Waiting for the Storm

by Marie Landry

  I watched a trio of girls who were clustered close together just outside the light from the bonfire. Their murmured voices, along with snippets of their conversation, drifted over to me, and I felt a pang of longing. The three of them reminded me of Bianca, Alexis, and me before last year. There was a time when I’d have walked over and introduced myself, tried to become part of the group. Now I barely knew how to act around kids my age. I’d been out of the real world for so long, I had lost my confidence.

  The wind picked up, sending grains of sand dancing around me in a small whirlwind. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, catching the faint scent of lilacs. Mom’s favourite flower.

  A shiver tingled along my spine. Was it ridiculous to believe this was some kind of sign from her? A hollow little laugh spilled from my mouth. The wind blew and all of a sudden I believed in messages from beyond the grave? Maybe Ella was right; maybe I really was losing touch with reality.

  Still, it was kind of a nice thought. Not the losing touch with reality part, but the idea that my mom might be sending me a message. Maybe Mom wanted to somehow let me know everything was going to be okay. That I had a chance to start over, to be someone different here. Mom had always been big on second chances.

  Maybe this summer could be mine.

  *****

  Despite that lovely thought, I remained in my little sand nest, deciding I wasn’t quite ready to introduce myself around yet. There would be time for that.

  When the group started to disperse, I stayed where I was, watching people head off down the beach and disappear into houses or toward the street, where I heard the soft hum of engines driving away.

  Someone tossed sand on the bonfire and waited to make sure the flames were out before going into the house to the left of mine.

  I stared out across the lake, watching the moon make its slow progression across the inky-dark sky. Stars glittered overhead like millions of tiny electric pinpoints breaking up the darkness.

  I remembered Mom telling me that when she was younger, she used to talk to the moon. She’d been an only child, and had a fairly lonely childhood, so at night she would talk to the moon—tell it her secrets, her wishes, her hopes for the future. She told me she’d spent years wishing for a friend, and had finally found two of them when her family started spending summers on Angel Island.

  If I talked to the moon and made a wish would I find a friend like Mom had? The thought was so ridiculous it almost made me laugh. And yet…

  “What do I really have to lose at this point?” I whispered into the darkness. I felt sort of foolish sitting all alone on a beach in a strange place talking to myself, but then I pictured my mom doing it—my brave, funny, smart, kind of quirky mom—and it didn’t seem quite so silly.

  “I miss you so much, Mom,” I murmured. She’d only been gone a week, but sometimes it felt like forever. Other times, like now, sitting on the beach where I knew she’d once been, made it feel like she’d never left. I leaned my head back, not caring if I got sand in my hair.

  “What should I wish for? For Dad to learn to cope better? For Ella to stop hating me? For life to return to some semblance of normalcy?” I shook my head and closed my eyes. A phantom image of the moon remained burned behind my eyelids. “For a friend? Someone to talk to? Someone who understands that…that I don’t even remember what normal is? That I can barely function after being out of the real world for a year?”

  When my eyes began to prickle, I scrubbed my hands over my face and pushed quickly to my feet, brushing sand from my legs. I needed a distraction, and since there was no one else around to provide one I’d have to figure something out on my own.

  I walked toward the house and hesitated for a minute, wondering if I should go look for Ella. Even though she didn’t want anything to do with me, I still felt responsible for her. She would always be my baby sister, no matter what, and I hated the thought of her getting hurt.

  Then again, she was sixteen, almost seventeen. She knew what she was doing, even if she also knew it was wrong and potentially harmful. She wasn’t acting out of grief over Mom’s death—she’d been acting this way for months.

  I stood there for a few minutes longer, straining my ears for any sound coming from further down the beach. When I didn’t hear anything other than regular night noises, I figured it was possible Ella had gone in the front door to avoid being seen by Dad. With a shrug, I slipped through the sliding doors and found Dad still passed out on the couch.

  There was a time when Ella and I had a strictly enforced curfew. Once I turned sixteen, I had to be home by eleven unless my parents agreed otherwise, and they told me it would be upped to midnight when I turned seventeen. Ella had never needed a curfew until the beginning of this past school year because she’d rarely gone out at night, but when she started, her curfew had been eleven, too.

  When Mom got sick, Dad became the curfew enforcer, making sure Ella was home no later than eleven. I stopped going out with friends, so curfew time didn’t mean anything to me. I’d seen Ella sneak out several times after our parents were in bed, but I never said anything. I didn’t need to give her another reason to hate me.

  Now I expected we could stay out half the night and Dad wouldn’t even notice or care. Great for Ella, but that just meant one more thing for me to worry about. Not that I could do anything to keep Ella from going out, but it wouldn’t stop me from worrying about her and wondering what kind of trouble she was getting into.

  I went upstairs and turned my bedroom light on. Heaving my suitcase onto the bed, I began to unpack my things, hanging clothes in the closet or folding them neatly before tucking them in the dresser. I put my toiletries in the bathroom—my bathroom!—and went through the process of getting ready for bed, hoping I could trick my brain into getting tired and letting me sleep.

  No such luck.

