As usual, Tata has already left for the sea. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Somehow I’d hoped that he’d have breakfast with us this morning. I try not to check where he slept, but the bed is still untouched and he’s left his pillow on the floor.

When I open my notebook to write today’s list, I notice these words in my father’s handwriting:

I care.

Open

Open

After school, I go to my parents’ room and open the bottom drawer, where I know my mother kept special memories. I know that because every year she opened it and dragged out her blue fiesta queen dress. Today I find out what else is in there. I discover a tiny box that holds baby teeth. Seeing them makes me think of when I lost my first one. Tata had said, “Put your tooth under the pillow and the tooth fairy will leave you a quarter.”

Then my mother said, “Oh, I’ve heard the tooth fairy leaves five dollars now.” Tata choked on his sandwich. He coughed while Mom laughed. In the morning I had five dollars waiting under my pillow.

There’s a locket on a thin chain that’s worked its way into a tangled ball at one corner of the drawer. Inside the locket is a picture of my grandmother and grandfather. They died before I was born.

At the bottom of the drawer is a stack of stories tied with a yellow ribbon. At first I think they’re Olivia’s because the handwriting is big and awkward. Then I see my name spelled out, but the s is backward. I even remember one of the stories. It was about a wild pig that lived in the jungle, probably the beginning of the pig stories I tell Olivia. I got a C+ on it, which for some reason makes me mad. It was a good story. And I was only a little kid. That should count for something. But now the thought of my mother saving it, tying a yellow ribbon around the story like it was special to her, makes my insides tumble.

I don’t know why my mother left us, why she stopped playing silly songs on the ukulele, laughing at Frank’s stupid knock-knock jokes, why she stopped dancing with my father. But now finding all these things in her drawer of treasures, I do know that no matter how much sorrow filled my mother, she loved me. This I know for sure.

Sober

Sober

All week I’m filled with happy memories of my mother. Then today I remember dark and painful moments.

Remember the drives to St. Cletus School, Mom? I prayed to every saint while you speeded, our car hugging the edge of the road that winds up the cliff toward Talofofo.