One of Those Hideous Books Where the Mother Dies (15 page)

But I'm back now. From wherever the heck I was. And I'm not asking you to forgive me. It's just that I need you to know how truly sorry I am.

Love,

Lizzie

It Feels So Good

To dial Lizzie's number
and hear that raspy voice of hers
saying, “Hello?”

It feels so good to tell her
that I got her e-mail.

And that all
is forgiven.

At Sunset

I'm lying on the grass,
in the middle of Dad's palm forest,
with my arms cradling my head,
staring up at the graceful trees.

The fronds are fringed with fiery red,
bobbing and dancing in the soft breeze,
swishing and swaying
like headless hula girls.

It's funny.
I can remember hating palm trees.
I can even remember hating Coolifornia.
I just can't remember

why.