  I set my laptop on the desk and contemplated booting it up, but decided against it. Instead, I pulled a book from my purse and took it to the window seat.

  One good thing about being an insomniac was that I got a lot of reading done. Mom and I used to surf blogs from my laptop on days she was in bed, and once she discovered book blogs, she suggested I start one so I could talk about all the novels I read. I’d never gotten around to it, but I decided it could be a good project for this summer—a hobby to keep me busy, and a way to meet people with similar interests. If I couldn’t have real life friends, I could at least have online ones.

  The next few hours flew by as I immersed myself in someone else’s world. Reading was pretty much the only time my brain wasn’t working overtime.

  I was surprised when I glanced out the window and saw pale light on the horizon. After spending every night awake for the last several months, I knew it must be about 5:30 a.m.

  Watching the sunrise on my first morning here seemed like a good idea, so I crept from my room and into the hallway. I was relieved to see Ella’s bedroom door closed; I just hoped she was in there alone. Dad was gone from the living room, so he must have made his way to his own room at some point during the night.

  When I reached the beach, instead of sitting behind the mound of sand, I perched on top of it, pulling my knees up to my chest and staring out at the horizon. It occurred to me that I’d seen more sunrises than sunsets over the last few months. I bet that wasn’t common for most seventeen-year-olds.

  Until now I’d assumed that a sunrise was a sunrise, and they’d look the same no matter where you were. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The sunrises at home were beautiful, but they were nothing compared to watching that giant ball of fire rise over the shining waters of Lake Ontario. The sky turned from a peachy-orange to a pale pink before morphing into shades of purple and red.

  It was incredible. And it made me kind of sad that I had no one to share it with.

  Shrugging off the feeling, I kept my eyes trained on the sky so I wouldn’t miss a second of the changing colours. I was vaguely aware of a car door closing nearby, but I figured someone
was heading to work early.

  The sound of heavy footfalls made me jump up and whirl around. A young guy was walking up the path between my house and the house to the right. He had his head down, but from what I could see of his face I guessed he was in his early twenties. I wondered if he was the one who’d left late last night, and if he was just getting back now, all these hours later.

  As if sensing me there, he glanced up. When our eyes met, he froze on the path. His reaction was almost comical, like something from a cartoon. I imagined a screeching brake sound effect.

  We stood and stared at each other. His dark hair was just a bit too long, falling over his forehead and the tops of his ears. A hint of a five o’clock shadow darkened his tanned face, and his blue-green eyes shone in the soft morning light.

  His expression was unreadable as he tilted his head slightly to the side, still examining me. Slowly his expression changed, turning into something akin to interest. Curiosity maybe? I wasn’t sure, but it was kind of unsettling. I felt like I should say something, even just call out a hello, but I was frozen under his scrutiny.

  I was also suddenly very aware of the fact I was wearing pajamas—a matching tank top and shorts covered in colourful owls. I hadn’t expected to see anyone before six in the morning.

  Finally he lifted a hand in a small wave, and unlike last night, I automatically waved back. A small smile touched his lips as he dropped his hand, and I realized my initial guess had been wrong—he was more likely around my age than in his twenties. He gave me a little nod before bowing his head again and continuing into his house.

  I watched the door for a few minutes, wondering if he would come back out. When he didn’t, I sat back down on the sand hill.

  Heaven help him when Ella got a look at him. Tall, dark, and handsome seemed to be her type—or one of them anyway.

  I snuck one more glance over my shoulder in the direction of his house. I pictured his face, and that look of curious interest as he’d studied me. Had my expression mirrored his?

  The sky was almost completely light now, and seagulls were starting to circle over the water in search of breakfast. I yawned and stretched, feeling oddly tired considering I’d only been up for about seven hours. Maybe my lack of sleep was finally catching up to me.

  Back in my room, I pulled the curtains, even though I knew they wouldn’t do much to keep the sunlight out. It didn’t really matter anyway—whether the room was pitch dark or flooded with light, when my body was ready to sleep, I could sleep through just about anything.

  I pulled back the covers and crawled into bed. There was a ceiling fan above me, and a nice breeze coming in the open window. I watched the curtains as they danced hypnotically in the light wind, and my eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they slid closed and I fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Something was beeping. Was Mom heating lunch in the microwave? It was usually just the two of us for lunch since Ella was at school and Dad was at work. If she had the strength she’d sneak into the kitchen while I was asleep and heat up leftovers for lunch so it was ready when I got up. She said it wasn’t right that I took care of her all the time, and the least she could do was nuke lunch.

  I awoke with a smile on my face. When my eyes opened and I realized where I was, fresh grief hit me like a tidal wave, and I gasped in a breath, clutching at my tight chest. I wasn’t at home in my bed, and Mom wasn’t downstairs in the kitchen. Mom wasn’t anywhere. She was gone.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d woken up and forgotten Mom was gone; each time it was like losing her all over again. How long would this keep happening? How long would I have to go through the pain of losing her?

  The beeping that had woken me sounded again and I glanced over at the bedside table. My cell phone was flashing a low battery warning and beeping every few seconds. I grabbed for it and shut the power off, making a mental note to charge it later. I hardly ever used it—I had no one to call or text—but I kept it anyway, telling myself I might need it in an emergency.

