Prologue

Silence? Not quite. Desert springtime noises fill the air: chirps and twitters and crackles and buzzes sounding a symphony. But still no one speaks. Am I to make the first move? Am I capable of making it? And how much time has passed while standing here before them? Whether mere seconds or minutes, each moment seems to separate us further. Yet there they are, right in front of me, my daughters, standing before me for the first time in four-and-a-half years and, perhaps, waiting for me to take the initiative. But this moment is bigger than me. None of my rehearsed speeches have prepared me for the shock of seeing them, as young women now, on this very land I was trying to run to when I ran away from them.

Inner voices, those from the past that typically tell me conflicting thoughts about myself, are blessedly silent as every cell in my body seems to absorb nuances of the changes in each of my girls. In their eyes I see heartbreak and vulnerabilities, yet I also see strength, wisdom, and maturity, all hard won, from having survived. In the way their arms are interwoven, I also see ties weaving the three of them together, perhaps even closer than they realize.

I don’t see my father getting out of the car, or the satisfied look that passes between him and my husband. I only hear a voice in my head, one that’s been there a long time now, battling my grandmother June’s shrill taunts. Only later, months later, will I fully understand why this is the voice I should’ve been listening to all along. Yes, this comforting voice whispering into the deep recesses of my mind.

Now see there? I told you life is perfect.