forestry clients.
She wore a triumphant smile as she signed the paperwork then towed it home. As she showed off the long-awaited trailer’s updated interior features to Dad, her voice glowing with pride and excitement, I realized I was just the tiniest bit jealous of her.
At least one of us had her freedom.
The funeral on Saturday was even harder to endure than I’d expected. I couldn’t look at Nanna’s body, lying in the open casket at the church where she’d played the piano every Sunday, couldn’t let myself think about her death or its possible causes, couldn’t look at my mother who, despite all her excitement over her new home, was sobbing and clearly brokenhearted at having to say a final goodbye to her mother. When the new pianist played Nanna’s favorite, “In the Garden,” it was all I could do not to join my mother in sobbing.
The preacher’s words were a blur both at the church and at the burial site in the Larissa Cemetery outside town, where all our family were buried. Even though it was only April, it was already hot enough to make everyone sweat under the glaring sun. The heat baked the mounds of carnations covering the casket, pushing their sweet perfume out into the air. I tried not to breathe deeply, but the stench of those flowers of death seeped inside me, clinging to the lining of my throat and lungs.
I knew I would hate the smell of those flowers for the rest of my life, however long that turned out to be.
After the preacher’s final words were delivered, Mom spoke to all of Nanna’s many friends while I gave Anne, Carrie and Michelle each a quick hug of thanks for coming. As soon as I saw my friends, I realized how much I’d both missed them and dreaded seeing them again. But for that day at least, none of them seemed to expect me to explain anything, which was a relief. Then my parents and I returned to Nanna’s home to change and finish the last of the packing.
Dad had already found a house in town. It was a decrepit, crumbling two-story that might have once been a Victorian. The house looked like something the Addams family might live in. Worse than its appearance was its location, though…it was right across the railroad tracks from the Tomato Bowl, where the local high school and junior high football and soccer games were held. The only upside was that I wouldn’t have a long walk after the home football games next year.
Dad said he’d chosen the house because it was the perfect renovation project to showcase his historical restoration company’s abilities. I hoped they worked fast. Really fast. At least money would be no object. According to him, one of the advantages of being an ancient vampire with the ability to read human minds and actually live through several centuries of history was that he’d gotten really good at picking stocks.
On Sunday, Mom and I said a long, silent and teary goodbye to our home and each other. Then Dad and I moved in to our new home in progress, and Mom moved into her travel trailer and hit the road. True to his word, Dad had the movers set up my old bed in the new house. At least I wouldn’t feel weird sleeping in an unfamiliar bed tonight, just a strange and dusty room surrounded by boxes of my things. I’d washed all my clothing before boxing it up, though, so I would have clean clothes until the washer and dryer were delivered and hooked up sometime next week.
Now if I could only get used to all the creaks and groans of my new home.
Nighttime, when I had nothing to distract me while I waited to fall asleep, was the worst. Even as little kids, Tristan and I had used our built-in abilities as descendants to psychically reach out and connect our minds in our dreams. We’d dream connected so often, especially during our recent months of dating, that it felt weird not to dream about him now. Another habit I was struggling to get used to breaking.
It would be so easy to close my eyes and reach out to him with my mind. To meet him like
She wore a triumphant smile as she signed the paperwork then towed it home. As she showed off the long-awaited trailer’s updated interior features to Dad, her voice glowing with pride and excitement, I realized I was just the tiniest bit jealous of her.
At least one of us had her freedom.
The funeral on Saturday was even harder to endure than I’d expected. I couldn’t look at Nanna’s body, lying in the open casket at the church where she’d played the piano every Sunday, couldn’t let myself think about her death or its possible causes, couldn’t look at my mother who, despite all her excitement over her new home, was sobbing and clearly brokenhearted at having to say a final goodbye to her mother. When the new pianist played Nanna’s favorite, “In the Garden,” it was all I could do not to join my mother in sobbing.
The preacher’s words were a blur both at the church and at the burial site in the Larissa Cemetery outside town, where all our family were buried. Even though it was only April, it was already hot enough to make everyone sweat under the glaring sun. The heat baked the mounds of carnations covering the casket, pushing their sweet perfume out into the air. I tried not to breathe deeply, but the stench of those flowers of death seeped inside me, clinging to the lining of my throat and lungs.
I knew I would hate the smell of those flowers for the rest of my life, however long that turned out to be.
After the preacher’s final words were delivered, Mom spoke to all of Nanna’s many friends while I gave Anne, Carrie and Michelle each a quick hug of thanks for coming. As soon as I saw my friends, I realized how much I’d both missed them and dreaded seeing them again. But for that day at least, none of them seemed to expect me to explain anything, which was a relief. Then my parents and I returned to Nanna’s home to change and finish the last of the packing.
Dad had already found a house in town. It was a decrepit, crumbling two-story that might have once been a Victorian. The house looked like something the Addams family might live in. Worse than its appearance was its location, though…it was right across the railroad tracks from the Tomato Bowl, where the local high school and junior high football and soccer games were held. The only upside was that I wouldn’t have a long walk after the home football games next year.
Dad said he’d chosen the house because it was the perfect renovation project to showcase his historical restoration company’s abilities. I hoped they worked fast. Really fast. At least money would be no object. According to him, one of the advantages of being an ancient vampire with the ability to read human minds and actually live through several centuries of history was that he’d gotten really good at picking stocks.
On Sunday, Mom and I said a long, silent and teary goodbye to our home and each other. Then Dad and I moved in to our new home in progress, and Mom moved into her travel trailer and hit the road. True to his word, Dad had the movers set up my old bed in the new house. At least I wouldn’t feel weird sleeping in an unfamiliar bed tonight, just a strange and dusty room surrounded by boxes of my things. I’d washed all my clothing before boxing it up, though, so I would have clean clothes until the washer and dryer were delivered and hooked up sometime next week.
Now if I could only get used to all the creaks and groans of my new home.
Nighttime, when I had nothing to distract me while I waited to fall asleep, was the worst. Even as little kids, Tristan and I had used our built-in abilities as descendants to psychically reach out and connect our minds in our dreams. We’d dream connected so often, especially during our recent months of dating, that it felt weird not to dream about him now. Another habit I was struggling to get used to breaking.
It would be so easy to close my eyes and reach out to him with my mind. To meet him like
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