the house with the sensation that a cool wind has just passed through its doors and windows, leaving in its aftermath a slight, heady aroma of flowers and fresh air.
I'm due at the office at nine, so I still have some time to myself. Lindy, my receptionist and surrogate mother, will call me if there are any emergencies. As one of only two medical practices in all of Beaufort, I've come to understand that it's important to be available to your patients if you would like them to keep coming back. I check my pager, making sure I haven't missed any calls, and open the door to the kitchen pantry.
I hid Ava's birthday present here three days ago, and I have a strong suspicion that she may have already come across it. It doesn't really matter, however. Even if she had seen it, she would never have looked at it twice. It's only an old wooden box, covered in dust and hidden behind a number of vegetable cans and food boxes.
I slide the box out carefully; it's too heavy and too big to lift, and settle myself down on the floor beside it. I run my hands over the top, tracing the carved initials that have now been buried in almost seventeen years of dust:
J. E. C.
I have so much to tell my daughter; there is so much I would like for her to understand. But I know that I cannot do it on my own; I need Jamie's hand to guide me.
"Jamie?" I whisper in the silence, watching the dust dance and finally settle in the glow of the morning. The sun is streaming in waves through the lone window, and I slowly lay my cheek agains the surface of the box.
I've talked to her often throughout the years, less so now than at first. My life has become full: I have my own practice, two rowdy dogs, a supportive family, and a little girl to raise. There have been times when I have gone for days without vivdly recalling Jamie's face: it's not that I have forgotten her, I could never do that. Not one day goes by without my thoughts lingering on some sweet aspect of our relationship. But the image of Jamie, the picture of her that I once guarded so closely in my mind, has slowly begun to vanish with time. I cannot recall the exact shade of her eyes anymore, or the light blush that I know always shone across her face. She's a thought, a memory, a lovely chapter of my life that has ended and shut. And yet she has continued on: she's Ava's smile, Ava's laugh...
"Jamie?" It's a plea now, and I take a deep breath. Seventeen years is a long time... far too long.
"Jamie, come back to me."