Chapter 1 Alternate

Tell me which of the 2 starts (chapter 1) to the story sounds more interesting...

“Cara was an amazing person. She brought happiness to everyone around her. She was active in our community and never turned away a body in need of her unorthodox healing ways.” The pastor droned on, spouting all of the things my gran had done in her life. The things I'd told him about her 3 days prior during our meeting about the funeral. He had no clue. None at all. It was a textbook speech that held no emotion, no care of the person he spoke about. It was cold and rehearsed and I could barely contain my anger. I was still in a daze. Everything had happened so quickly. I hadn't shed a tear. Not when I found her body, not when I made the funeral arrangements and called her two sisters, not when I got dressed this morning. I'd moved through the past few days like a robot, her death not truly sinking in.  The sadness and grieving would come at some point, the pastor had told me.

A flare of anger course through me again. It was funny how quickly I had turned from a level-headed, down-to-earth, socially inept person to letting everything get to me. It was so much easier being angry than sad. Angry that she had left me, angry that I was being forced to leave my home, angry that she hadn’t bothered to tell me she was dying, when she'd known years before. My hands clenched into fists at miy side, my knuckles white with the strain, my fingernails digging into my palms. My heart pounded in my chest and the blood raced through my veins making my head throb. The air around me became too thick to breathe.

The pastor droned on in a prayer.

Sweat dripped along my cheeks and head in steady torrents of flame. It was August. Midwestern weather in August was brutal; the heat and drought had killed everything green thing mother nature had so carefully nurtured this spring, the land was brown, the ground cracking in thirst, the trees trying desperately to retain a few leaves. This year had been worse than others. Much worse. A droplet of salty liquid stung my eyes and I wiped at them with my hands, angry again, that it had dare to try and blind me. The shade that the gravesite was under provided a much needed respite from the blazing heat beating down from the sun above.

Whoever decided to do this in the middle of the day was an idiot. Oh, wait. That was me.

