“I’m happy for you, Nikki,” she says with a hesitant smile— the kind of smile you form when you don’t know if you’re happy or scared. I know she’s scared— for both of us.
“Thank you for everything,” I say, hugging Ashley tightly. I’m not normally a touchy-feely person, so this unexpected demonstration of affection makes Ash start to cry.
“Nikki, we have a lot to do before you can get on a flight with your Aunt tomorrow.” Isn’t that just like Evil Evans, not being sensitive enough to spot a moment between Ashley and me?
Aunt Claire steps in. “Why don’t you come to the airport with us tomorrow, Ashley? We can have lunch and you can spend a little time together before our flight. The car service can take you back home after.”
I feel like I’m Annie and I’ve just been adopted by Daddy Warbucks. Ashley squeals a thank you at Aunt Claire and squeezes me once again. At least I’ll be departing Brookside in style.
***
As I pack up the last of my things in Ashley’s trailer, I start to wonder if I’ve made the right decision. The way Aunt Claire looked at Donna and the dim, cramped trailer makes me wonder if she’s looking at me the same way now. Whenever she’s come to visit, Ms. Evans has always driven me to a restaurant or her hotel. Aunt Claire comes from a world where trailer parks don’t exist. I don’t know if that’s the right world for me. This is the only life I’ve ever known.
I tuck away my thoughts, reminding myself that finding my sister is more important than my feeling a little uncomfortable. I don’t intend to live with Aunt Claire forever, or even to stay in California. I just need to find my sister and figure out what to do from there.
“Almost ready, Nikki?” Aunt Claire asks as she comes in from bringing the next-to-last box from the trailer out to the waiting town car. “We have to get the boxes over to a delivery store. You know you have to pay just to take a bag on the plane these days. So, we’ll ship whatever we can.”
The truth is, I didn’t know. I’ve never even been on a plane before. But I agree, pretending what she says makes sense.
Picking up the box I’ve purposely left for last, I ask, “Can I carry this small one on the plane with me? Will it count as a bag?”
Aunt Claire stares at the small cardboard box clutched in my hands. “Of course, you can carry anything that’s important to you.” Her voice gentle, she asks, “Is that box important? We could get a new box. That one looks just about ready to fall apart, I think. They sell them in the UPS package store we’re going to.”
“Just some of my mom’s things and a few pictures. Things I’ve moved in the same box every time we moved.” My own voice drops, becoming shaky, as I answer. It isn’t easy to leave. Mom and I didn’t live here that many years, but this is the first time I’ve ever moved without her.
Aunt Claire’s face turns solemn. I’m not sure if it’s because I mentioned Mom or because I mentioned moving around a lot. I get the feeling Aunt Claire feels badly that I’ve had what she thinks must have been a crappy life, full of moving over and over again.
“I’m sorry, Nikki. I can’t image how hard this is for you. You must miss your mother. I’m so sorry, honey.” Tears gently roll down her face. I’ve never seen anyone cry in such a polite, pretty way before.
“She was also your sister.” I don’t look at her as I say the next words. “I’d imagine that it’s just as hard to lose a sister. At least I got to spend most of my time with her…you weren’t that lucky.”
Aunt Claire nods solemnly. I turn to look for Ash, so we can leave, but she’s nowhere in sight. Instead, Donna has snuck up behind me.
“We’re going to miss you, honey,” she says, holding out her arms. If Aunt Claire is Daddy Warbucks, Donna is playing the part of Miss Hannigan to a tee. She hasn’t called me honey in the five hundred times I’ve walked through her door. I’m suddenly conscious of the smell of her cigarettes and cheap perfume.
At the door, I turn back to take one last look around, sending a silent prayer to Mom: I promise I won’t let California change me, no matter what.
Chapter 12
Zack—
Long Beach, California
I hear the door bell ring but I don’t leave my room. That’s the way it’s been every day since it happened. People came by a lot more in the beginning. Friends from school, neighbors, my aunt and cousins. It took five months, but the stream of well-wishers has finally slowed down. Maybe that’s the way it happens. Time just has a way of making things ease up. For me? Nothing has dulled the pain since Emily died.
My mom’s talking to someone downstairs but I don’t recognize the voice. That’s happened a lot too lately. I hear things, but nothing registers. Voices and words all jumble together and it all sounds the same. Nothing sparks my interest, nothing brings me out of my haze.
The talking stops again. I guess whoever came by has left. People don’t stick around long since Emily died. Even my parents, who come in my room a dozen times a day, maybe more, leave quickly.
There’s a knock at my bedroom door but I don’t bother to get up. Mom and Dad don’t wait for me to answer anyway. They knock once and come in. I get the feeling they’re afraid of what they might find if they wait to knock a second time.
A second knock. That breaks my trance and I look to the door. A third knock is accompanied by a low voice, “Zack, your mom told me it was okay to come up. Can I come in?” She pauses and then softly adds, “Please.”