Text Box: Since You Went Away From Me

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Text Box: PROLOGUE I can still feel your tiny warm hands touching mine as we sat on the wraparound porch, giggling and talking about things only a mother could love. Your laugh was as sweet as sliced strawberries on a vanilla ice cream sundae in July, and your eyes glistened with hope, for you trusted me to be the blessing God called all mothers to be to their children. In the cool of the day, we sipped perfectly squeezed lemonade and had profound conversations about your favorite doll, Lady, and why pink was your "bestest" color. From time to time, you lost focus and became entranced with the melodies that played on the radio nearby. Songs like Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On" captured your ear, and though you were too young to understand the struggle behind the lyrics, you tapped your feet in full appreciation. That was the summer of 1972, the last summer I held you in my arms. *************** Bernadette Harris fanned her coffee brown face with her hand. The air inside the house was hot and sticky like sweet molasses pored over homemade buttermilk biscuits, but it was nothing compared to the sun's record breaking heat that held Atlanta's residents hostage. The first day of summer in 2002 was on its way to being the deadliest and hottest ever, having already claimed six lives.      Sweat beaded on Bernadette's brow as she looked in amazement at what she'd discovered while rummaging through her older sister's armoire: a well-worn leather journal secreted away in a vintage hatbox. Her sister, Nadine Washington, intended for Sophia, the daughter she had not seen in more than thirty years, to find it. Strangely, the huge mahogany piece of furniture holding the treasure remained untouched by the flames that had consumed the three-story house just days earlier. Nadine, a diabetic, had slipped into insulin shock while cooking on the stove. The unattended high flames caught hold of a nearby dishrag. Nearly everything burned into heaps of ashes.      Feeling lightheaded, her throat dry from thirst, Bernadette's hand trembled as she turned the next page.      Before the mosquitoes started nipping at our ankles and the sun set, you would spontaneously pull my face closer to yours. Staring into my eyes, you would say six of the sweetest words I've ever heard, "Mama, I'm so proud of you." You were just two years old then, 'bout knee high to a grasshopper, but honey you were smart as a whip. Everyone said you would be a heart breaker on account of your wide chestnut colored eyes and smile that could light the darkest day, but whenever you spoke those words to me my heart didn't break – it melted.      Now… it aches with guilt. *************** Bernadette slammed the journal shut, unable to read another word. Her vision was too blurred with tears to continue. Uncomfortable pressure weighted her heaving chest. Her knees slammed on to the damaged hardwood floor. Why did Nadine lie about Sophia being stillborn if she was…?      "It can't be," Bernadette said, while her clammy fingertips massaged the tight area close to her heart.      Several minutes had passed before the pain subsided. She used a piece of tissue to wipe away the tears tainted black from her eyeliner and mascara. As she rose up off the floor, the knee of her pants slightly covered in gray ash, images of the sisters deceased father, Matthew Williams, took over her mind. "Oh, God no!" She put her hand over her mouth and shook her head. Let it not be true, she told herself. Please, God. Let it not be true.      A loud and annoying screech from a passing police car siren captured her attention from the disturbing childhood memory that invaded her dreams every night. She turned away from the window wishing she could do the same to her past, but ignoring her life on Stockton Road was not that easy.      As she ran her hand across the cover of the journal, she took in a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, she pulled a pair of purple designer reading glasses out of her purse that sat on the window seat. Somewhere in the journal's pages were the answers she needed. The others would be a revelation she would have wanted to remain secret.      Before she put the glasses over her eyes, she whispered a quick prayer: "Father, I don't know why you chose me to find this journal, but Lord I thank you. I ask that you enable me to be a blessing to my sister in her time of need, and give me your wisdom on how I should proceed from here. Please order my steps. In Jesus name… amen." However, nothing, not even God, could prepare Bernadette for what she was about to discover. The journal would change her life forever. MEET SOPHIA CHILDS Copyright © 2008 Tifany Jones. All Rights Reserved. Please let me know what you think! TOP