The pastor went into another round of speech, this time random scriptures quoted from his post-it noted bible.
My whole body started shaking. I felt like one of Yosemite Sam when he lost his temper, afraid steam would come out of my ears and my head would fly off. Closing me eyes, I tried to settle myself before someone noticed. The sounds of heavy breathing, sniffling and a cough or two broke the silence. Someone scraped their feet along the dead grass making a loud crackling sound as it splintered beneath the weight. Heartbeats thrummed in random steady rhythms. Someone was whispering that I was a cold, heartless bitch to not even have a tear-stained face.
I rose abruptly from my seat, unable to catch my breath, wobbling unsteadily on the heels I forced myself to wear today. They were Raye’s. She loaned them to me along with the dress so I would look appropriate for the funeral. The crowd had their heads bowed in prayer, unseeing of anything but the ground below them. The brown, parched ground. At least it wasn't mud. That would make this day friggin’ perfect.
On the left side of the aisle, on the far opposite side of where I had been sitting, the whispering offenders bent there heads together in whispered conversation. One of the heads glanced up at me as I glared at them and then the conversation ended and they bowed their heads. The urge to launch myself across the chairs to throttle them was only held at bay by curling my fingers into my palms more tightly, until the pain redirected my thoughts.
I forced my feet to continue up the aisle. There were people that were my friends and family, neighbors and acquaintances and they all, dressed in their Sunday best, looked like people sitting at a wedding. The only thing that differed was they were all dressed in black and the tears were of sorrow not joy.
The anger surged through me anew. Whose ridiculous idea was it to put a stupid aisle here? My body started to tremble again and my head swam, the world going topsy turvy.
My feet moved forward more quickly, tripping over the crunchy blades of grass the got in my way. a crack grabbed the heel of my shoe at the end of the aisle and I had to grab the edge of an occupied chair to keep myself from falling flat on my ass. A sob escaped my throat in a gasp as found myself  looking into a pair of emerald green eyes. I could get lost in those eyes and the anger flooded out of me for a split second, renewed again when the shoe made me fall, despite my intentions. Now I was not only angry but embarrassed too. Grabbing the shoes off my feet, I flung them out into the field, hearing them make a crunch-plunk sound as they hit the exposed tree roots. Picking myself up, I stumbled toward the pond that lay just across the dirt road. Dust hung in clouds in the air where the road had been disturbed by the wheels of the vehicles now sitting silently on it.
The points of the blades stung my bare feet as I ran headlong down the small hill to the pond. The water called to me, something refreshing and relaxing to settle and soothe my anger. It sparkled and winked in the unforgiving sunlight with ripples caused by some invisible creature. The chairs that gran and I sat in at night listening to the frogs sat lonely on the opposite bank, never to share in the happiness again.
It was suddenly too much. Tears started streaming down my cheeks. The wind blew hot against my face and I could feel them drying in dirty streaks. Reaching the bank, I dropped to my knees wrapping my arms around me to try to hold myself together. Pain rocked my body and sobs came in hysterical waves, one after the other, not allowing me to take a breath in between.
She really left me. She left me. GOD DAMMIT SHE LEFT ME!
The rage and sorrow surged through my body like a virus and brought forth another round of hysterical sobs. I screamed my anger and frustration and agony at the ground, beating it with my fists, welcoming the sharp pain. I huddled my body around my knees as tightly as I could wishing the ground would just swallow me and end my pain. The wracking sobs finally dissipated and all I was left with was a heart-wrenching sadness that I was sure would never go away.
A pale hand appeared out of nowhere holding a white handkerchief toward my face. I jumped in shock losing my balance and pitched forward, landing on a rock that knocked the wind out of me. I pushed myself up gradually to a crawling position, learning how to breathe again. Another wave of uncontrolled rage hit. I turned around on my hands and knees to face my assailant
His shoes were black and shiny, dress patent leather and expensive. His dark gray pants were steamed and creased in a perfect line up his legs. He wore a gray silk shirt covered by a darker gray suit jacket that matched his pants and was perfectly tailored to him. His slender waist was adorned with a thick leather belt and various types of technology. A silk tie draped his neck in deep green. Pale skin rose from the collar to a long pointed face, high cheekbones, long straight nose, full lips, long white-blond hair and emerald green eyes.
The very same eyes I had briefly encountered in my reckless run away from the grave site.
A smirk upturned the corners of his mouth and he held out the handkerchief to me again. I used my dirty, scraped hands to wipe the tears off my face, blatantly ignoring the offering. The movement across my hands made me cringe in pain. They had taken a beating from my tantrum and were raw and bleeding and no doubt bruised. Rising slowly, I dusted off my knees and stood then to face him. I glanced around and realized that the shadows had grown long and the world around us was humming with cicadas singing their evening song. How long had I been down here? The glow of the sun had moved low enough in the sky to outlined his slender frame in pale gold. A light breeze raced across the thick, heavy air, causing his fine, pale hair to stream around his face in streamers of luminescence.
He was absolutely stunning. Whatever had been in my head stopped at my lips as my mouth dropped in awe. My eyes locked with his and the emerald depths drained all anger from me. I could get lost in those eyes. They seemed to draw me in, keep me grasped in their depths. The green vibrated like the leaves in a high canopy being tickled by the breeze.
“It’s getting late. I’d recommend attempting to get yourself together and getting home. You need to pack.” His voice was as satiny as the silk shirt he wore, a deep baritone with a hint of an English accent.
Blinking I broke eye contact and buried my head in my hands. Perfect. Just perfect. Not only was he handsome, but he had a voice that could melt stone. And I had fallen flat on my face in front of him. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment first, then rode onto another wave of fury.
He had laughed at me. I was in pain, emotionally and physically and he had embarrassed and humiliated and laughed at me.
Wait. Pack?
I didn’t trust my voice to work right or my mouth to not say something it shouldn’t so I ignored him again and walked towards my car. Gran’s car. Not mine.
I trudged up the hill in slow, dejected footsteps. The grass bit into my toes. The crowd had gone and all that was left now were the flowers surrounding the cold, hard stone that marked my grandmother's grave. The angel carved into the top looked onward into the horizon, the golden rays casting her in gold. Kneeling beside the mound of dirt I sunk my fingers into its cool softness. A single stray tear fell and moistened the soil at my fingertips. I ran my fingers over Gran's name on the stone and silently said goodbye. Another swift breeze cooled the tears on my cheeks as if in acknowledgment. I nodded my head and rose, finally making my way to the car.
The breeze continued on as the sun dipped lower in the sky, almost hidden behind the hill, slanted rays of copper were all that remained. I bent down to retrieve my shoes as I past by. The dirt of the road felt good on my feet, soft and silky after the stubbly grass. I turned one last time to look up on the grave. The copper rays engulfed the angel making her shine like a beacon in the blue-gray dusk between the two trees that guarded her. The dust in the air made everything become a gilt laden haze.
The car sat alone on the dirt road, which struck me as odd. Where was tall, pale and handsome’s vehicle?
The pond stood alone. He wasn't there any longer. I'd been but minutes at Grans graveside and had heard nothing of his departure.
Maybe I had imagined his existence. Some strange way of my mind coping.
I shook my head and got into the car, driving home.

