lift with quick, heavy treads.
“I’ll talk to her right now!” Knuckles rapped against the door in fiery rhythm.
I sprung from the bed, wiping my sweat-covered hands across my denim thighs. Act natural, be calm. Mom needs calm.
“What?” I opened the door the same way I always did—slow and with a bit of nonchalance.
“Grandmother Carrie wants to know when you’re going to sign up for college. As you know, I think it’s just fine for you to have a year off, what with your dad and all.”
I picked up a strand of my hair and examined its ends. “I don’t think any of the acceptance letters have reached the new address yet. Anyway, I’m still weighing my options.”
Mom turned to yell down the stairs. “She’s weighing her options!”
“Mom,” I whispered, “please don’t fight. I hate when you guys fight.”
She slipped an arm around my shoulder. “Aw, hon. We’re just having a discussion.”
“Well, can you two at least keep it down?”
“Yeah. We can try— I can try. You need to go down there and tell Gran yourself what your plans are for the future. You know, that woman tried to control my future when I was your age, and now she’s trying to control yours. It’s never enough for her. You’re my child and I—” Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “Listen, do what you want. What’s it to me? I’m done.”
The pungent smell of liquor stung the inside of my nostrils.
I watched her leave and stood for a moment, anger spreading through me. Karen’s song was over and had turned into a happy tune. It was sickening and bright: love would never die, life was beautiful. I walked over and grabbed it off the record player, ignoring the scratching needle that dragged along its surface.
I felt just a bit horrible for destroying my favorite record—it was the same one I’d listened to many nights of Dad’s chemo. I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs, cheeks burning. Gran was at the stove with a spatula hanging from her hand.
“You want me to get a life?” I asked her.
She raised an eyebrow. I thought I saw the slight flick of a smile. “Yes.”
“Can I borrow your car?”
“You certainly may.”
I grabbed the keys off the hook on the pantry door and went to yell up the stairs. “I’m going out!”
Mom popped her head into the hall. “Where?”
“I don’t know. You said you’re done. Well, if you’re done, I’m out.”
Her mouth opened then closed into a firm line.
I had to admit, it felt good to shake things up a little. Real good.
There was just one problem with being wild and rash. It created a backlash of thought and feeling that I was unprepared to handle. I drove the car across the Little Indian River bridge and up the wild, curving road toward the bluffs, all while wiping away a torrent of tears. It was the first time I’d cried since his death. But instead of relief I felt pain, so much pain, like a fire building in my throat.
A sign appeared in the headlights of Grandmother Carrie’s Pontiac, alerting me I’d reached the highest point and would have to park or turn around and go back home. I decided to park, and after a slight pause and one last swipe of tears, yanked up the brake and stepped out onto a platform of loose granite, just a small part of the vast landscape called the Ohio Valley.
Sitting up on a boulder, I could see a shaded outline of hills curving out for miles. Jagged tips of limestone stood all around, reaching up to the moon like daggers—they were a fortress wall keeping the rest of the world out of Springvale, protecting time and its threats.
Worst of all was knowing I was so far away from home . . . and Dad. I couldn’t feel him anymore; he was fading, being replaced by this podunk little town I’d been forced to live in.
“It’s not fair,” I muttered into the darkness.
Crying out, I grabbed a handful of rocks and hurled them into the darkness, listening to each ping as they landed. Some hit in a second, others took
“I’ll talk to her right now!” Knuckles rapped against the door in fiery rhythm.
I sprung from the bed, wiping my sweat-covered hands across my denim thighs. Act natural, be calm. Mom needs calm.
“What?” I opened the door the same way I always did—slow and with a bit of nonchalance.
“Grandmother Carrie wants to know when you’re going to sign up for college. As you know, I think it’s just fine for you to have a year off, what with your dad and all.”
I picked up a strand of my hair and examined its ends. “I don’t think any of the acceptance letters have reached the new address yet. Anyway, I’m still weighing my options.”
Mom turned to yell down the stairs. “She’s weighing her options!”
“Mom,” I whispered, “please don’t fight. I hate when you guys fight.”
She slipped an arm around my shoulder. “Aw, hon. We’re just having a discussion.”
“Well, can you two at least keep it down?”
“Yeah. We can try— I can try. You need to go down there and tell Gran yourself what your plans are for the future. You know, that woman tried to control my future when I was your age, and now she’s trying to control yours. It’s never enough for her. You’re my child and I—” Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “Listen, do what you want. What’s it to me? I’m done.”
The pungent smell of liquor stung the inside of my nostrils.
I watched her leave and stood for a moment, anger spreading through me. Karen’s song was over and had turned into a happy tune. It was sickening and bright: love would never die, life was beautiful. I walked over and grabbed it off the record player, ignoring the scratching needle that dragged along its surface.
I felt just a bit horrible for destroying my favorite record—it was the same one I’d listened to many nights of Dad’s chemo. I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs, cheeks burning. Gran was at the stove with a spatula hanging from her hand.
“You want me to get a life?” I asked her.
She raised an eyebrow. I thought I saw the slight flick of a smile. “Yes.”
“Can I borrow your car?”
“You certainly may.”
I grabbed the keys off the hook on the pantry door and went to yell up the stairs. “I’m going out!”
Mom popped her head into the hall. “Where?”
“I don’t know. You said you’re done. Well, if you’re done, I’m out.”
Her mouth opened then closed into a firm line.
I had to admit, it felt good to shake things up a little. Real good.
There was just one problem with being wild and rash. It created a backlash of thought and feeling that I was unprepared to handle. I drove the car across the Little Indian River bridge and up the wild, curving road toward the bluffs, all while wiping away a torrent of tears. It was the first time I’d cried since his death. But instead of relief I felt pain, so much pain, like a fire building in my throat.
A sign appeared in the headlights of Grandmother Carrie’s Pontiac, alerting me I’d reached the highest point and would have to park or turn around and go back home. I decided to park, and after a slight pause and one last swipe of tears, yanked up the brake and stepped out onto a platform of loose granite, just a small part of the vast landscape called the Ohio Valley.
Sitting up on a boulder, I could see a shaded outline of hills curving out for miles. Jagged tips of limestone stood all around, reaching up to the moon like daggers—they were a fortress wall keeping the rest of the world out of Springvale, protecting time and its threats.
Worst of all was knowing I was so far away from home . . . and Dad. I couldn’t feel him anymore; he was fading, being replaced by this podunk little town I’d been forced to live in.
“It’s not fair,” I muttered into the darkness.
Crying out, I grabbed a handful of rocks and hurled them into the darkness, listening to each ping as they landed. Some hit in a second, others took
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