“Sully,” Sam started, then paused to swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Sully, Mom and Dad were in accident. The police are here. They didn’t make it.”
Didn’t make it.
After that it was a blur of funeral arrangements, concerned friends and family, and an abundance of lawyers. In a moment my life changed. Before I was on the track to Columbia, to practice law, like my father. And just like that, I could no longer afford to go there, not with the astronomical costs of closing my parents’ estate and the price of school alone.
When Nonna, our maternal grandmother, called and offered us a spot at the small university in her town, I wasn’t left with many other options. As a donor to Hastings-Albrecht University, our grandmother was able to buy our way into the school. It wasn’t a bad place to go to school, it was just no Columbia. Indiana felt like it was a universe away from my former life.
Aside from taking the edge off of Sam’s whip-like humor, he didn’t seem much worse for the wear. Then again, of the two of us, he had always been the more upbeat one. When we were kids, he was the magician, the trickster, and the goof. Not much had changed as he got older, except all of his tricks seemed to have turned to charm somehow because the girls flocked to him.
On him, the strong jaw, full lips and striking blue eyes made his face interesting and unique. Women were always turning around to give him a second look and he was most at home in a crowd. I had never been as confident about my body as he was. Instead of accentuating it, I went without makeup and cute hairstyles, preferring to stick with my ponytails and loose clothes. I was much more comfortable on my own with my nose stuck in a book.
“Okay,Sullivan.” Sam punches the volume button on the radio and an uncomfortable silence fills the tense space between us.
We lapse into silence as we pass the Welcome to Hillsborough sign and roll onto Main Street. My eyes catch on the news station which houses the Hillsborough Chronicle where I’ll be helping out as an assistant after classes.
“Dude,” Sam exclaims, his head twisting around, “I think I just saw an eagle.”
Without lifting my head, I reply, “It’s probably just a buzzard, jackass. Keep your eye on the road.”
“Don’t let Granny Suzanna hear you talking like that.”
“I’m eighteen and she’s not my mother,” I state firmly, then I lift my head and quirk a brow at him. “I would love to hear you call Nonna ‘Granny Suzanna.’”
He smiles at me and I catch myself smiling back instinctually. A beat passes and my smile falls. Noting that, Sam’s lips press together and he swings his head back toward the road. A rift has grown between us, full of all the things I can’t tell him and all the things he doesn’t understand. We’re out of sync. On different wavelengths. Dancing to different songs.
It’s almost as bad as losing him along with my parents.
Even worse because I can fix it, but I don’t know how.
Nonna’s house is in the well-to-do section of Hillsborough. Sam pulls the truck to a stop by the curb where it is decidedly out of place amongst the BMWs. He bounds out of the truck and up a concrete walkway bordered by a lush garden in full bloom. I don’t know what kind of architecture the house—mansion really—is, but it rises in an impressive sprawl on the top of the hill. Nonna’s family was one of the founders of Hillsborough. My mom never went into details and her voice sharpened whenever I tried to get to know her parents more.
Considering my new abilities, I’m starting to understand why. If I inherited it from my mother, she must have gotten it from hers.
I pause on the walkway to stare at the three-story monstrosity. My parents had vastly simpler tastes. My childhood home was a tasteful ranch-style that had weathered the test of time. Complete with toddler drawings in hidden corners and our growth charts scribbled on the bathroom door frames.
Sam knocks on the front door. There’s a short pause before the door opens to reveal Nonna, dressed impeccably in a linen suit, her dyed brown hair perfectly coiffed. She wraps her arms around him, the expensive-looking bracelets on her wrists jangling together. I move forward reluctantly, the wheels of my suitcase catching on the cracks in the concrete behind me.
I’d left the pieces of my home—and some of me—behind. Gorgeous though it may be, the building in front of me feels like a stranger’s house. And I want nothing more than to turn around and head back where we came from.
“Wow!” Sam says from inside the foyer. “This place is massive. You must really be rolling in it, huh?”
I roll my eyes at him and clamber up the front steps, feeling awkward with my bulky suitcase dragging along. Nonna’s eyes study me, no doubt taking in my wrinkled shirt and cutoff jean shorts which are a far cry from elegant. I hug her, taking care not to make any contact with my hands. She smells like my mother, lavender and talc, but I have no desire to delve into her memories.
“I’m so glad you could make it, Sullivan.” She pulls back so that she can look me over. “You look just like your mother when she was your age.”
“Yeah, um, I get that a lot.” I wind my hair with my fingers and peer past her into the house where Sam is already exploring. “You have a beautiful home,” I manage to say.
“Thank you. It’s been in our family since the first Thomas settled in Hillsborough.” She takes a step back and gestures inside. “Why don’t you come in?”
I offer a brittle smile and wheel my suitcase over the bump in the doorway. A staircase to my immediate left leads to the second story and just in front of me is a sunken living room with a large dark leather sectional. On the other side, a pair of French doors lead out to the back yard. The space is airy and comfortable.
As I set my suitcase next to the stairs, I rest my hand on the banister for the barest of moments. It doesn’t take any longer than that for the memory to wash over me.
I see my mother around my age, and damn if she doesn’t look just like me. She’s rushing around the house in a flurry of movement, stuffing things into her own suitcase. Nonna stands in the background, her arms crossed over her chest and a stormy look over her younger features.
The moment fades out and present day fades back in with Nonna watching me with knowing eyes. I snatch my hand off of the banister and say, “Do you mind showing me the room? I’m a bit worn out from the drive.”
“Really, Sullivan? You slept the whole way here. If anyone should be tired, it’s me,” Sam says, coming to stand beside us.
