Page 13 of Somewhere Without You

Twelve

Before

Rows of yellowing magnolia trees stood like silent sentinels along the long, dirt driveway. Their branches hung heavy with petals drifting to the ground, shedding themselves for fall.

Ahead, the farmhouse rose up, small and weathered against the towering mountains behind it.

Gran’s Crown Vic rumbled to a stop near an old red barn, a few paces from the house.

The eight-hour drive from Michigan to West Virginiahadbeenmostlyquiet, save for the occasional hum of the radio.

Katherinehadspentmost of the journey staring out the window, while I hummed along to whatever came on the radio.

WhenGranfinallykilled the engine, Iwasquick to jump out, flinging the back door open with a loud creak. Rust peeled off in flakes as I stretched my legs.

“Aren’t you coming?”I called to Katherine, still buckled in her seat.

She nodded slowly. “You go ahead, I’ll be rightthere.”

I shrugged. Gran stood waiting on the porch, as I bounded toward her.

“Careful where you step,”she pointed to a small circle of painted stones near the porch.“Your papa took his last breath rightthere. Bad luck to stand on it.”

My eyes widened as I sidestepped the memorial.

AsGran fumbled with the keys to unlock the door, I turned to take in the view of the backyard.

A small, tidy garden satneatlybehind the house, framed by a white picket fence.

Beyond it, endless fields of tall grass danced in the breeze, leading up to the mountains, their trees already dressed in the deep reds and golds of autumn.

Itwasunlike anything Ihadever seen—like something straight out of a rich oil painting.

“You comin’?”Gran’s voice pulled me back.“Oryou gonna stand out here all day, waitin’ to catch your death?”

I glanced back at the car.“What about Kat?”

Gran shot a quicklookat Katherine and shrugged.“She’ll come when she’s ready.”

The inside of Gran’s houselookednothing like the outside.Forone, itwascrowded. Shelves sagged under the weight of several books and various colored rocks lined the windowsills.

A massive stone fireplace dominated the living room, its hearth filled with fresh ashes. The faint scent of smoke lingered in the air, evidencethatithadbeen usedrecently.

I sank into the worn floral sofa as my eyes scanned the cluttered coffee table. A broken remote. A burned out candle. Several mismatched crocheted coasters, alongside a stack of old magazines.

I fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing my legs,clearlyuncomfortable in my new home. Gran joined me a few minutes later, settling into a matching armchair opposite me. She set the two large mugs down, each on its own coaster. I picked one up, eyeing the dark, murky liquid inside.

“Itsmellsweird in here,”I blurted out, setting the mug down without taking a sip.

Gran glanced at a smoldering stick on a shelf across the room, a thin wisp of smoke trailing from the end.“Pachouli,”she murmured,“and a touch of sage. Keeps the spirits away.”

“Spirits?”A chill ran down my spine.“Like. . . ghosts?”

Gran took a slow sip from her mug,thenset it down with a soft thud.“The mountains are alive with things,”she said, her voice lowering.“Some natural, others. . . not so much. Best to be prepared.”She winked at me.

I thought of the sprawling field stretching into the mountains and a shiver crept over me. Wewerealone out here, three miles from town, in this little white house—justGran, Katherine, and me. I stared at the mug in front of me, unsure of what to say next.

Gran sat back, studying me.“You don’t have to be afraid of it, youknow,”she said, breaking the quiet.“Whatever’s outthere, whatever’s in here. . . it’s been here long before us.Andit’ll be here long after we’re gone.”

I took a deep breath, looking around the room, at the faded furniture, the cluttered shelves, the smoky air. Thiswasour home now, for better or worse.

Katherine didn’t come in until an hour later, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Dinnerwasquiet. No one spoke—therewasn’tmuch to say. Gran made hamburger helper. Itwasok, but Iwasn’thungry. Katherine didn’t eat at all.

Afterwards, I helped Gran clean up. The kitchenwassmall and old, the two of usbarelyfit.

Through the window, the setting sun bathed the mountains in a soft, golden light.

Gran told methatin the summer, hummingbirds would come flitting through the garden, drinking the nectar from wild zinnias and columbinesthatgrew along the fence.

The TVwasancient and Gran only got two channels—QVC and the local news. Around eight, Katherine and I carried our few belongings upstairs and down the hall to whatwasnow our shared bedroom.

Two twin beds with iron frames flanked a small white nightstand. I chose the bed by the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a hummingbird when summer came around.

Neitherof us spoke as we unpacked. I hated it—this heavy weight of grief between us.We’dlostthe only parent wehadand now we tiptoed around her death as if it never happened at all.

Buried beneath the sheets, in a bedthatfeltwrong, I tried not to breathe in the unfamiliar scent of this strange place.Beforeall this,we’donly seen Gran on a handful of holidays. Now, shewasall wehadleft.

The soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across the room. Iwatchedin silence as Katherine reached over and flicked the switch, plunging the room into darkness. Moonlight flooded through the window, painting eerie shadows across the pale pink quilts.

None of thisfeltright.

“Kat?”I squeaked into the darkness.“Kat, I want to go home.”

Katherine’s voicewasflat.“This is home now.”

“No, it’s not,”I shook my head, my body trembling.

This bed, this room—itwasall wrong. “I want to go home. I want Mom.”I couldn’tgetcomfortable.

Not here, in this bedthatwasn’treallymine in this room I didn’t like.

Hot tearsfinallyspilled over.“I want to go home. I want to go home,”I chanted, inconsolable.

“I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.”

“Emily, stop it!”Katherine shouted. Shewasout of bed now, standing beside me. “Whetheryou like it or not, this is home now. Crying and screaming isn’t going to changethat.”

Snot bubbled beneath my nose, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand.“I want to go home,”I repeated, quieter this time.

Thenher armswerearound me, pulling me close as the weight of her body settled in next to mine.“It’sjusta house Emily,”she whispered, her voice soothing as she brushed her fingers through my hair, mimicking Mom’s familiar touch.“Aslong as we’re together, you’ll always be home.”