***

The phone was ringing as I unlocked the door. I grabbed it off the wall as I threw my stuff on the table. Gran would have hated that. “Don’t dump your things wherever you happen to be. Take them and put them away,” she’d tell me.

“’Lo?”

“You okay?” a light voice asked me on the other end. Raye.

I sighed and rubbed my finger across my forehead. “Ya. No. No, not really Raye. She’s gone. She’s really gone.”

Sniffle. “Ya, she is. I’m sorry Kiarah. I know that doesn’t help any, I miss her too. She kept me steady through all of mom’s medical stuff.” Raye sniffed again. Tears clouded her voice. “Do you need me to come over? I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

Knock, knock, knock.

What now? GRRRRRRR.

“No, I think I need to be alone tonight, Raye. But thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow ok?”

Knock, knock, knock.

Sniff. “Ok. Billy is coming over later. If you need anything, call us k?”

“Ya. I will. Promise.”

Knock, knock, knock.

GO AWAY!

“Love you, Kiarah,” Raye said and hung up the phone.

“Love you too,” I said to the dial tone.

Knock, knock, knock.

“I’m coming!” I yelled at the door in exasperation. Who the hell was here at this hour? The drive home was short as the graveyard was technically on our land. I'd put off coming here as long as possible, wandering the back roads until it the air held a chill and the crickets and toads were singing their symphony. At some point the tires made their way back here. I wasn't sure how, I was too lost in thought.
I placed the phone back in its charging station and answered the door. No, I didn't place it, it was more like slammed.

Knock, knock, knock.

I stomped to the door, anger fueling my steps and threw open the door, ready to scream at the obnoxious asshole on the other side.

Emerald eyes stared at me through the locked glass outer door.

I rolled my eyes and slammed the door shut. I was not dealing with this shit tonight.

Luckily the knocking did not resume. I didn’t hear an engine start or tires crunching on the gravel drive. I left him standing on the front porch and went to take a long, hot bubble bath.

***

Coffee. I smelled coffee. It was heavenly. Rolling over onto my back, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stared at the ceiling. I was in gran’s bed. Gran was gone. I’d crawled red-eyed and exhausted from the bath into her bed, letting her smell here put me to sleep.

Why was there coffee?

I bolted upright and ran downstairs in my t-shirt and undies.

Green eyes sat at the dining room table, with a steaming cup of tea and the newspaper.

“I’d recommend getting dressed, rather quickly. Your flight leaves in an hour. There’s coffee ready whenever you are. I have taken the liberty of packing your things for you to save time.” He didn’t even bother looking up. Good thing since I was in my underwear.

“How did you get in here!?!” I yelled. “How the hell did you get in?”

He ignored me and drank his tea, eyes riveted to the paper.

I turned on my heal and stomped upstairs, passing my suitcases at my bedroom door. Dressing hurriedly and raking a brush through my hair, I closed my eyes and gathered myself. I was going to have to find a way to deal with the anger. Goddess help me control myself around irritating people.

I poured a cup of coffee and stood leaning against the counter, arms wrapped around me, in my jeans, t-shirt and bare feet, watching emerald eyes at my dining room table.

He was dressed impeccably again this morning, this time more casually in khaki’s and a white cotton button down, unbuttoned 2 or 3 buttons from the top. His hair was braided and bound in a leather band at the base of his skull.

