A Love Song for Ricki Wilde (98)
Della swallowed, a dry lump forming in her throat. She’d waited forever to hear these words.
Blinking back tears, she peered at the photo. It was her mother, undeniably. It was the same face of the woman in the Eden Lounge promo shot Felice had sent back home to Nana. It was Felice. Della’s heart sank at the desperation in her mother’s eyes. The vulnerability peeking out from the tough exterior.
That’s the girl whose honor I defended in the schoolyard, she thought. I was fighting for this lost, misunderstood girl who used the only powers she had to get ahead. A hungry girl who wanted more. I was fighting for her. I wasn’t the only one.
Ezra had fought for her, too.
She knew that now.
“I believe you,” she said.
Ezra and Ricki looked at each other and then at Della. They sat back in their seats, relief flooding them both.
“Thank God,” breathed Ricki.
Yes, Della believed them. But, with growing horror, she realized that meant Ricki really did have only a few more days left. Della might have been at peace with her own passing, but she couldn’t bear it for Ricki. Her granddaughter had things to do! So much beauty to pour into the world. So much good love to bask in.
It wasn’t her time.
“Now,” Della said, her voice weak from talking. “What’s to be done about this curse?”
“There’s nothing we can do,” Ricki said, resigned. “Felice sacrificed herself to activate the curse. The only way to reverse it would be to sacrifice someone else. Which is impossible.”
“Listen to me. And I truly believe this—you’ll be fine,” Della said with a sigh. “Between the two of you? I got a feeling you can fix anything that comes your way. Hex or no hex. But I’m tired; I need to go to bed. Ricki, take that look off your face. This isn’t the last time we’ll see each other. And Ezra?”
“Ma’am?”
“Thank you for this,” she said, holding the photograph to her chest. “Thank you.”
After they left, Della lay on the couch for hours. She kept thinking of what Ezra had said. She missed you and she loved you. And wanted to be with you. As Della reflected on this, she reminded herself that she had no regrets. She’d loved hard and well and been loved in return. And she’d checked off almost every item on her bucket list.
1. Dye my hair fluorescent pink.
2. Date a woman. Preferably younger.
3. Visit one of those nude Russian bathhouses.
4. Ride a helicopter over Manhattan.
5. Bury a grudge.
Bury a grudge.
Her heart began to thunder in her chest. Without thinking, she fished a ballpoint pen and Ricki’s wildflower seed note cards out of the coffee table drawer. The ones that Ricki said were plantable. In her now-almost-unreadable scrawl, she wrote:
Dear Mama,
I understand. And I love you.
Always,
Your Adelaide
Using all the strength she had, she rose from the chaise lounge. Naaz helped her down the stairs and outside, to the front of Wilde Things. Along the footpath in front of the shop, Ricki had plotted a small garden of lush greenery. With Naaz’s assistance, Della dug a small hole with her hands. She buried her note in the rich soil. Patting dirt over the hole, she said a silent prayer that the paper would birth a colorful array of wildflowers. From her forgiveness, a permanent flowering would grow in tribute to a woman born at the wrong time and in the wrong place—a doomed girl who, with the right care, love, and support, might’ve learned to use her unfathomable powers for good.
Della buried her grudge. And now she was at peace.
CHAPTER 23
A LOVE SONG FOR RICKI WILDE
February 28–29, 2024
Leap Day
It was time.
The hours leading up to leap day were warm, in that weird, climate-changey way. To Ricki, the world was off-balance. Everything felt disjointed, surreal, and hazy—especially the energy between Ricki and Ezra. Time seemed to hiccup, jumping from 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m., then to 4:30. Lost in sorrow, the two of them barely spoke for most of the day. The level of helplessness Ezra felt had ratcheted from cruel to torturous. There was no way to save Ricki. He’d tried to preemptively check her in to the ER, but as it turned out, there was no way to hospitalize and prevent a totally healthy woman’s alleged future death due to circumstances unknown.
Ricki stopped by Tuesday’s condo for a final farewell, but her best friend refused to entertain her dark fate. Instead of saying goodbye, she gave Ricki an aromatherapeutic facial and a glass of chardonnay. Ms. Della wouldn’t say goodbye, either. When Ricki knocked on her door—face dour, shoulders slumped—the elder woman shook her finger in her face, handed her a Lorna Doone, and sent her on her way.
A world without Ricki was too outrageous for her people to accept.
She didn’t contact her family. Saying goodbye to them would involve explaining why, which was impossible. Fading away felt cleaner, somehow. Kinder. Deep down, she prayed that her sisters had told her parents that she was doing well, even if it was a long shot, considering she’d unceremoniously booted them from her abode. She hoped they’d told them about Ezra, his delicious meal, her gorgeous shop, and maybe they would even share the article about her viral flowers. She hoped her dad knew she’d found success, that she’d built all of this herself.