I keep walking; the gate to the backyard is open.
The back door is locked, so I move to the sliding glass patio door.
It opens.
I step just inside the door. I’m not even sure why I’m here.
The house is quiet. I take a few steps. Photos on the fireplace mantel catch my eye. There’s one of a girl in a cheerleading outfit, her legs in a wide split mid-air. Long, thick, blonde wavy hair— perfectly tanned skin. Emily. My sister. We don’t look anything alike. She doesn’t have our mother’s eyes.
I wander through the house, uncertain of what I’m looking for, what I’m even doing here, until I find it upstairs. Emily’s room.
It looks like it hasn’t been touched since…
There are clothes strewn haphazardly on the bed. I pick up one of the dresses and hold it against me. We’re the same size.
Scanning the room, I find the wall behind me littered with photos. There are hundreds of them. All tilted in different directions, random words cut out from magazines and added to the collage. Cheer. Love. LOL. Prada. Family. PLL. My eyes seize on the biggest word. Thick pink block letters, in all caps. ZACK.
I study the pictures.
Emily and her friends.
Emily and her parents.
Emily and Zack.
Dozens and dozens of Emily and Zack.
There must be a hundred of them.
At school.
At dances.
Zack in his football uniform.
Emily in her cheerleading outfit.
I feel sick.
One particular photo catches my eye. It’s of Zack and Emily as kids, they couldn’t be more than eight or nine. Dirty faces, both smiling wildly, Zack is peddling a bright yellow bike, Emily is on the handlebars.
My head is spinning.
I study their faces. They look so happy.
The wall of pictures begins to blur, photos morph into each other. The room begins to spin.
I need air.
An oversized mirror leans against a wall. I see my reflection. Silent tears roll down my cheeks, but I don’t feel them.
I need to leave. My feet start to move, but a photo tucked into the corner of the frame catches my eye and I freeze. Zack and Emily, arms wrapped around each other, smile broadly for the camera. But that’s not what has stopped my heart from beating. It’s the lighthouse they are standing in front of.
No.
Ripping the photo from the frame, I look at their faces one more time.
They’re happy.
In love.
The woman’s words haunt my ears.
“He was so in love with her, so desperate to keep her with him, he turned to a cheap copy. He doesn’t give a damn about you.”
I shred the picture to pieces.
It’s not enough.
I look around for something. Anything. I grab a shoe and throw it at the mirror, but it doesn’t break. So I find something else— a perfume bottle. And this time I wind up before I heave the heavy bottle from my trembling hand. A loud shatter rings through the still room. A hundred tiny pieces of glass fall to the ground. I turn, water still dripping from everywhere on my body, and slowly walk out of the house.
Chapter 38
Nikki
I wake to the sound of the engine humming. The vibration coming from below leaves a constant shake that’s not quite enough to rock me back to sleep, but the perfect amount to make me queasy. My neck aches from sleeping scrunched up in the cramped seat¸ but I guess I shouldn’t complain since the bus is nearly full and I had two seats to stretch out onto.
I sit up, looking out the tall Plexiglas window and watch the endless miles of desert pass for a while. It’s barren and bleak, much like I feel. Only four hours of the twenty-hour bus trip has passed. Six more till we change at the New Mexico border. The older woman who sat next to me at the bus station last night smiles and offers me a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” I take it, having brought none of my own supplies. It’s not really like it was a planned trip.
“Where are you heading?” she asks.
“Texas.”
“Vacation?”
I think about it for a moment before responding. “No. Heading home.” My voice is glum.
She nods. “Well, I’m on my way to New Mexico. My sister passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Didn’t really like her much, but thank you all the same.” She smiles warmly at me. “You seem sad, everything okay?”
“Yeah. Well, not really. But it will be when I get back home.”
“Home is a place we either love or dread going back to,” she offers. “I’m glad yours sounds like a place you love.”
“Is yours a place you dread?” I ask curiously. Based on what she’s already revealed about her sister, it definitely doesn’t sound like a place she loves.
“Yep. Been dreading going back for thirty years.”
“You haven’t been back home in that long?”
“Nope. Went back once after I moved away. It just didn’t feel like home anymore. Too many bad memories.”
I swallow down the memory of yesterday, thinking how a place I’d quickly grown to love, a place that actually felt like home, had come to feel like an imposter in only a few short hours. I nod at her, trying to be polite, but no longer wanting to talk. She takes the hint and falls asleep not long after.
Ashley and I text back and forth to help pass the time. She’s in class, but that doesn’t stop her from responding instantaneously. I’m not sure where I would be right now if I didn’t have her. The minute she heard my voice yesterday, she knew it wasn’t good news. She had no idea just how bad it was. The shock still hasn’t worn off for me. I’m afraid, once it does, I won’t be able to breathe again.