Читать книгу Elly in Love - Colleen Oakes - Страница 8

February 17, 1979

Sarah Jordan tightened the straps on Elly’s stroller, making sure her chubby, darling daughter was secure before taking the giant contraption out the front door and down the rickety stairs that led from their dingy apartment door. With a loud breath, she set the stroller down on the sidewalk and pushed her tangled hair off her face. Elly, oblivious to any effort on her mother’s part, cooed happily and waved her hands toward the tiny plotted garden that ran on the south side of the complex. With a grin, Sarah Jordan pushed her daughter toward the flowers, leaving the shadow of the apartments behind. Once they reached the small plot of spring colors, she helped her reach out and grab a white daisy, pulling it from its long stalk. Elly looked at it for a moment, taking in the bright petals—and then promptly shoved it in her mouth.

“Elly!” Sarah laughed and pulled the flower out of her daughter’s mouth, brushing off her tongue with her fingers, making Elly shriek with hysterical laughter. “Oh, you are hilarious. I know. Silly Momma.” She kissed her daughter on the forehead and began pushing her down the sidewalk, past the apartment buildings that she vowed to escape one day, past the school where she volunteered on a regular basis, and around the corner, to some of the nicer houses in Peachtree. As she pushed, she admired the lush gardens—the hydrangea that burst out in blues and antique pinks, the climbing garden roses, the manicured lawns, perfectly mowed as if laid there by God himself. Someday, she mouthed. Someday. Someday I’ll give Elly a garden to run in, a place where she can pick all the flowers that she can carry. I’ll teach her not to eat them first. She looked down at her blond toddler, her golden curls bouncing around her round face in the warm breeze. It was hard to be cynical while gazing upon Elly’s perpetually happy nature, even when they had a pretty-bare pantry and an even-emptier bank account. Elly flung her hands out in front of her, as if she were flying. Sarah jogged with the stroller for a few paces, leaving Elly giggly and adorable. It was a good morning for a walk.

She stopped short when she saw the mailbox on the corner. In the shadow of a hackberry tree, it loomed cold and metallic on a street that seemed to be bursting with life. Sarah reached into her bag and fingered the letter inside of it, the envelope rough on her fingertips. I could just not mail it, she thought. I could just not do anything. What if he finds us? Maybe the right decision is to just let things lie, and go about our lives. The thought of him finding her was terrifying. She bit her lip and ran her fingers nervously over the stamp. If that was true, why are you here? Sarah bent her head and muttered a quick prayer, the answer the same as it had been that morning. It was decided then. Perhaps some good might come of this. Someday. Then, moving swiftly so that she couldn’t change her mind, Sarah closed the gap between herself and the post box, and flung the letter inside, walking away before the little metal door had even slammed shut with a ring of finality. Elly smiled up at her as she walked back toward the stroller, and Sarah felt a wave of relief wash over her. She had done the right thing—it was up to someone else now. Her daughter’s chubby cheeks were begging for kisses, and as she pulled Elly up out of the stroller, all the nervousness brought on by the letter dissipated into the warm air as she cradled her close, smelling her daughter’s skin, an intoxicating mix of soap and salt. The mailbox was left behind, standing with all its finality in the Georgia sun.