by Jane Charles
“What else was I supposed to do with it?” Really, a thank you would be nice.
“Did you organize anything else?” she asks with curiosity.
“Nope. Didn’t get a chance.”
Her shoulders drop as if she’s relieved or something. “Well, let’s go get supper.”
“I thought you had dinner and a ballet.”
“Savannah got sick, and she’s running a fever so we came home.”
“That sucks.” For Savannah and me. If they are home, I won’t be able to sneak up here and read the letters.
“Your father and I still want to go to the ballet, but John is complaining about his stomach too.”
I snort.
“I agree,” she says. “We’ll just see how much he really wants to stay home once I tell him that he’s not getting the password to the computer or be able to watch TV until we get home.”
“Really? You’d make him suffer because I might do something fun?” This woman was a piece of work.
“That’s not it at all. At least not completely. If he’s too sick to go to the ballet, he’s too sick to get out of bed.” With that she grins and heads for the stairs. I stay where I’m at. Maybe she’ll leave so I can get back to reading.
“Come on. I don’t want you up here.”
I’ve never been banned from the attic before. Then again, it’s not like I even come up here unless we are hauling down decorations or putting them away.
“Mom, I was thinking, if I can get this cleaned up and make room, maybe I can move up here.”
She’s shaking her head before she answers. “You’re not living in the attic, Madison. You’ll live with the rest of the family.”
“But sharing a room with Savannah is a pain.”
“It’s only for the summer, and you should be thankful Brisa lets her use the room while she’s away at school.”
“But she’s messy, noisy and nosey.”
“It’s not so bad,” my mother insists. “Now come along. I don’t want you up here.”
“Did you forget she broke the bow to my violin?” I’m still pissed about that, even though it happened over a year ago.
“She’s older now and learned not to touch your things.”
I blow out a long sigh. “She’s always there. I can’t have a conversation with Peyton without her wanting to listen in.”
Mom’s eyes harden at Peyton’s name. Shit, I shouldn’t have mentioned my best friend.
“Come on. Help me with supper.”
“Fine!” I’ll go now, but I’m coming back to read more of those letters.
Eleven
“Where the hell is it?” I’ve looked everywhere for that damn key, but I can’t find it.
After waiting since Saturday night to get back to those letters, I finally had the chance when John and Savannah went to school and Mom and Dad went to work, except the door to the attic is locked!
John wasn’t faking about his stomach being upset. He was already puking when Mom and I went downstairs.
Worse, John missed when he aimed for the toilet, or didn’t quite get there in time. I worked my ass off in that bathroom, and in a matter of minutes, it was all gross again. At least mom cleaned it up. I couldn’t have done it. Just looking at it, and that horrible sour smell, made me gag.
Mom and Dad didn’t go to the ballet, and they didn’t leave the house on Sunday either. Because I wasn’t allowed to do anything else, including hiding in my room, I spent all of Sunday working though my list of chores, which was a pain with people in the house, and I couldn’t wait for everyone to leave this morning so I could get back to those letters.
The attic has never been locked. Never!
At least I know what the key looks like. It’s one of those old, heavy ones that was probably an original part of this old house. It used to hang on a nail by the attic door, but disappeared a long time ago. I just thought it had been lost.
Clearly it wasn’t or the door wouldn’t be locked now.
The first place I looked was in Mom and Dad’s room. I know I’m not supposed to go through their things, but I don’t care. All I’ve been able to think about are those letters and that pink box. What else did Kelsey write to Brandy?
Who the hell is Brandy? If I keep reading, I know I’ll find out.
The key is not in their room. It’s not in Mom’s jewelry boxes or in Dad’s box of stuff. I even looked inside the little safe where Dad keeps his guns. Dad taught me how to shoot a long time ago. I don’t like guns, not at all, but since I’m old enough to know how to shoot, and respect them, I’m old enough to know the combination to the safe.
The key isn’t in the second safe either. The one where Mom keeps important papers like birth certificates, deeds, titles, passports and stuff like that.
I’ve looked through every single drawer and cabinet in this house, and it isn’t anywhere.
Mom wouldn’t put a clunking thing like that on her key ring, but she may have put it in her purse. If she did that, I’ll never be able to get the key and get into the attic. I might be brave but not enough to sneak something out of her purse.
Maybe I’m making this too hard. Just because she locked the door, doesn’t mean she hid the key away.
I sit on a stool in the kitchen and look everywhere. Where haven’t I searched?
“The basement.”
I can’t imagine it would be down there somewhere, but it’s worth a shot. I’ve got to find that key.
There’s a lot of crap in the laundry room, but no key. Mom really should clean up this room. There’s cleaning stuff in the back of some of the cabinets that may be older than me. An iron that’s started to rust and a sack full of rags. Nobody needs that many rags. But, I’m not cleaning this room since top to bottom does not include attic and basement.
The last place not searched is Dad’s workspace. His domain. The place he likes to tinker when he has nothing else to do. The tools that are off limits to everyone in the family.
