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But for some reason the memory didn’t make me laugh, even though Mom and Dad and I

laughed for a very long time when it happened.

At various times on the car ride I would notice that one or another of us was crying. Then we began telling stories about Mom and soon we were laughing. Then we put on another tape.

Almost three hours went by before Dad said, “We’re almost there.”

“A special place?” I asked.

“The place where I proposed to your mother.”

When Dad said that, part of me wanted to cry, and part of me wanted to laugh. Since I had done so much crying lately, I decided to let myself laugh. And I exclaimed, “Dad, I can’t believe you and Mom were so conventional! You proposed to her? Like in the movies? That’s so old-fashioned. It sounds like something Mom’s father would have done.”

“It’s exactly what your father did,” spoke up Aunt Morgan.

“But somehow it just felt right to us,” Dad said. “It was very romantic.”

“How did you propose to her, Dad? Tell us everything.” Mom recorded her wedding in one of her journals but not Dad’s proposal.

“Let’s wait until we’re there and I can show you.”

“Okay.” Even though what Dad was going to show us would be sad, I was awfully eager to see how he had asked Mom to marry him.

8:41 P.M.

Dad pulled off the highway at a rest stop, and we parked in a lot. We were pleased to see that only two other cars were there. We unloaded our things and Aunt Morgan was about to lock the car when I said, “Um, Dad, the …” I gestured toward the urn.

Dad took it and we walked through a small wooded area. When we stepped out of the trees we found ourselves on a rocky cliff above the ocean. The cliff wasn’t too steep, though, and a wooden staircase led to the beach below, where waves crashed on more rocks.

I heard Dawn suck in her breath. “Ooh. It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

It was stunning. At first, none of us said a word. We just gazed out at the ocean. Finally Dad said, “Let’s have our picnic up here. We’ll go down to the beach later. That’s where Mom wants her ashes scattered.”

“Before we eat, will you show us how you proposed to Mom?” I said. I just couldn’t let go of that. I was dying of curiosity.

Dad smiled. “All right.”

Aunt Morgan spread a blanket on the ground and she and Dawn and I sat on it.

Dad stood by the edge of the cliff. “Well,” he began, “your mother was sitting here, Sunny, with her legs dangling over the edge. And I tiptoed up behind her and stuck a yellow rose in front of her. When she turned around to look at me, I said, ‘Honey, there’s something I want to ask you.’

I think she knew what it was, but she said, ‘Yes?’ very seriously. And then I got down on one knee, like this — ”

“Dad, you didn’t!”

“Yes, I did. And I was proud of it. Then I pulled a box out of my pocket, opened it up, and showed your mother the ring inside. I said, ‘Will you marry me?’ And without even thinking about it for a moment, she said, ‘Yes.’ ”

“How long did you wait before you got married?”

“Only a few days. We’d already been living together, so it wasn’t a big deal, really. We came back here to get married.”

That much I had suddenly figured out, thanks to Mom’s journals, but Dawn said, “Back here?

To the cliff?”

“Yes.”

“You mean you brought the minister and everyone here?”

“Right here,” said Aunt Morgan.

“Oh, that’s right,” I said. “You were in the wedding. It was your reconciliation.” Dad and Aunt Morgan looked at me, and I added, “I’ve been reading Mom’s journals.” I paused for a moment.

“She wrote all about the wedding, but not about how you proposed to her.”

“She was funny about the journals,” said Dad thoughtfully. “She only wrote in them

sporadically. She’d go weeks without writing in them, and then she’d write in them furiously for days.”

“I’m still getting a pretty good idea about her life,” I said.

Dad told Dawn about the wedding, and then we set out our picnic. I think we had all thought we wouldn’t be able to eat, and then we all realized we were starved. So we dug in. And we talked about Mom some more.

When we finished eating, Dad looked out at the ocean. “Well,” he said, “I guess we should put our things away and go down to the beach.” He looked so sad that I put my arms around him for a moment. Then, wordlessly, we set everything back in the picnic basket, and Dad cradled the urn in his arms. We made our way down the wooden stairs to the sand.

We stood in a line at the water’s edge. I realized I didn’t know what to do, so I looked at Dad and Aunt Morgan. They looked like they didn’t know what to do either.

After a moment, Dad said, “Let’s just think about your mom for a bit.”

So we did.

Even though I have been doing nothing but thinking about Mom practically forever, I stood on the beach then and thought about her some more.

Dad said, “Any last things anyone wants to say to her?”

Dawn whispered, “Good-bye.”

Aunt Morgan murmured, “My sister. I’ll see you in the next life.”

I said, “I love you, Mom.”

And Dad said, “One connection can’t be broken. We’re together for eternity. Good-bye.”

At that point, when I heard Dad’s words, the tears I’d been holding in during the picnic flooded out. In a moment all four of us were crying — sobbing and hugging. When we had calmed

down, Dad opened the urn, waded into the ocean, and scattered some of the ashes over it. Then he held it out to me. I did the same, followed by Aunt Morgan, and then Dawn. I noticed, though, that Dawn was careful not to empty the urn completely. With some ashes still inside, she handed it to Dad again, and he scattered the last of Mom over the Pacific Ocean. The he turned toward the beach and we waded ashore and climbed the stairs to the top of the cliff.

On the way Dawn said to me, “Your mom told me to take care of you.”

“She told me to take care of you too.”

“She just wants us all to take care of each other.”

I nodded.

Dad and Aunt Morgan and Dawn and I carried our things back to the car and began the drive home. This time we didn’t play music. We didn’t even talk much. At some point Dawn and I fell asleep. We slept until Dad turned into our driveway.

11:12 P.M.

Can’t sleep. Again.

Why? I thought I’d be able to sleep.

When the funeral and today’s ceremony were over, I thought I’d be able sleep [sic].

Tuesday, 3/30 [sic]

4:26 P.M.

School is so boring.

Life is so boring.

What is wrong with everyone?

What is wrong with me?

Aunt Morgan is gone. Dad is back at work. Came home today to an empty house. Yesterday too, but Dawn was with me.

I don’t like an empty house. Especially one that is empty because someone died in it.

Wednesday 3/31

7:40 P.M.

Dad worked late tonight so I am on my own.

One thing about an empty house. You get a lot of homework done. I am staring to catch up. Got an A on an English test.

Friday, 4/2

5: 14 P.M.

MOM, I MISS YOU SO MUCH.

How long am I going to miss you in this way?

It hurts.

9:37 P.M.

Hey, Mom, are you here with me? Can you read this? I’m writing it for you, you know.

I think I can feel you with me, a little.

I still really need you, Mom.

I miss you.

I love you.

About the Author

ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, NJ, with her

parents and her younger sister, Jane.

Although Ann used to be a teacher and then an editor of children’s books, she’s now a full-time writer. She gets ideas for her books from many different places. Some are based on personal experiences. Others are based on childhood memories and feelings. Many are written about contemporary problems or events.

All of Ann’s characters are made up. But some of her characters are based on real people.

Sometimes Ann names her characters after people she knows; other times she chooses names she likes.

In addition to California Diaries, Ann Martin has written many other books, including the Baby-sitters Club series. She has written twelve novels for young people, including
Missing Since
Monday
,
With You or
[sic]
Without You
,
Slam Book
, and
Just a Summer Romance
.

Ann M. Martin does not live in California, though she does visit frequently. She lives in New York with her cats, Gussie, Woody, and Willy, and her dog, Sadie. Her hobbies are reading, sewing, and needlework — especially making clothes for children.

“When I’m gone,” Mom was saying, “you and Dad take care of each other, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered.