Sanford Crow

EPILOGUE

The little girl—not so little anymore—waved goodbye to kids on the bus as she stepped off it and entered the warm Florida sun. No one waved back. It was a far cry from the winters up north that Sadie was used to, but she'd grown to loathe the Florida summers. Sadie would swim through the humidity into the air-conditioned house that was her Aunt Ellen and Uncle Peter's.

After her Aunt Ellen learned of what happened to Lucy, her own sister, she and Peter had taken Sadie in. Of course, it wasn't immediate. Sadie had spent some time in the hospital, trying to mend the wounds in her mind. Claremont Medical Facilities offered consultations and programs specifically geared towards children who'd experienced tragedy.

Diane Wesley had come to visit a number of times. Not as a doctor, but as a friend, doing what she could.

"How are you doing today, Sadie?" Diane had asked her. It was a week into her stay.

"I'm okay. Annie and I have been taking music lessons. We're gonna try to start a band."

"That's cool. What kind of music are you gonna play?"

"Whatever kind gets me out of here," Sadie said with a sardonic smile.

"Ha-ha, that's a swell kind to play. And don't worry, you won't be here much longer. I've spoken to your Aunt Ellen. Once you get the okay from the doctor you'll be going to live with her. They live down in Tampa, Florida, on a huge golf course, not too far from the beach."

"I know, I remember being there when I was younger. That was my first and only time on a beach."

"Well, you'll become a beach bum before you know it," Diane said. "They'll be driving up here to pick you—"

"I don't blame you, you know?" Sadie interrupted, cutting off the formidable chit-chat.

Diane was taken aback by the child's blunt candor.

"You don't?"

"If it wasn't for you I'd be dead," Sadie said. Diane was left speechless. She often wondered how much Sadie remembered from that day, what she knew, what she processed.

"You're a very special little girl, do you know that?" Diane said and meant it.

"Duh," Sadie responded and giggled. Diane smiled.

"And if you ever need anything from me, I mean anything at all, I'm always just a phone call away."

"Thank you," Sadie said and lowered her head in thought. "Well, now that you mention it, there's one thing I would like from you. It would really mean a lot."

"Of course, anything at all."

Sadie told her what she wanted; Diane's face darkened. She stared at Sadie for a long while, wondering if it was even possible.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"One-hundred percent."

"Okay, Sadie. I'll see what I can do. It just might take some time."

"Well," Sadie said, "I have plenty of that to go around."

Two and a half years had passed through the season-less haze of Florida. Sadie was an eleven-year-old girl when she stepped off the bus and waved goodbye to no one. She entered her gated community of lush and lavish houses, most with personalized golf carts parked in their driveways with license plates like HoleIn1, EagleEye, Par4Course, and Swinger. Some had fuzzy dice tied around the rearview mirror.

She got to her home and opened the mailbox. First, she sifted through the useless junk: clothing magazines, Golf Digest, coupon catalogs, and a few ads and bills she pushed aside. Then she saw a large, vanilla envelope addressed to her, the return address signed, Dr. Diane Wesley.