With slow steps I approach. As long as I don’t move anything, I won’t get in trouble. Actually, moving the stuff isn’t the problem. It’s the taking and not returning that he gets upset with, like the hammer when Brisa was hanging pictures in her room. Or the drill when Cheng was helping out with the set for a play at high school. It wasn’t so much that he took it without permission, but that he forgot to bring it back. They never did find it, and Cheng’s allowance was cut until he’d paid for a replacement drill. That took like a year.
Well, since I have no intention of moving or taking anything, I should be good.
I study all the pegs on the wall, but no key is hanging from any of them.
It’s not on the workbench or in any of the cans of nails or screws.
Taking a deep breath and muttering a prayer, I open one of the two drawers, then blow out a disappointing breath. Just paper, pens and pencils.
I open the second drawer, almost afraid to look because this is the very last place it could be in the house. I squint my eyes close, pull open the drawer, take a deep breath and look down.
“Yes!” I scream and grab the key before I rush up the stairs and into the kitchen.
I hear the front door open and my heart races with panic. Slipping the key into the front pocket of my jeans, I pray the shirt is long enough to cover it and nobody will notice it’s there.
“Kelsey?” Mom calls.
Is she going to be constantly checking up on me? I grab an apple and take a bite. “In here.” I call as I walk into the dining room that leads to the living room. “What’s wrong?”
“Spilled coffee all over my shirt.” She gestures to the brown stain on her white blouse. “I have a meeting with some important clients in about an hour and can’t go like this,” she says as she heads up the stairs.
So far, so good. At least she didn’t come home a few minutes earlier or I would have been screwed.
She takes her blouse off and tosses it to me. “Take that to the laundry room, put stain remov
er on it and let it soak in the sink, okay?”
“Sure.” I’ll do anything she asks as long as she leaves, and soon.
By the time I come back upstairs, she’s changed and is standing in the kitchen.
My heart is beating against my ribs so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t hear it. That key is in my pocket. I know I’m not supposed to have it, and I’m scared she’s going to see right through me and just know. “Need anything else?”
Mom frowns and opens the freezer. “I forgot to take something out for supper.” She grabs ground beef and tosses it in the sink. “I’ll figure out what to do with it when I get home.”
I just nod. Food is the last thing on my mind. I barely choked down that apple when I was in the basement. I only grabbed it to cover my reason for being in the kitchen so she wouldn’t know I was in the basement.
“Well, have a good day,” she says and heads for the door.
“Doing what?” She knows I got everything done on the list.
“Read a book. That kept people entertained for centuries.”
“Before electricity, you mean,” I grumble.
“Exactly!” Her smile is too bright. I think she enjoys punishing me. “If the pioneers survived, so will you.” With that she leaves. “Don’t forget to lock the door,” is the last thing she says to me.
“I won’t,” I call. You’ll never know I was in the attic.
Twelve
I’ve got to be smart about this. I don’t trust that Mom won’t show up at any given time. Just because she has a meeting doesn’t mean it will be a long one. Plus, she might check on the key or even check the box, so I can’t take it to my room. But, I can’t stay in the attic and read either because I won’t hear anyone come in the front door.
After taking the box from the shelf, I study the letters. Really, all I see are lined up envelopes.
That’s it! I have envelopes in my room. It was a class project my eighth grade year. We were all given a pen pal in another state and we couldn’t email, text or use any social media. We had to write letters, address envelopes, put a stamp on them and drop them in a mailbox. I’d never written a letter until that assignment, which I guess was the entire point.
I still have a box of envelopes in my bottom drawer and that’s how I’m going to fool Mom. Unless she decides to open up the envelopes, she’ll never know the letters are gone.
I could just take the letters out, but I don’t want to get them out of order. This solution is perfect!
After retrieving the envelopes, I take out enough letters that take up the same space then return the box to the shelf. Then I lock the attic again, put the letters in my room, hiding them in the envelope box in my desk and then return the key. I’m just about home free, ready to go, heading up the stairs to my room, when Dad walks in.
This is a freaking conspiracy.
“Hey, honey.”
“Hey, Dad.” I want to ask why he’s home early but I’m afraid he’ll see right through me. The man is a detective, a Captain and all. It’s his job to break criminals and sniff out liars and thieves.
He groans as he takes off his coat.
“You okay?” I come back down the stairs.
“I think I got what John and Savannah had this weekend.”
“That sucks.” I take a step back. I don’t want those germs. I avoided my brother and sister, and now I’m going to avoid my dad.
“Make me some tea and toast, okay? I’m going to bed.”
“Sure.” I lean back as he passes me on the stairs.
“Don’t blame you.” He chuckles as he heads up. “I’d avoid me too.”
It sucks that my dad is sick, and it sucks that he is home. I can’t read those letters now. What if he needs something? What if he comes to my room?
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this family is conspiring against me. Or the flu. Or both!
Thirteen
“Happy Birthday!” Mom says as she comes in my room. I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up. Dad, John and Savanah are with her. This is a tradition. Breakfast in bed, and presents first thing in the morning on your birthday.
