The Last Wish of Sasha Cade

“The very same,” I say, letting out a sigh. The Cades could have afforded to raise two kids, and if Sasha’s birth parents had only given them up at the same time, maybe they could have been together.

Maybe Elijah is thinking the same thing, because his expression is tight, almost like he’s annoyed. He points toward the boat’s shiny backside. “That’s probably for us.”

I follow his finger to an envelope taped to the boat’s back door. I can’t read the writing from here, but the pink Sharpie gives it away.

We share an excited grin as I rush over to the edge of the dock. I pause, looking down at the dark distance of water that stretches about a foot from the dock to the boat’s narrow walkway. This is the part I’ve always hated. That little hop from the shore to the boat, those few inches between safety and safety, where one misstep sends you falling into the abyss below.

“Here,” Elijah says. He leaps over the abyss in a quick step, then turns around and offers me his hand.

Eager to read Sasha’s note, I slip my cupcake bag onto my elbow, take his hand and jump across. Once I’m safely (and probably illegally) on someone else’s private property, I make the mistake of glancing up at Elijah, and our eyes meet. My anxiety only eases up a bit when he blinks. “You okay?” he asks, his hands on my elbows to steady me. He doesn’t smell like motor oil today, just the faint scent of soap.

I nod stupidly and turn around, ripping the envelope off the door. I fold the piece of masking tape around the top of the envelope, noticing a black grease thumbprint on it. I wonder who Sasha asked to put this here? Are they watching us now?

“Let’s go,” I say, leaping back onto the dock without waiting for Elijah’s help. He follows me back down the dock and out the metal gate, and then we head to the boat rental booth a few docks down.

“What do you think it says?” He’s grinning as he nudges me with his elbow.

I turn the envelope over in my hands: another greeting card by the looks of it. I blow out the breath I’ve been holding and gaze up at him, glad he can’t see my eyes through these massive sunglasses. “Something that will make me cry, I’m sure.” I can’t deal with this right now.

Mother Nature has blessed us with a beautiful day for boating out on the lake. The sun glitters on the water, a dark blue oasis in the middle of Texas. There are other boats out, some Jet Skis and an actual yacht, but Elijah steers us away from everyone else, cutting the throttle once we’re in the middle of an empty bay.

“How’d you learn how to drive a boat so well?” I ask, rising from the squishy seat and attempting to smooth down my crazy hair. This tiny boat is nothing like the luxury of Sue’s Paradise. It’s a ski boat, so it’s impossibly small, made only for pulling someone on skis or an inner tube while two or three people sit on board. The pleather seats are cracked and faded, and the inside is covered in laminated safety warnings taped there by the rental company.

Elijah shoots me a grin and then walks the short distance to the back of the boat, where a blue canopy is folded down, locked into place. “You don’t want to know,” he says while he unbuckles the straps. I help him undo the other side and we both raise the canopy, locking it into position. Now we can hang out for hours without getting baked into human cookies.

“Well, now I have to know.” I sit on one of the two long bench seats that face each other. It’s not like I’d say it out loud, but I’m not sure how a guy who grew up in a group home would have ever learned how to drive a boat.

He hefts his backpack up on the opposite bench seat and pulls out a small cooler filled with sodas. After offering me one, he takes out a to-go bag from Paco’s Tacos.

“I’m waiting,” I say, crossing my arms.

“We’re supposed to be talking about Sasha, not my boat-driving knowledge.”

I reach over and take the envelope, which is still unopened, and hold it threateningly over the side of the boat. It’s an empty threat, of course. I’d never toss anything from my best friend.

Elijah shakes his head and says, “Fine. But no laughing.”

“I won’t laugh.”

He grabs three foil-wrapped tacos from the bag, then hands one to me. “I spent like two hours online, watching videos about it. I mean, I figured it can’t be much harder than driving a motorcycle.”

I’m pretty sure I can drive this boat myself if I need to, otherwise his confession might scare me. Instead, I just think it’s really, really cute. I force my lips to remain still. Elijah points at me. “You promised, Raquel!”

His breezy tone makes me think of Sasha. I bring the envelope back into my lap and rip it open.

“Read it out loud?” Elijah says.

“‘Hey favorites, it’s your favorite dead person again. I’m sorry, is that too soon? When can you start making jokes about being dead? Surely I can do it first, since I’m the dead one. Anyhow, you’re getting this note at the marina. I hope you have a kick-ass time at the lake, I hope the weather is beautiful, and if the rules of the afterlife somehow let me hang out on the boat with you, I will.

“‘The second part of your adventure today is a quick one. It’s not really a big deal, but I’m adding it to the list because it’s not every day you get a photo of yourself memorialized forever. Rocki, take him to Karen’s Dance Studio and show him that photo, okay? That’s all for now. I love you and miss you both. Sasha.’”

“A photo at a dance studio?” Elijah asks, his head seeming to rise and fall as the boat rocks from a passing boat’s

wake.

“Sasha was a ballerina for several years,” I explain between bites of my taco. Even after sitting in a backpack on a motorcycle ride, these things are really good. “Sasha won at the state level, and it was the first and only time someone from that little studio won anything fancy. Ten-year-old Sasha is on a massive plaque hanging on the wall. It’s like five feet tall, no joke.”

“I definitely have to see that,” Elijah says, balling up the foil from his first taco and tossing it back in the bag. He reaches for another one and then slides down in the seat, stretching out his legs and tipping his head toward the sun. “This is going to be a great day.”