Read Online What You Left Behind by Jessica Verdi - Free Book Online Page A

her eyebrows quirked warily.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThere’s some pretty intense stuff in there. What she was going through… Anyway, I thought I should warn you.”
    Guess what? We were all going through some pretty intense stuff then.
    â€œI’m sure I’ll be fine.” I make the split-second decision not to read the journal all in one sitting. If I read it slowly, piece by piece, my time with her will last longer. “Thanks, Mabel.”
    She kisses Hope on the forehead and passes her to me. “Can I see her more often?”
    â€œOf course. Come over whenever you want.”
    She smiles.

Chapter 6
    Back at home, I hand Hope off to Mom. “I’m gonna go to my room for a while, ’kay?”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Mom asks, nodding to the notebook tucked under my arm.
    â€œNothing, don’t worry about it.”
    â€œWe have to talk about—”
    I close the door on her and slide onto my bed, backing up so I’m wedged in the corner. I open the book.
    January 11.
    She wrote this more than seven months after the green journal, five weeks before she died. It’s a short entry.
    I know Ryden blames himself for me getting pregnant. I wish he wouldn’t. It’s not his fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. “Fault” is the wrong word. “Fault” implies something bad, regretful, unfortunate. If he could only see what I see, he would know this baby isn’t something to be sorry about at all. It’s a happy thing. It’s amazing. Maybe someday he’ll understand that. I hope so anyway.
    I shake my head. Even that late in the game, she was still so sure she was going to make it through. But I know that if she’d opened her eyes and seen what the rest of us saw—that she was deteriorating, fast—she would have felt differently about blaming me.
    Just one more, and then I’ll stop reading…
    January 16.
    I told Ryden what I want to name the baby today. Hope Rosa Brooks. I like the sound of that. Pretty. Strong. The name of someone who has her two feet solidly on the ground and knows which direction to walk.
    I remember that conversation. We were in my room, under the covers, sharing a pillow, staring at each other. (My mom didn’t care. Meg was already pregnant, so what difference did it make if we were in bed together? Anyway, we were fully clothed.) Even seven months pregnant and close to death’s door, Meg was so beautiful.
    Things were good between us again. The only thing we’d ever really fought about was the abortion, and yeah, that was an enormous fight, and it lasted a long time, right up until it was too late for her to have one and the fighting became pointless. But even through her blatant disregard for my opinion, for my concern for her well-being, I’d never considered breaking up with her. We were in the shittiest of shitty situations, but we were in it together.
    I brushed her hair out of her eyes. God, I loved that crazy hair.
    But then I felt sick for thinking that, because the fact that Meg still had her hair meant she’d stopped chemo, which meant she wasn’t getting any better.
    â€œHope Rosa Brooks,” I repeated, testing the feel of the name on my tongue, trying to distract myself from Meg’s hair and all its implications.
    â€œWhat do you think?” she asked.
    â€œWhat does it mean?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, what does it mean?”
    â€œI know you, Meg. You’re the most organized person I’ve ever met. I know you have a reason for everything. Usually a long, thought-out reason.”
    She smiled. “Okay, fine. So, Rosa because of Rosa Parks.”
    â€œThat bus lady? Why?”
    She rolled her eyes. “I want our daughter to grow up knowing she can do anything she puts her mind to.”
    I nodded. “Okay, what about the Brooks part? Shouldn’t it be Reynolds?”
    â€œIt’s traditional for a child to take