He glanced at his watch, rinsed his cup and walked to the front door, holding it open.

“My luggage?” I asked.

“Taken care of. We need to go.” His eyes locked with mine and the space between us was minimized to only a few feet.

“Where are you taking me? I can’t just leave everything behind. I can’t just leave this house and everything here with no care at all.” I was throwing a fit, and I knew it. But he had told me nothing and for some reason I was willing, almost compelled to walk out that door with him onto a plane to an unknown destination. In fact, I was devoid of the anger that came so quickly yesterday and for all intents and purposes I should be furious. I hadn’t thought to ask anything, and only did what he had asked. What was wrong with me?

“The house will be looked after by your friends. They have a key, yes?” I nodded. “I thought as much. They have been contacted already.” He paused taking a few steps toward me. He looked directly into my eyes and spoke so coldly, without any emotion at all, as if what he said was a rehearsed and regularly spoken script. “As to where you are going, you are going to your Aunt Claires in Oregon. She will help you with this transition.”

He turned and walked out the door.

Coffee cup in hand, I followed him, locking the door behind me. As I stepped down onto the sidewalk that ran the length of the house, I looked back at the house I’d grown up in, a sinking feeling hit me that I would not see it again. My life here was over. The next chapter of my life was starting and I had absolutely no control over it. Tears stung my eyes and I turned to walk to the limo waiting in my driveway. The only thing I could think of was, just like Gran, I was being taken away from my life in a long black car. I slid in and stared out the window as the limo made its way down the long gravel drive the led away from everything I knew, everything I was, everything I am.

Chapter 1

1

I woke from my reverie with a start, as I felt the plane slow down and the engines whine to a different pitch marking them winding down in preparation of the approach of our destination. Setting the book in my lap, still open to the chapter I was reading, I closed my eyes and let my mind wander back briefly into the story I had been reading.

Was it bad to get lost in a story this way? I mean, completely drawn in, so that you are part of the world the author weaves? I always placed myself as the heroin or hero in a book, imagining myself the one in danger, the one coming to the rescue. In my mundane existence, the stories I read were the only thing that kept me sane, immersing my brain into a different world where beings that we now only accept as myth are alive and part of the real world: Vampires and were-creatures, elves and Greek Gods, anything to take me away. It seemed to happen all too often, drifting off into the fantasy worlds created by the authors I read.

I opened my eyes and peered out the tiny plane window into the early morning light, trying to catch a glimpse of my new home. This hadn't been an easy decision, leaving my childhood home to live with an aunt I had never met. I put up a fight at first because I wanted to control my own life and make my own decisions. But Gran insisted, never having actually given me a real choice in the matter. To make myself feel better, I convinced myself that this was a good thing. This change was what I wanted. That’s what every teenager dreams right? Leaving home and being our own person? Making our own lives and being in charge?

The only problem was I'd be living with Gran’s sister, my Aunt Claire, going to a college somewhere close to the small town of Chiloquin where she lived. So much for being my own person.

Gran had said “Claire can offer you things I cannot, and teach you things that I have long forgotten.” I had just looked at her blankly not understanding but wanting to make her happy.

I closed the book placing the black lacy bookmark that Gran had made for me on top of the paragraph I would return to when next I opened it – in about 5 minutes.

The engines whined down a pitch again, slowing the plane even further. The cabin pressure dropped subtly as my ears felt full and I had to force myself to swallow so they would “pop”.

I couldn’t help but think I had said goodbye to everything just a few days ago. I’d stumbled through those last few days so it all seemed like a blur; weeks not days ago.

I lay my head back against the seat, the built in headrest too far up, still, for my petite 5’1” frames’ head to reach, and went over those rushed last days at home…

***

I stood up and stretched before walking over to the window and looking outside at the miserable afternoon. I had just completed working on my list of things I needed to pack. Always overly organized, that was me. The sun shone on the lawn that was now more black and brown, burnt to a crisp already from the constant barrage of heat, a sign of another hot, humid August day here in the Midwest. It had been weeks since it rained last and the temperatures just kept climbing. 110 they were predicting today. Ugh. At this rate there would never be enough rain to quench the constant thirst of the life outside. Waves of heat were emanating from the already overheated ground like a clear body of water hovered just over it. I looked at the clock. 10 in the morning.

