You Will Remember Me by Hannah McKinnon (best sales books of all time txt) 📕

here now, but you may still want to have a talk with her, check if—”

Something came flying in our direction, and before I had time to react a soccer ball bounced off the back of Fiona’s skull. She cried out and dropped her bag, spilling the contents across the ground. I crouched down, helped her pick up her things as the ball’s owner, a little girl with a smattering of freckles and two missing front teeth, ran over.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she said, turning deep red. “I really, really, really didn’t mean to.”

Fiona laughed. “It’s okay, I’m fine. Quite the kick you’ve got there.”

“Thanks,” the girl said with a giggle, grabbing her ball and speeding away.

I turned to Fiona. “Look, I appreciate you telling me about Maya. I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

She nodded. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself, and Lily. She’s lovely, and I hope you don’t mind my saying, but I’m rooting for you guys. You look happy together.”

She gave me another nod, and as she walked away, something multicolored and sparkly by my feet caught my eye. It was a postcard, a glittery picture of a monarch butterfly. I picked it up and turned it over, saw the Boston postmark from years ago. I read the handwritten message, the letters full of loops and swirls.

Dear Fiona and Keenan,

I’m in Boston and everything’s fine, but I don’t think I’ll ever come back. Take care of each other.

Love,

Celine xoxo

I reread the note again, the realization of what I held in my hands making my heart soar. This was the confirmation I’d needed to confront my darkest thoughts. Whether I remembered it or not, this was proof Celine had decided not to come home of her own accord. Maybe I’d encouraged her to leave, yes, but who wouldn’t have, considering her father beat her on a regular basis and her mother did nothing to stop it? Keenan had it all wrong. It wasn’t my fault.

As I read the words again, and then a third time seeking even more reassurance, an uncomfortable sinking feeling I couldn’t place, nor understand, pulled at my stomach. I turned the card over to look at the front picture again and something darted through my mind. Butterflies. Butterflies of all shapes, sizes and colors, hundreds of them, so vivid it felt as if I could catch one with my bare hands.

I called out to Fiona, and when she turned around and saw what I held between my fingers, her face fell. She rushed back and I gave her the postcard, an inexplicable feeling of relief invading my soul as she took it from me.

She clasped it to her chest. “My bookmark! I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.”

“It’s from Celine,” I said, my voice sounding shaky and uncertain.

“It arrived a year after she left,” she said. “I showed you as soon as it arrived and... Of course, you can’t remember. I should’ve thought to share it with you again. I’m an idiot.”

“Did Celine ever send anything else?”

“No. She hasn’t written or called since. This postcard is the last we heard from her.”

I nodded. “Celine loved butterflies.”

“Yes.” Fiona smiled. “They were her favorite thing in the world, aside from you. You took her to the butterfly gardens once. She talked about it for weeks, before and after.” She pulled out her phone, flicked through her photos, held out the screen. It was an old, grainy picture of Celine. In it she wore a light blue summer dress, her long dark hair tied up in a ponytail, her head tilted back, the delight of a full-on laugh captured on her face. She seemed so young, so carefree and happy. Fiona zoomed in on her sister’s neck, and I watched as a silver-and-amethyst butterfly pendant filled the screen.

“You bought it for her that day,” she said. “She loved that necklace. Never took it off. Not once. I bet you she still hasn’t.”

“You must miss her very much.”

“Every day. I don’t understand why she never contacted you again. We were all hoping she would, even if she didn’t call us, but... I don’t know... She was young, impressionable. Maybe she was too scared because she thought we’d find her through you. Perhaps she got mixed up with the wrong crowd.” She let out a huge sigh before a smile settled on her face. “Or maybe she’s sipping cocktails on a beach a lot farther south than this one. Believe me, I’ve googled and combed every social media platform for years without any luck. I do everything I can to imagine her sitting in the sunshine, deliriously happy, because the hardest thing is not knowing.”

“I understand completely.”

She patted my arm. “Of course. Anyway, I’d better get going.”

After saying our goodbyes, I walked back to Lily, and when she asked me if everything was okay, I hesitated. It didn’t feel right to tell her about Maya and this Dave character, not before I’d spoken to my sister about him. Fiona’s suspicions could be unfounded, or a complete misunderstanding.

“She showed me a postcard,” I said. “Celine sent it from Boston about a year after she left, saying she wouldn’t be back. They haven’t heard from her since.”

Lily shook her head. “I can understand a little how she must feel, having someone they love disappear like that.” She paused, reached over to touch my cheek as she smiled. “I got lucky. Maybe Fiona will, too, and Celine will come home one day.”

Not long after, we gathered our things and walked back to the car, our arms brushing lightly until I reached for Lily’s hand. “Thank you for this,” I said. “For making today feel almost normal.”

“You’re welcome. I had a great time. That little girl with the ball could have given you a run for your money. I bet your dad would have joined in, too.”

“Even though he hated it,” I said with a laugh.

“What? No, that’s not true. You told me you guys played all the time when you