The Last Wish of Sasha Cade

“He’s at work, on a Sunday, if you can believe it,” she says with a laugh. “They’re looking into acquiring some smaller firms in the greater Austin area, so they do all that work on the weekends so as not to interfere with their daily work.”

“Cool,” I say, remembering the look on Elijah’s face when he discovered that Sasha’s adoptive dad is the famous Walter Cade. I bet they would be just as shocked if they knew about Elijah. An uncomfortable feeling settles into my stomach, but I try to ignore it. For now, I have to pretend he doesn’t exist.

Two perfectly arranged chicken Cobb salads wait on the counter, their toppings in neat little rows. Mine has two rows of diced avocado and a cup of ranch dressing next to it.

“Looks great,” I say. Maybe I’m not doing so well if even a salad can bring me to the brink of tears. Cobb salad was Sasha’s favorite — she was of the mindset that a salad isn’t worth eating if it’s not full of bacon bits, ranch dressing a

nd cheddar cheese. Can’t say I disagree with that.

The back of the house has beautiful views of the lake. There’s a long porch that wraps around it and a matching balcony upstairs as well. I can’t believe Sasha will never see this view again.

We sit at the patio table and Mrs. Cade pulls the plastic wrap from her glass pitcher of sangria. Little orange slices and strawberries float in the ice as she pours our glasses.

Sunny sits between our chairs, his eyes on the table. If any scrap of food drops, he’ll be right there to get it. I can almost see Sasha, sitting here with us, tossing him a piece of bacon every few seconds. Mrs. Cade would gripe at her for feeding the dog table scraps and Sasha would apologize. Then she’d do it again.

Having lunch with Sasha’s mom isn’t that uncomfortable after all. I feared I’d be swallowed up with guilt, but soon, we’ve fallen into conversation and it’s almost like the old days. We chat about school, how my parents are doing and about working at Izzy’s. Mrs. Cade is concerned that I might give up my dream of going to vet school just because I picked up a part-time job in a totally different field, but I assure her I’m still excited to work at the animal clinic next summer. I get the feeling that she cares more about my future now that her child isn’t getting one.

We live just outside of the Texas hill country, so the land slopes but isn’t as jagged and hilly as it is near Austin. The Cades’ neighborhood is on a big hill that slopes downward toward the lake, and then the grass turns to rocks and slips into the water a few acres away. Although it’s considered a lake house, their backyard is mostly trees and rocks, with some grassy patches between.

Two deer amble through the yard, their ears twitching.

“Go get the bucket,” Mrs. Cade whispers, pointing toward a plastic container near the porch railing. I grin and rush over there, unscrewing the cap. Inside is a bunch of dried corn, and the deer freaking love it. I grab a handful and toss it out.

The deer rush to eat it all and then look back up at me, begging for more. I toss another handful, my elbows warm on the wooden deck railing as I lean over and coo at the adorable wild whitetails. Soon, more appear out of the trees and I’m feeding about twenty of them while Mrs. Cade comments on how cute they are. It’s not nearly as much fun without Sasha here to give them all funny names.

“I come out here every morning and give them a little snack,” Mrs. Cade says, handing me a glass that she’s refilled. “They’re getting an extra treat now.”

“They’re little gluttons,” I say, tossing out another handful of corn.

“I remember how much corn we went through when you girls were little,” she says, reaching into the bucket to toss some toward a fawn that’s ventured near us. “I’d be inside cooking and all I could hear were giggles and I knew y’all must be feeding the deer.”

I smile at the warm memory of our childhood. I loved coming here when I was younger. “I miss her,” I say, breaking my own rule of not saying anything that will make me sad.

“I think we always will,” Mrs. Cade says softly. When she turns to me, her eyes are brimming with tears. “Every day I just tell myself how lucky I am to have had her in my life, even if only for a little while.”

I nod, my throat too tight to say anything. Which is lucky, because I’m afraid I’ll blurt out what I’m really thinking. It is killing me to keep Elijah a secret, especially now when Mrs. Cade and I are sharing this moment of raw pain.

I think meeting Elijah would be good for her. But I can’t break my promise to Sasha, no matter how much I wish I could, so I bite the inside of my lip and put on a smile.

“Thanks for having me over,” I say.

“Anytime, Raquel.” Mrs. Cade’s hand wraps around my shoulder. “You’re a part of the family, I hope you know that. I’m here for you anytime.”

Before I leave, I lie and say I need to use the restroom. Since Mrs. Cade is busy loading dishes into the dishwasher, I bypass the half bath in the hallway and rush upstairs, Sunny on my heels. I don’t even realize what I’m doing until I’m standing in Sasha’s doorway.

Her room is just the way she left it, bed made, a stack of romance novels on her nightstand.

Tiny pictures of us from photo booths are taped to the side of her vanity mirror. Her curtains are pulled open, revealing her familiar bay window.

My hand rests on the doorframe. I don’t go inside because I know I can’t bear it. After a moment, I breathe in deeply, the scent of Sasha’s room igniting every memory I have of my best friend. Sunny appears beside me. I lean down and wrap him in a warm doggie hug. He licks my forehead and I smile, despite the pain. “I miss her, too,” I whisper.

I close my eyes and set every part of her room to memory. This room is still Sasha, even though Sasha is gone.

Chapter Eleven

There’s a package waiting for me when I get home from school on Monday. It’s about the size of a shoebox, with unfamiliar handwriting addressing the package to me. The return address simply says “A friend” and I know it’s from Sasha.

In my excitement, I almost call Izzy and say I won’t be coming into work today. Then I think better of it and take the package inside, sneaking past Dad, who is passed out in the recliner. He just got home from an eighteen-hour truck route so he’s going to be exhausted for a while. He’ll probably sleep until he goes back to work on Wednesday.