Dad’s dressed for work. “Are you better?”
“Yep. It was short lived, just like the kids, thank goodness.”
Great! Nobody will be home today and I can finally read those letters. I didn’t dare last night. Paranoia set in and I knew that as soon as I got them out of my desk, Mom would come in my room and I’d be caught.
“We hate to rush this, but it is a school day,” she apologizes.
“That’s okay.” She’s made my favorite. A bowl of goodness! Hash browns on the bottom, bacon, scrambled eggs and cheese on the top. She’s also made a small bowl of fruit, with my favorites: strawberries, raspberries, orange segments and banana slices.
“Well, open your presents,” John bounces on my bed.
Actually, there aren’t any actual boxes, just cards. The first one I open is from John. A silly card with a gift certificate to Baskin-Robbins. Gold Medal Ribbon is what got me into trouble. My guess is that Mom bought it before I left that music competition. I know John didn’t go shopping.
The next envelope is a silly card from Savannah with a gift card to my favorite bookstore. If I could leave the house, I’d go buy ice cream and books, but I can’t yet.
The last is a mushy card from my parents. They’ve given me a $50 gift card to my favorite music store. It carries everything I need from rosin for my bows to sheet music for all the instruments I play, and blank staff paper so I can write my own music. “Thanks.” I finally say. “These are perfect.”
“Well, eat up before your breakfast gets cold and enjoy your day.” Mom hugs me. “We’ll have cake and ice cream with dinner.”
I dive into the food as soon as they are gone, while I listen to them leave the house. They left my door open, and it’s right outside of the top of the stairs so I can hear everything. By the time I’ve emptied the bowl, scooping up the last of the hash browns, there is nothing but silence in the house. After plopping the last strawberry into my mouth, I take my plate to the kitchen. Mom may have cooked breakfast, but she didn’t clean up after herself.
I could leave them, and go read the letters, or I could clean first.
As much as I don’t want to wait to read, I get the kitchen cleaned and the dishes washed and wipe up everywhere there is a mess. Usually I don’t care, but since I was the one that scrubbed this place from top to bottom only a few days ago, I don’t want it all messy again.
Finally it’s done. I grab a glass of water and head up the stairs. That’s when I see the laundry basket full of dirty towels and washrags. My perfect excuse for being in the basement. I leave the water in my room and take the basket to the basement and throw the laundry into the washer and then go back upstairs and jump back in bed. My seventeenth birthday is going to be perfect!
Brandy,
I can’t believe you are finally here, and now you are gone. You are so perfect. Nothing in this world is more perfect than you. Or so beautiful. I’d heard people say that you don’t really know love until you hold your first child. I didn’t get it. Not until they laid you on me after you came out of my body. Pure, wonderful love like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
They didn’t want me to hold you. They were afraid I’d get attached and not give you up. I couldn’t understand how I could let you go without holding you first. It would be my only chance until you turned 18, and that is only if you wanted to meet me.
I only got you for a few precious moments, but I memorized every detail, from your soft head with dark hair, to your long fingers. I didn’t know a baby could have long fingers, but you do. Perfect fingers for a pianist. I wonder if you will play one day. I do. I love playing.
I hold out my hands. I have long fingers. A pianist’s fingers. It’s kind of cool that Brandy does too and that Kelsey plays the piano. But, a lot of people play piano and have long fingers, even my sisters.
You won’t remem
ber, I’m sure, but when I was done with lessons in the practice room, I’d always play my favorite lullaby – Brahms’ Lullaby, just for you. I’ve played it daily since I got to this school and just for you. Maybe one day when you hear it, it will sound familiar to you.
I know I’m being silly, but I want so badly for you to remember something of me.
How is that song not familiar to every kid? My mom played it for me when I was little, and my younger sister and brother. Not on the piano though. She had a recording.
If Kelsey wanted her kid to recognize a song, she should have picked something out there that nobody played or knew about. Then when she finally meets Brandy, she could test her theory on whether a song is remembered when heard in the womb.
I swiped the rattle from your bassinet. I know I shouldn’t have, but I wanted something that belonged to you. Then later, after your parents had taken you away, a nurse brought in a pink box with all kinds of things that your parents should have, like your handprints and footprints, a little hat and things like that. Another nurse came back later to get it. Or they were looking for the pink box, thinking maybe it was with me (they were a bit frazzled because it was a busy day). I know I shouldn’t have, but I lied and said I didn’t have it when I’d stuffed it into my backpack. Why should your parents get these things? They already had you.
I’m going to keep that box with me always. One day, if we meet, I’ll show it to you, but for now. It’s mine.
I’ve cried a lot today. I knew it would be hard to give you up, but I never realized just how hard it would be. Already I ache with the loss of you. You’re not moving around in my belly anymore, and I don’t get to hold you in my arms. I’m empty. That’s how I feel. My stomach and my arms are empty and one of them should be filled with you. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.
Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?
I wish Brandon were here to ask what I should do. But, if Brandon were here, I would have never given you up. He wouldn’t have allowed it. .