I sighed, and turned away from the window, grabbing the 3 edge-worn pictures off my cluttered desk next to it. Ok, I know, I said organized, but I knew where everything was on it. I sat down on the edge of my green faux-velvet covered bed, studying them again.

Time had finally come for me to depart on the next stage of my life. Tonight we celebrated, a farewell for my best friends and I, all of us heading off to different places for college. Well that and my 18th birthday. Gran decided that we needed to celebrate before I left, so she could be part of the next milestone in my life. Raye and Billy, my two best friends were the only ones I invited, not wanting to generate a huge ordeal of everything. Besides, it was more a reason to celebrate our last night together for awhile.

I was headed off tomorrow night to an Aunt, one of Grans sisters, in a small town somewhere near where I would be going to college. I’d picked a community college to attend for a few years out there instead of the nearby university. I wasn’t given a choice much in the place I’d be living so my options were limited. And this way if I hated everything, I would have a legitimate excuse to leave and not be tied down to anything.

It looked beautiful, a place I could love easily.

This all went through my mind as I studied the pictures in my hands, the only clue I had to what to expect when I arrived. Aunt Claire had sent them to me a few weeks ago, trying to break the ice since we had never met and to give me an idea of what to look forward to (or what I was in for). For some reason, my gran had never sent me to visit Claire as she had Cara and as Claire’s letter said, she unfortunately could only find these three faded and torn pictures from a few years ago when my other Cara had visited. They were all about postcard size and had a note written on the back of each one.

The first picture always gave me a sense of serenity, and made me feel like I should know this place, but didn’t. It was of a massive forest, a million shades of green, even on the ancient trunks of the trees, where moss grew from the moisture. It looked like a primordial rainforest. I half expected to see a dinosaur head somewhere in the photo. Instead, nestled in the lush green of the trees was a cabin looking as if some giant being had just placed it into the trees with no thought of making a clearing for it. It looked rustic and old, something you would envision from an old west film, except it was covered in vines. I mean, completely covered in vines of all different leaf shapes and sizes and an array of greens almost mind boggling. It was as if the forest was trying to reclaim that which did not belong, even though it looked like it belonged. The only places the vines were not were where they had been carefully trimmed around the million windows in the tiny building. I smiled. Some things I guess run in the family.

The second picture showed a long two lane street, wet with rain. The gray and white puffs of clouds reflected in the pools of water giving it a surrealistic effect, as if you’d fall into the sky. On either side of the street ran a line of buildings that, again, looked very much like an old west shanty town, complete with large signs proclaiming the names of the stores, a wooden boardwalk that ran the length of the shops and honest to god rails to lash horses to. It was as if time hadn’t touched anything there, with the exception of the line of cars in various cloud subdued colors and neon lights proclaiming the stores open. The only other difference between the town and something from history was that the buildings were painted in a steady stream of white, the age of the wood showing through in that old well used sort of way. One store front stood out from the rest with its brick red color. I picked up my “to do when I got there” list and sketched down “check out red store”. The back of the photo proclaimed this as “Main Street”.

The third picture was of a beach, more rock than sand with waves crashing against the shore on a cloudy day. Large boulders broke the surface of the water causing the white froth of the waves to appear through an otherwise uninterrupted sea of blue. Cliffs matted in green moss and small white flowers framed the picture, as if the beach had been in a small cove, undisturbed by human touch. Driftwood littered the small sandy parts with outrageous shapes and sizes. I shivered looking at the picture, envisioning it being as cold as it appeared in the photo. It was stunningly beautiful. I made a mental note that I needed to find out from Claire where it was. I wondered what Cara must have thought when she visited. It must have seemed odd to her to be on a cold beach.

Gran had two sisters. Together, the three of them would never get along. They were all too vastly different from one another. So, to settle the differences they had with each other, they all lived in different parts of the continental U.S. Gran, said that it kept family affairs to an easy minimum and she enjoyed the peacefulness of being alone.

