It had taken living with the Baumgartners, growing far too attached, to them, to their children, to teach me how to really let go, how to be free, how to love. I was still afraid-the fear of loss was there, whether I tried to pretend it was gone or not-but I was doing it anyway. We’d all learned what it meant to love and lose someone. I didn’t think any of us would ever forget Holly, even though she’d only been with us for such a short time.
And I hoped, somewhere deep in her psyche, Holly would remember us too, remember how much we’d loved her. And I think she’d loved us too, from that deep, soulful part of her that had existed before and would exist long after she came into the world. I didn’t believe in an all-knowing, all-seeing Daddy-God in the sky, like Maureen Holmes did-but I did believe in love. Love went on, endless, before and after everything.
And I loved the Baumgartners. They made it easy, and slowly, finally, I was beginning to understand what it was like to have a home, to be part of a real family.
“Do you think you’ll ever get sick of me?” I whispered.
“Not a chance.” Carrie petted my hair in the dark. “Why, are you sick of us?”
“Never.”
I sighed happily, snuggled down between them, knowing it was true. We belonged to each other now, fully and completely, without reserve. I wasn’t ever going to tire of this.
I was crazy about the Baumgartners.