  I flopped back down on the pillows and covered my eyes with my hands. Before I’d shut the phone off I noticed it was just after noon. I’d been sleeping for about six hours, and that would have to be good enough. I couldn’t go back to sleep and risk waking up and having to be reminded yet again that Mom wasn’t here.

  I rolled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. A quick shower made me feel slightly more human, and gave me a chance to add to the mental list I’d started earlier: call handyman to start work on the front porch, and find a way to the grocery store to stock up on food so we don’t all starve to death.

  Once I was dressed, I went downstairs. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, fully dressed, shaved, hair brushed, and laptop open.

  I was so stunned, I blurted, “You’re working,” by way of greeting.

  Dad glanced up and smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sort of,” he replied, shuffling some papers beside the laptop. “Trying to, anyway. Don’t know if I’ll get very far.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that. At least you’re trying? Or perhaps I’m proud of you? Neither of them sounded right. “Good for you,” I finally said, crossing the room and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I’m going to call the handyman to get started on the porch, okay? Do you have the number?”

  Dad hunched over his laptop and squinted at the screen. “I called him,” he said absently, waving a hand toward the front of the house. “He’s out there already.”

  The shocks just kept coming. When I opened the fridge door and saw a carton of milk, some fresh fruit, and a package of deli meat had been added alongside the box of pizza from last night, I almost fell over. “You went shopping?”

  “Just made a quick run first thing this morning when I realized there was nothing for breakfast.” Dad glanced at me quickly before returning his gaze to the computer screen. I could have sworn he looked guilty. “Got a few things, but we’ll need to go back later and really stock up.”

  “Sure,” I said casually, pulling an apple from the fridge and taking it to the sink to rinse. “I can probably manage that.”

  “That’d be great,” he said distractedly, tapping away at the keyboard.

  I nodded even though he wasn’t looking. “Well then…I’ll just let you…” I trailed off; he wasn’t paying attention anymore. I figured I was lucky to get as much out of him as I did.

  I followed the faint sound of hammering toward the front of the house. I stood at the open door and looked through the screen. A guy in long khaki shorts, a white undershirt, and heavy work boots crouched on the porch near the steps, pulling up boards and throwing them onto the lawn with a loud clatter. Not wanting to disturb him, I turned to go back upstairs, but my foot caught on the mat inside the door and I stumbled, dropping my apple with a loud thunk.

  The guy outside turned, and I caught a glimpse of his face under his low baseball cap. It was the boy from last night and earlier this morning—my neighbour. He tilted his head to the side as he had before and looked at me expectantly, so I opened the screen door and stepped outside.

  “Hey,” I said, giving him a lame little wave. “I’m Charlotte.”

  “Ezra.” He rose from his crouched position and pulled one glove off, wiping his hand on his shorts before holding it out to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

  His hand was warm and rough, and so big it enveloped mine. “You too.” Was it just my imagination or was this exchange seriously awkward?

  He released my hand and we stood and stared at each other. Yes, this was definitely awkward. I’d never had trouble talking to guys before, but for some reason Ezra left me speechless.

  “I’m basically going to have to redo the entire porch,” he said, filling the silence. “I’m surprised it’s lasted this long without collapsing. Whoever built it didn’t use the proper wood and now it’s rotting from water damage.”

  “Sounds expensive,” I commented, unsure what else to say.

  �
��It won’t be cheap,” he agreed. “But your dad…that is your dad, right?” He pointed toward the house, and I nodded. “He said to do whatever needed to be done and that cost wasn’t a problem.”

  I nodded again. I wasn’t sure how much money Mom had set aside for repairs on this old place, but I was sure it was substantial. She’d loved it so much, she said fixing it up was her way of giving back for all the summers she’d spent here and the wonderful memories she’d made.

  “I’ll do a good job,” Ezra said, almost defensively. “It’ll last a hell of a lot longer than this did.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply…” I sighed. This was why I didn’t talk to people anymore.

  He shook his head. “Sorry. Let’s rewind on that. I’m Ezra Rhodes, I live next door, and I promise I’m not really a jerk.” He gave me a little grin that had my lips tugging upward in response.

  “Charlotte O’Dell, new occupant of 20 Greenwood Lane. And I didn’t think you were a jerk.”

  His smile widened slightly, and he turned back to his work, raising his voice so I could hear him. “You’ll want to use the back door for awhile, at least until I get the porch down completely and set up temporary steps for you.”

  “Sure, okay…thanks.” I watched him work, his arm and back muscles rippling as he loosened boards and pulled them up before tossing them onto the grass. A slight breeze wafted across the porch and brought the scent of sunscreen with it. Even though it was early summer, Ezra was already quite tanned. He must have forgotten to apply lotion to the back of his neck, because it was already starting to turn red.

  I’m not sure how long I stood watching him, but he must have sensed my eyes on him, because he turned and met my gaze.

  “Sorry. I’m just gonna go inside.” I pointed behind me unnecessarily. “I’ll see you later.”