Claire lived in Oregon in a small town called Chiloquin, about an hour from pretty much anywhere with civilization in mass numbers. When I first found out Gran was more or less forcing me to live there, I researched the town on my computer (that Lee made for me) and found that it was a Native American settlement originally. It rarely got rain but despite that fact, had lush growth surrounding it, nourished by the frequent streams, rivers and lakes. It looked like heaven for someone like me who needed to be outside like needing air to breathe. The place suited Claire, from what I had heard. She was down-to-earth and liked to live roughly, only taking advantage of small modern technologies to get by. I guess that was the reason for her remote choice of housing.

Cara, Gran’s other sister lived in the extreme opposite direction, settling in Florida in one of those semi-retirement places with maintenance and a small yard. She didn’t look all that old to me to even qualify for a place like that, but she said she was older than she appeared and Florida rules for places like that were different than here in the Midwest. After all, it was more like a resort.

She too lived in a small town with most of the outside residents being mainly of retirement age. She and Uncle Paul moved to Florida shortly after retiring 10 years ago. Uncle Paul had a bad heart, so they chose a place that was sunny, and relaxing, and that had medical care immediately available for him.

Cara was flighty and childish, always spending her time with the latest endeavor or invention that she had dreamed up. She had more energy than anyone of a retirement age should have and I loved her for it. I remember searching for green, and only green, sea glass on the beach behind her house for an entire summer, because she was insistent that it held magical properties and if she set jars full of them around the house it would bring good luck. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the sea glass’ previous life had been glass bottles from the trash dumped in the ocean that had been broken and tumbled to become what it was. I told you she was eccentric.

I visited them usually for a few weeks every summer. The house was small and looked out over the ocean. A small island sat within swimming distance of the shore. It always amazed me that the jungle that inhabited it was forever glorious despite being plummeted by wind and waves. “You have a gift for nature” was what Cara always told me, when I mentioned its beauty. The island was where I would spend most of my time while I was visiting. I’d take the small buoy and row out to the island with my backpack of snacks, water, a pen and sketchbook and my latest book. The sun was always shining and it was hot and humid but an occasional breeze off the water kept it perfect.

Then of course there was Gran, who lived here in Manhattan, Kansas, and who couldn’t fathom ever leaving. Gran was the most settled and content with the mundane life she led. I guess the only thing the sisters’ had in common was the need for small town life, although we lived in the biggest small town out of all of them.

Gran said she moved only once, and that was when she left her childhood home, a time in her life she never wanted to discuss despite my questions. She kept saying that things would come full circle and being here was just as good as anything for her.

Gran and I lived in a cookie cutter middle class home painted a lovely shade of… yellow… with white shutters in one of the many suburbs. Well it was, at least, that way 20 years ago. Old trees with large canopies but small trunks lined the street with sidewalks running under them. It was no wonder the trunks never grew, the concrete and asphalt inhibited their poor roots, causing them to gnarl and twist and the base of the trees. Neighbors were 10 steps away and most of them had chain link fences surrounding our moderate yards. Ours was open and full of roses and various other vegetation sculpted around the now dead grass. Gran enjoyed tending them and I had a knack for making them grow more beautifully than any of the other people in our neighborhood. This of course made the neighbors jealous and they tried desperately to keep up. It was that whole ‘keeping up with the Jones’ thing.

The front of the house had a small porch at ground level made of brick and there was a green awning to cover it. A trellis of climbing roses rambled close by and a bed lined in brick, full of roses and moss rose, sprawled neatly in front of the brick sidewalk leading to the porch from the driveway. Can you tell that Gran loved roses? A birdbath marked the middle of the garden, holding water even today so that the birds and butterflies didn’t have to suffer just because mother-nature was being unkind.

The back porch was also at ground level and made of concrete. On it sat a table and chairs, an array of different sized pots with an eclectic collection of plants in them, and on the corner, an old birch tree that shaded the porch from the hot sun. That was Gran’s favorite spot.

