Grady had just taken me out to dinner after a meeting with the Collective and Council.
It wasn't the worst meeting ever, but it was still pretty boring.
The sun was setting, creating a beautiful image of golden red oblivion.
I was going to the kitchen for some water, laughing at Grady for going straight up stairs, when I saw it.
The laughter halted.
The smile faded to a frown.
A page addressed to me was on the counter.
Next to it was a photograph.
I ripped the note out of the cooking book it was tucked into, opening it with the same feeling I had when the Council sent the letter with the news of Jolie to us.
A sob slipped out.
When I'm gone, for I know that day is coming, do not dwell on your loss. I know that's hard, but I'm requesting that you don't fall apart again. Just let it go. This is for the best. Don't stop making moonbooms. Make them for Biana, and Dex, and Keefe, and Fitz, and anyone else that comes over. Whether they come to see you or to see my stuff, or whatever other reasons someone might visit, make them. All I ask, when I'm gone, is that you don't forget me. Remember to let go, but never forget. Does that make sense? I'm not sure. I love you, Mom. Love, with all my heart, Project Moonlark.
More tear stains appeared on the paper. I realized they were mine.
The photo was of the Four Seasons Tree.
I reread the note at least a dozen times.
Moonbooms?
I looked back at the cookbook.
It was titled Sophie Foster's Original Recipes and Favorite Classics.
The page the picture was still lodged into was a recipe called Moonbooms.