The Last Wish of Sasha Cade

by Cheyanne Young

  Sorry for the pain this will cause. Two more adventures and then I’ll send you on a fun one.

  Love you both, always,

  Sasha

  I let out a breath and look up at the stucco ceiling, clenching my phone to my chest. She was right. This will be a hard one. Sasha’s gran was a troubled soul. She lived in a small apartment on the Cades’ property, and Sasha and I would sometimes go over there for tea and cookies when we were kids. Sasha thought the world of the woman, but to be honest, I was a little scared of her.

  Gran killed herself in that home when we were thirteen.

  I don’t want to go there, not even to show Elijah this pivotal piece of Sasha’s history. But if that’s what she wants, then that’s what I’ll do.

  “As you wish,” I whisper, then I join my parents back at our table.

  ***

  Elijah meets me at Izzy’s right after school on Friday. We’d agreed to meet here so my parents wouldn’t get suspicious, and Izzy didn’t need me to work today, so it all works perfectly.

  I roll down my window when he backs his motorcycle into the spot next to me. “Get in,” I call out. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He peers at me through his helmet. “What does that mean?”

  I shrug, my hands on the steering wheel. “Just not looking forward to this one. It’s … sad.”

  “Oh,” he says, nodding. He jerks his head. “Get on.”

  “Or you could get in my car,” I say, tapping the outside of my door. “I know how to get there and you don’t.”

  “Yeah, but Sasha’s parents know your car, right? What if they see it parked on their road?”

  I heave a sigh and roll up my window. He has a good point. Elijah straddles his bike, the motor rumbling. He hands me his helmet and I grimace at the idea of sharing his head sweat, but I put it on. Safety first and all that.

  My breath catches in my throat as I realize what comes next. Elijah revs the bike and I climb on, settling my feet on the back pegs. “How will you know where to go?” I yell over the roar of the motor.

  “I know the subdivision,” he says, his black hair blowing all over his face in the breeze. “Just squeeze my arm when we’re close. I’ll park a few houses down.”

  “Okay,” I call out.

  He drops it into first gear and slowly pulls out of the parking space. I grab on to his sides, trying to be all casual about it, but as we pull onto the highway, I lean forward and hold on tighter. His abs are flexed beneath my grip, and I have to focus on breathing normally, on thinking about Sasha, not her dreamy-as-hell brother.

  Luckily, Gran’s house isn’t very far away. I signal for him to slow down at the little rec center building at the front of their neighborhood. It’ll be a bit of a walk, but better safe than sorry. Plus, we can cut through the wooded area that leads to the Cades’ backyard, and it’ll keep us off the roads in case Mrs. Cade happens to be driving by.

  The thought of her seeing me with Sasha’s male look-a-like sends a chill down my spine. For the first time since meeting Elijah, I wonder what will happen to us when this is over. If we stay friends, there’s no way to keep this secret forever.

  “You okay?” Elijah asks.

  “Perfect,” I say, handing him back his helmet as I shake away the slimy feeling of lying to people I care about.

  “The bike didn’t scare you?” He eyes me with this cocky look. Is he trying to impress me?

  “Daddy has a Harley,” I say. “I’m no stranger to motorcycle rides.”

  “Ah, I see how it is.” He taps the cracked leather seat on his bike. “My old Honda isn’t as cool as the Harley.”

  “Nope,” I say, playfully shoving him in the arm. “Let’s get going. And wipe that smile off your face. This one is gonna suck.”

  “Why’s that?” he asks as he falls into step next to me, hands shoved in his pockets. I swear he wears the same jeans every time I see him. Meanwhile, I’m putting more thought and effort into everything I wear each new time we meet up.

  “Not sure I should tell you now,” I say, my feet crunching over pine needles. This strip of land is mostly trees and rocks, and up ahead I can already see the Cades’ house and the abandoned log cabin home that used to be Gran’s.

  “Here we are,” I say as we approach the small one-bedroom house. It has a big back porch with a slightly obscured view of the lake. I gesture toward the mansion a couple acres over. “That’s Sasha’s house.”

  There are no cars in the driveway, but Mrs. Cade parks in the garage, so there’s no telling if she’s home or not. Still, enough trees separate Mrs. Cade’s yard from Gran’s house to make me confident that she won’t see us. I’m pretty sure she likes to pretend this little house no longer exists.

  “The gnome is around here,” I say, leading Elijah around an overgrown rosebush at the back of the house. I’d forgotten about the porch swing until I see it looking lonely and faded in the afternoon sun.

  Next to the back door, a ceramic gnome sits like a goofy little security guard, its paint flaking off. Elijah puts a hand on the gnome’s head and tilts him backward, revealing a plastic bag with an envelope inside. It contains a handwritten letter on Hello Kitty stationery.

  “Who’s reading it?” I ask.

  Elijah walks to the end of the wooden porch and sits, putting his feet on the bottom stair. “You read. I’ll listen.”

  I sit next to him and unfold the letter.

  “‘Hey favorites,’” I begin. “‘This is my gran’s house. My parents had it built for her before I was born, so for as long as I’ve been alive, this little place has been in my life. I only had one grandparent when I was growing up. My dad’s parents both died before I was adopted. Cancer, ironically.

