Free The Guest Book by Marybeth Whalen Page A

“See that ripple way out there? That’s a sub!”
    Emma giggled and rolled her eyes at Macy as if to say, “Uncle Max is crazy.”
    “Hey, I’m going down. You guys want to stay up here a bit longer?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
    “Sure,” Max said, putting a protective arm around Emma. “I’ve got the munchkin secured.”
    Macy brushed her hand along the tops of both of their heads before walking back down the exterior stairs that led to the roof deck. She loved the view from the roof deck but hated the height.
    Once inside, she slipped into her room and shut the door behind her. She looked around, her heart beating wildly as if she were doing something wrong. Then she took a deep breath and opened the closet door, pulling the cord that hung from the bare bulb to turn on the light. She remembered frantically scribbling the note she’d left for him the last time she’d been here:
    You can hide the guest book under the loose floorboard in the closet of the room I’ve come to think of as mine …
    She used to hide her favorite shells there, leaving a piece of herself behind in the house, assurance of her return. When she’d left that last time, she’d hoped somehow it wouldn’t bethe last time she’d ever hear from him and yet … she’d never even known his name.
    Kneeling down on the floor she felt around for the raised corner of a board that only needed to be tugged lightly to come up. What if it had been fixed? What if someone had found the guest book? What if he’d ignored her request, and she pulled up the board to find some old dirty shells and … nothing else?
    She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, thinking of how this part of her past was a touchstone of sorts. This habit of trading pictures with a stranger who had somehow known the most intimate part of her was the beginning of so many things: her desire to be an artist, her strong attachment to this place, her longing to be loved and be known. Her fingers found the raised board and she began to tug. As she felt the board give way, she whispered aloud into the silence, “The moment of truth.”
    She reached into the dark hole, hoping what she was reaching for would be there.

nine
    M acy heard Max leave for the night, slipping out the front door after one last attempt to get her to join him. Wincing when she heard Brenda’s car start up, she wondered if Brenda heard it too. She sat in front of her open window, watching the stars and wishing on them all. She looked down at the open guest book in her lap. Her wish was big enough she couldn’t just wish on one star. She tucked her hair behind an ear and searched the sky for the answer to all her unspoken questions. Opening the guest book after all these years was like opening Pandora’s box. With it came so many things that were currently buried beneath layers of life experience and disappointment. And yet, beneath all the layers, there was a tiny hope sprouting. Even after all that had happened in the past ten years, she still recognized it, like an old friend she’d lost touch with.
    She ran her hand over the picture he’d left her, grateful that he hadn’t held her decision against her. She had tried to accept that he might not have done as she asked. She wouldn’t have blamed him. She hugged the book to her chest and closed her eyes, envisioning his hand sketching out the drawing, this one done in charcoal with no color added. The absence of color was perfect for communicating what they both felt. A sense of loss pervaded the page.
    She was transported to the last picture she had drawn, the feeling as she sketched that she was losing not just her father, but the artist too. She couldn’t have foretold this future then, but she’d known something was slipping away from her. Her only hope back then was that it would not be forever; that somehow he would come back to her. Or she would come back to him.
    Though Macy was not prone to believing in miracles, this one, she realized