Last Light Falling Read Free

believe she was chosen for a much-needed cause in this world that many of us so seemingly avoid— selflessness.
    On the early evening of July fourth, Grace’s fifteenth birthday, she finished a long day of volunteering at the homeless shelter and couldn’t wait to go home for her family’s annual firework festivities. On her way back to the car where Niki was waiting, Grace fell lifeless on the pavement. A gunshot to the head killed her instantly. It was a useless act of bloodshed that had nothing to do with her—it was collateral damage resulting from a gang dispute. An innocent victim plagued by yet another string of street violence.
    Myra never mentioned anything about Grace’s death, nor did I feel the need to ask. I feel somewhat cold and hardened inside every time I think about it, and it’s all I can do to muster up a quick smile before anyone notices. While I try to enjoy the rest of the morning birthday celebration, I can’t help but notice Myra’s glassy eyes as she smiles. Could this specially baked gesture actually be a broken memory from the death of her daughter? As I stare at her right now, it saddens me to imagine what’s going on in her mind. I too have that broken-heartedness. Ever since Niki told me about Grace, I prayed deep inside that Gabe and I could stay forever with Myra and Daniel. Regardless of how Gabe may feel about wanting to be adopted, I allow my selfishness to terminate any of those hopes because of the kinship of brokenness I share with Myra. She loves me just as much as my real mother loved me.
    As I stare motionless at the rest of the uncut cake, covered in red, white and blue frosting, I realize now the emotional attachment that I share with Myra will not easily be broken. Aside from our last name scripted in black icing, I wonder if this is what Grace’s cake may have looked like on her fifteenth birthday. Suddenly, I don’t feel like eating, yet I feel compelled for Myra’s sake. As strange as it may seem to be eating birthday cake at 8:00 in the morning, it’s worth it to see Myra’s face light up like my mother’s.

CHAPTER 2
    The meaning of our last name—Power—never sparked any interest until this morning, but somehow our last name that’s scripted on the cake has roused a curiosity. I know that both my mother and father were born in Ireland before moving to the States, so we obviously have Irish blood, but
Power
just doesn’t seem to speak “Irish surname.” It sounds more like the last name of a superhero.
    The curiosity begins to eat at me as I enjoy my slice of sugary decadence. I look up at Myra and smile with approval. “You’ve outdone yourself, Myra. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything quite like this. It’s pure, sugary heaven.”
    “Yes,” agrees Gabe with his mouth stuffed.
    “Thank you for all the trouble you went through to make this for us,” I say. I know she must be thinking about Grace when she smiles at our indulgence.
    “You are both very welcome. Fifteen is a very special year,” says Myra.
    I imagine she’s thinking of her fifteen-year-old daughter. Maybe that’s why she made the cake—to enjoy the thought of remembering Grace in me. I get up from the table and hug Myra, and out of nowhere, I whisper in her ear, “I love you, Mom.” She squeezes me with acceptance, not saying a word, as if those three words didn’t shock her. This is the first time I called her anything but Myra. I don’t know why I said it, but it felt good to say.
    The curiosity of our last name is still killing me, so I quickly excuse myself and go back upstairs to my room. I search the Internet, and I’m shocked to find what my last name means. Not what I was thinking at all—in fact, it suits us just fine. “The Poor Man,” I say with a slight eye roll. It’s evident that we were perfectly chosen for this name.
    We were born to Abigail and William Power. Growing up, we had little to nothing in the way of clothing and food. My dad worked at a