To the right of the porch was a small garden that consisted of a large collection of hens and chicks and a trellis barely holding the giant purple clematis the rambled along the gutters and the side of the house. Across the back yard up the slight hill was a row of 6 foot tall white flowered spirea, planted close as a hedge. In spring, it was a frothy white, glorious, fragrant sight. The limbs became arched with masses of tiny white flowers looking for all its worth of a floral waterfall. A tree with large branches sat just to the side and in front of the hedge, a rope swing hung by one of the lower branches and knots along the trunk made it for easy climbing. This was my favorite spot.

“Kiarah!” Gran called. Shocked out of my reverie the pictures went flying as I jumped at her voice.

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 10:28am. She’d just be getting breakfast finished. Had I heard the phone ring? Tonight was the last hurrah for my friends and I before we headed our separate ways. She knew I would have been perfectly happy with grabbing Raye and Billy and running off to the lake for the night, sitting around a bonfire with marshmallows and hotdogs. That was my kind of party. But because of the heat and her wishing to be part of this, we decided to stay.

I loved Gran. She is tall and willowy, with long gray hair interspersed with white and usually kept in a messy braid hanging down her back. Her face was age weary and weathered, deep wrinkles and creases marring the smooth beauty she had once been. She was beautiful now too, just in and old, wizened way. Her arms and legs were almost bone thin, but she still had a solidness and strength in her that belied her appearance. Her skin, like mine was as pale as the moonlight she loved to bask in.

She and her sisters are all I can remember during my 18 years, my parents having disappeared when I was a baby. She is kind but overly critical of everything, especially the fact that I really didn’t have a social life with the exception of my two closest friends. “That isn’t normal for a teenager”, she would mumble with chagrin in her voice.

I preferred to be alone with my thoughts. When the days were mild, I spent most of my time out of the house, doing anything that got me away from civilization, but preferring to be surrounded by vegetation if at all possible. That generally meant hiking somewhere close to the lake, typically a book in my backpack. The lake was my backup for lack of anywhere else to go. I loved to explore and find new areas off and away from the few hiking trails. After that being my main source of entertainment since I was granted freedom to leave the house on my own, it was difficult to find new places to explore. Something looked forward to remedying once living at Claire’s.

I picked up the fallen pictures and placed them back on the edge of my desk, looked longingly at my book resting on the bed, got up and went downstairs to see what Gran wanted. The smell of biscuits and bacon wafted up the stairs as I opened my door. My stomach rumbled.

“What’s up?” I asked as I hit the bottom of the matted avocado-green carpeted step. Green. Carpet, from the 1970’s no doubt as was most of the décor of the house.

She looked me up and down with a scrutinizing eye. “You’re in your Pj’s.” Her voice was a little crackly with age, like those witches in Disney movies.

“Gran, it’s 10:30 in the morning. Pj’s are ok.”

She grunted. “When are those rascally friends of yours coming this way?”

“Around noon, I think.”

“So early,” she sighed with exasperation in her voice. Definitely exasperation.

“It’s the last time we are going to see each other for awhile Gran.”

She nodded and sighed again. “I suppose since you all have been attached at the hip since grade school, it’s only expected.”

“Don’t worry; we are just going to hang here. It’s too hot to do anything outside today.”

“Good then. Are you going to stay in your pajamas all day?”

She wouldn’t give up. Gran was old school. You were dressed properly before you left the confines of your bedroom. Can we say 19th century?

“Of course not, I was just getting ready to shower when you called,” I said trying to keep my own exasperation from my voice.

“Good. Put that nice dress on Cara sent you. That way I can take some pictures and shut her up about it,” she grumbled.

“Fine. But can I do it closer to the actual party time…” I stopped with when she gave me that “don’t back talk me” look.

Have I mentioned I HATE dresses? Not that it was actually a dress, but a skirt and frilly blouse was close enough. Enough to elicit my gag reflex, that is.

“Well then you better get to it. Raye and Billy just called and said they were on their way over.”

“Great. Thanks for mentioning that,” I mumbled as I walked over to the table. Why had she asked me about time then? I shook my head. Hopefully she didn’t hear me. Instead I tossed back, “Good, they can help me chop vegetables for the salad and pizza. Cake looks great by the way! Thanks!” I said this last to appease her. She tried, she really did.

I dipped a finger into the icing of the cake on the table.

“Get your fingers out of that! There’s breakfast on the stove if you’re hungry!” Gran scolded.

“I was just taste testing the icing, really.” I grinned back at her. She couldn’t help but smile too.

She shook her head and went back to kneading the dough in front of her.

The cake she made was in the middle of the oval dining table that was usually covered in an enormous array of scrapbooking materials. Gran must have found a hiding place for all of it because today the dining table was overlaid with a peach table cloth and an aged white lace one on top of that, as was traditional for the rare treat of company: Red for Christmas, green or peach for the rest of the year. They were one of the first purchases she made when moving into this house 50 years ago.

The cake was in the shape of a flower, complete with individual petals with something sparkly on them. Don’t get me wrong, it was gorgeous as cakes go. But it was GREEN. The entirety of the cake was green with the exception of the leaves that should have been green but were actually now a hideous shade of pink. Green may be my favorite color, but… Never mind. It was pretty. Just…a little much.

I grabbed a biscuit from the stove and stuffed a piece of bacon in-between my teeth, grabbed a cup of the fresh brewed coffee enticing me with its aroma, and balancing it all traipsed upstairs to get ready. I sat my coffee on the bathroom vanity and placed the biscuit precariously on the edge of the cup. (The bacon was already gone…) Just to see, I ran to my room and checked my phone for any messages from my two friends, seeing that they had managed to tell me they were on their way before calling Gran. Good. They weren’t the traitors I thought they were.

I stopped by the hall closet for a towel on the way back to the bathroom, taking in the scent of cedar and fabric softener. I would miss that smell.

The upstairs held three bedrooms and the only bathroom. Two rooms faced the front of the house and were where Gran and I slept. The “backroom”, which was directly across from my bedroom, was more of a junk room. It was scattered with boxes of decorations for all seasons and had a table pressed into the corner, with 2 twin size beds in, you guessed it, green floral bedspreads coming out from each side. I suppose this could be used as a guest room if we got desperate, or had any overnight guests. But, since that was rare, I used the table to piece together puzzles when there was nothing else to do. The hall closet sat between my room and the backroom, and the bathroom on the same side as the backroom, across from Grans room.

The hallway was covered in the same avocado-green carpet as the stairs and living room. The bedrooms all had dark hardwood floors, dark furniture, and white folding shutters over the windows. The only modernish room we had was the one and only bathroom. It had white tile floor, white paneling and light olive green walls. A picture of a floral field painted in hues of greens and pinks, hung above the towel rack, also white. The tub was an old fashioned claw foot, my favorite thing in this whole house, well with the exception of the “bar” in the finished basement.

I closed the door behind me, drew the bath water and stepped in. I didn’t need to wash my waist length red hair today, so a bath it was. I lay back against the towel folded up at the edge of the tub and let the hot water ease the tight muscles in my neck and shoulders. I guess the thoughts of leaving must have made me tenser than I’d really noticed. Voices downstairs woke me with a start. Damn I was jumpy today. Wait woke? Had I really fallen asleep? I washed and rinsed quickly in the now tepid water, stepped out and almost killed myself and knocked half the bottles on the matching old stand sink off while slipping on the tile floor. Oops. Forgot the floor towel.

“Crap,” I muttered to myself.

“Everything ok up there?” Billy yelled up. “Or do we need to help you walk again?”

I wrapped the towel around me and ran to my room before anyone saw me, slamming my door unintentionally, hearing a “hubba hubba” come from Billy as I made my dash. One of these days they would learn to use the doorbell. They didn’t believe in doorbells.

I went to my closet to grab the white skirt (ugh) and blouse that had a huge lacy ruffle from throat to hem Aunt Cara had sent as a gift. She was trying to kill me, I swear. There was a personal hell somewhere for me that had only frilly lacy dresses and torturous high heels. I guess she thought that for once I could look like a girl and that the white would somehow highlight my already very pale skin.

Well, I guess if it made Gran happy, I’d endure it for a few hours. She only wanted a couple of pictures anyway. Yay me. I rapidly pulled everything on over the white bra and undies I’d already fished out of the clean laundry basket I had yet to put away, ran a brush through my wet hair, and ran, barefoot, downstairs, contemplating every step of the way how to escape and get back into my jeans.