  “‘My mom’s dad died in a train wreck when I was a baby. So I only ever had my gran.

  “‘Gran was the coolest adult I ever knew. She was into tarot cards in this ironic way that made you sometimes think maybe she was serious, and she was the best cook ever. Her chicken and dumplings were the greatest food on earth, and no matter how many times Mom and I tried, we could never replicate her recipe.’”

  I stop to clear my throat, which is really just an excuse to look over at Elijah. I know what’s coming next.

  “‘Gran also loved genealogy. She had binders of research on her family tree, and we’d spend summers at libraries and public county buildings going through old birth records and marriage documents while she pieced together the lives of her ancestors.

  “‘Gran encouraged me to think about my birth parents. My own parents never talked about them and they didn’t like me bringing it up. Not Gran. Gran said it mattered where you came from, and she encouraged me to find my own roots. Always. Even if we had to keep it from my parents.

  “‘Unfortunately, I never found anything about my birth parents back then. There wasn’t much to go on since my parents kept the details of my adoption to themselves.’”

  Elijah lets out a sarcastic snort, lacing his fingers together while he stares at the ground between his shoes.

  I turn back to the letter. “‘Gran killed herself when I was thirteen.’”

  Elijah looks surprised. I give him a sympathetic frown and keep reading. “‘The doctors said she’d been depressed all her life. It was a disease, an error in her brain that she couldn’t overcome. But since I was thirteen and adored my gran, I felt betrayed. See, the week she killed herself was the week we’d been researching my birth parents. At first it was like she had betrayed me, dying before we figured it out. Then I realized I had failed her. An entire section in her genealogy binders would forever remain empty because I couldn’t figure out the names of the people who created me.

  “‘I held this secret shame for a long time, even though now I know the binders had nothing to do with Gran’s inability to stay alive. Rocki probably knows even though I never
told her. That summer after Gran’s funeral, I didn’t do anything and we barely saw each other.

  “‘I’m sorry, Rocki. Thank you for still being there when I came out of mourning. If Gran were still alive, I know she’d be so psyched to meet you, Elijah. She’d bake you a batch of snickerdoodles and make you a cup of tea and tell you you’re welcome at her home anytime you want.

  “‘I know Gran would be so proud of me for finding you. And I guess now she does know, if only in the afterlife, huh?

  “‘I wanted you to come here because Gran is the reason I found you, Elijah. Without her love of family trees and history, I probably wouldn’t have thought too much about my birth parents. God knows my own parents didn’t want me to find out where I’m from … but Gran did, and she ignited a fire inside of me that burned brightly until I finally found you. Gran taught me that family matters. You matter, Elijah. I may be gone now, but I know you’ll make something wonderful of yourself.’”

  I reach the end of the page and flip it over to the back. Elijah drags in a deep breath, tilting his head toward the sky. His eyes are closed but they’re leaking tears.

  I lean over and rest my chin on his shoulder as I read the rest of her note.

  “‘Your fifth adventure is related to this one. You’ll get an email soon. I love you and miss you both. Love, Sasha.’”

  We sit on the porch for another half hour, both lost in our own thoughts. I think about telling him what I remember of Gran, but the words die on my tongue. Silence feels like the right thing at the moment.

  It’s a beautiful September day, the lake sparkling a dark blue in front of us.

  “My sister was a really cool person,” Elijah says, breaking the silence. “I can’t believe she put all of this together, while she was fighting cancer, no less.”

  “It’s the greatest gift she could have given us,” I agree. I bend down and pluck a long blade of grass, then begin breaking it into bits. “I’m sorry you never got to meet her.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, leaning back on his hands. “She’s making sure I know her, and that’s all that matters. She’s right, you know. Even if I had met her in the few months before she died, she’d still be dead now. It would have been a fleeting relationship and it would have hurt like hell. Instead, she’s left us this enormous keepsake to cherish forever.”

  “I’m glad you’re not mad,” I say, reaching for another blade of grass.

  “Nah. I don’t get mad easily. Especially not at someone I care about.”

  Our eyes meet, and for the first time since that day in the cemetery, I see Elijah staring back at me, not Sasha. I see the lost boy he used to be, the wholeness he found in Sasha. I see hope and resolve. I see a future.

  “She was right about what she said.” I hold up the letter. “You missed out on a lot in your life, but that doesn’t mean the rest of it has to be that way.”

  “You sound just like her,” he says.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Toward the end of our talks, before I got the letter asking me to go to the cemetery, she’d almost convinced me that my life could turn around.” His elbows rest on his knees and he stares down at his shoes. “I told her something embarrassing and she took the idea and ran with it.” He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “She almost had me fooled into thinking it’d work.”

  “Embarrassing?” I nudge him with my elbow. “I want to know.”

  He looks over at me, a sly grin dancing on his lips. “Not telling.”

  “Elijah! Please tell me.” I glare at him. “For all we know, one of her next letters will tell the secret anyhow. So … you might as well warn me.”

  “It’s not embarrassing, really. Just … foolish. Lame.”

  I bite on my bottom lip. “You don’t have to tell me, but I do want to know.”

  He shakes his head. I know I’ve won him over. He gives me a look. “Okay. No laughing.”

  I hold up my hands, portraying innocence.

  “Remember what I said during movie day about not wanting to just survive anymore?” He turns back to the lake, a bashful grin on his face. “I guess I’ve always had these pipe dreams of growing up and finding a way into the system. Like … running my own group home, or at least working at one. Every home I went to was such a shit hole. They treat the kids like criminals when they’re just orphans. I mean, don’t get me wrong — some of them are criminals, but could that have been prevented? If they’d just had someone who actually gave a shit about them, would they have stayed away from crime? Would they care more about school and being a good person? It’s hard to care about anything when no one cares for you.”

  He looks at me for a long moment, and I wonder if he wants an answer from me, but then I realize he’s thinking. “I always got good grades in school and I barely screwed up along the way. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve seen my friends end up in jail, or drugged out, or working minimum wage to support three kids before they’re even old enough to drink. The system could be better. I wanted to make it better.”

  “And Sasha wanted to help you,” I say.

  He nods and blinks. “She was convinced I could get a college degree and make that happen. She said I could name my group home The Delgado Group. Where everyone is family.”

  I smile. Elijah shrugs. “We were still working on the motto.”

  I grab his arm. “You should still do that, Elijah! I know all about the college admissions process and I’ve gotten my own scholarships from writing essays and stuff, so I could help you. I even have a computer. We can do it together.”

  His smile seems a little forced now. He rises to his feet. “I wish it were that easy. I’m already working my ass off to keep my bills paid. There’s no time for college.”

  “It’s not easy, but it’s doable.” I stand, too, folding the letter and putting it back in the plastic bag. The air around him is filled with negativity, so I probably shouldn’t push this idea on him right now, but I save it in my mind for later. “You should keep this.”

  “Thanks,” he says, taking it. “I gotta go. Work stuff.”

  I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. “Same. I have a five-page paper to write this weekend so I guess I should go, too.”

  “Fun,” he says, popping me on top of the head with the letter. He smiles, and it almost hides the sorrow behind his eyes. “Sometimes I forget you’re still in school.”

  “Shut up,” I say, sticking out my tongue.

  He pops me again. “How could I possibly forget you’re only seventeen when you display such maturity?”

  I gnaw on the inside of my lip to stop myself from grinning like a fool.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I spend the whole weekend watching Netflix with Mom and helping her reorganize the office. Sorting through old tax papers and throwing out user manuals for appliances we no longer have isn’t normally my idea of fun. But with Sasha gone and my resolve set firmly on the Ignore Zack button, I don’t have much to do. I know I should work on making new friends, but I’m still not ready to move on. A best friend like Sasha only comes around once in a lifetime.

  “So how are things?” Mom asks while she flips through the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet.

  “Fine.” My voice is jagged and on edge. Talking about Sasha is like walking on a tightrope — sometimes I can get across it just fine, but other times I feel like I’m falling to my doom.

  “That’s good. And your job?”

  “Perfect.” At least that’s not a lie.

  Mom pulls out a thick folder, plops it on the carpet and goes through it. “I knew we’d have a life after Sasha, but it’s still hard without her.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Yeah, I just miss her bright personality,” Mom says, giving me a sad smile. “Since you two were little kids, I can’t remember a single week I went without seeing he
r. Now it’s been over a month.”

  “Yeah.” The imaginary tightrope wobbles beneath my feet. I really, really don’t want to talk about this.

  “I’m proud of you, honey.”

  I look up from a box of Dad’s fuel receipts. “For what?”

  Mom studies me. “For being so strong. You know you can always talk to me, Raquel. Anytime you want, and about anything.”

  “I know,” I say quickly. But it’s a lie.

  I can’t talk to her about anything. Not about Elijah. Not about Sasha’s last wish.

  And lately, that’s the only thing worth talking about.

  ***

  The next email comes on Monday night at exactly seven p.m., as if someone had timed it. I’ve checked my other emails from TheFutureSasha, and they’re all sent right on the hour. I’m pretty sure she set up an account online that sends her prewritten emails at the date and time she specified. What I’m having trouble understanding is how she knew when to send them. What if she had lived another month?

  Her clandestine accomplices must have a way of knowing what to do, and when. I’d love to meet them, to find her secret message-board friends, find out about their friendship with Sasha and how they orchestrated her ultimate last wish. Of course, that would go against the very spirit of her wish, so I guess I’ll never know.

  This email tells us to meet at the Mount Horeb Baptist Church as early in the morning as possible. I have to Google the place because I’ve never heard of it. It’s a little church from the 1800s and it’s a historical landmark that hasn’t been used as a real church in a century. Weird.

  Sasha believed in God and had full faith that she’d be going to heaven when she died, but it’s not like she ever went to church except on Christmas and Easter — and she’d been slacking for the last few years.

  Still, I get that bubbly feeling of excitement in my chest at the thought of going on another adventure for Sasha. With her brother.