For Margo.
Your friendship is timeless.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Author’s Note
The Facts Behind the Story
Acknowledgements
Copyright
Back Cover
CHAPTER 1
Grandma used to say, “When one door closes, a window opens. And if that doesn’t happen, throw a rock and break in.” She could always make me laugh, but the door has closed, and there is no window or rock I can use to reach her now.
It’s barely been a month, and the mound over her grave hasn’t settled yet. Mom and I stand on the thick carpet of damp grass and stare at her name etched beside my grandfather’s on gray marble, cold and final. Sharon R. Bailey. How is it possible that I’ll never see her again?
“Today’s the day, Mom,” my mother says. “I’m driving Abbi to Madison, just like you both wanted.” Her voice breaks and I squeeze her hand.
My mom wanted me to stay close to home for college, in Ohio, but I always knew that the University of Wisconsin was where I belonged. I don’t know how Mom will do with both Grandma and me gone, but it’s too late to change my plans now.
“I miss you, Gram.” The words slip out as a whisper in hopes she can somehow hear me, but I don’t feel her presence. She’s not here. Maybe I’ll feel closer to her when I get to campus, a place I haven’t even seen yet. Gram’s sudden cancer diagnosis caused us to cancel our first visit, and when we tried to make the trip a few months later, she’d taken a turn for the worse. So, I’m going in blind to my new world. My hands twitch with anxiety.
We stand over her grave and try not to cry, missing the woman who could turn an average day into a grand adventure. After a while Mom sighs. “I suppose we should hit the road.”
“I love you, Grandma,” I whisper, sniffing back tears. I climb into Mom’s Murano, stuffed to the top with every can’t-live-without item we could think of, and we’re on our way to my new life.
* * *
After trading off driving duties, we pull into Madison that afternoon. The GPS guides us onto campus and we’re suddenly surrounded by students. I feel swallowed up by the massive buildings, some modern and new with gleaming windows and steel framing, others ancient with stone pillars and grand facades.
Mom creeps along in the car as students dart across the street in front of us and bikers whiz past. “This campus is huge. A private college would have offered a more personal experience,” Mom murmurs, biting her lip nervously.
“It’s a little late for that argument now.” My stomach jumbles with excited nerves at the prospect of how different my life will be here after growing up in a small town.
“I know, but I’m still allowed to worry. Don’t listen to me, though. Everything will be great. I’m sure Grandma was right—this is where you belong.” Mom squeezes my knee as she turns onto Observatory Drive. The road is steep and has tight switchbacks that reveal a breathtaking view of shimmering Lake Mendota.
I roll down my window and the scent of freshwater reminds me of summer camp. A warm breeze blows through my hair. “I can get used to this…”
We continue on, taking in every detail of campus from the thick woods on one side of the car to the numerous old buildings on the other. Mom suddenly points. “Look, there’s that bell tower Grandma used to talk about.”
An impressive stone structure crowns the top of the hill. “The Carillon Tower,” I say, remembering Gram’s stories of how the bells could be heard all across campus. The tall square building towers high above the treetops with its decorative cornice and parapets.
The road dips down a hill and up another. We pull in front of a massive stone building, named Elizabeth Waters, with wings jutting out from the center core like stacked Legos. We look at each other and then at the imposing building that will be my new home. My nerves bubble over again.
“Ready?” Mom asks, barely masking her own anxiety.
I’ve lived in the same house since I was four. This is going to take time to get used to, but I’m never one to shy away from a challenge. “Yup. Let’s do this.”
Inside the airy foyer, a curved wrought iron balustrade leads up to the main landing and office. There is a half-circle nook on either side, each containing a crescent-shaped upholstered bench.
Mom sits and rubs her hand over the fabric. “Look at these old benches—I think they’re covered in horse hair. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were original…”
“Mom.” I wave her over to help me with the check-in paperwork. After collecting my room key and lanyard, which holds an ID that gets me into the building, we follow the corridor to the next wing, looking for room 4418. We pass bulletin boards bursting with social event notices, club sign-ups, and floor meetings. Each dorm room door has the names of its residents written in thick black Sharpie on a bright orange star.
Students come and go, sidestepping past us to avoid bumping the two pillows in my arms, the oversized duffle over my shoulder, and the giant suitcase Mom is pulling. Some say hi, others avoid eye contact. I try to appear friendly, but not overeager.
“There are so many boys,” Mom whispers, smiling at each one as they pass.
“Mom! Stop staring!”
“I can’t help it. They’re all so adorable. Oh, don’t forget the condoms. I put them in your purse—not that I’m condoning what you might do with these…”
I stop short and turn on her. “Seriously, Mom. Please stop talking.”
She shrugs and feigns innocence but stays quiet.
We continue on until I find my room. “Abbi” is printed on one orange star alongside one that says “Jada”—the roommate I’ve only chatted with online a couple of times.
I slide my key into the solid old lock and turn. The door clicks, then swings open as if caught by an unseen breeze, and I’m drawn into my new home. One side of the room is fully moved in and the shelves are overflowing with snacks, mugs, framed photos, and books. Star-shaped string lights are draped from the ceiling and posters of Beyoncé and Jay Z hang on the wall over the bed. There’s a coffeemaker and makeup mirror crowded onto the small desk, and a small TV on top of the microwave. A corkboard above holds pictures and necklaces secured with push pins.
My side of the room mirrors the layout but is in stark contrast with its sad blank walls, empty shelves, and bare mattress.
“Home, sweet home,” Mom announces, bringing my monstrous rolling suitcase to a halt.
A minute later, a group of student volunteers appear with a luggage cart containing the rest of my belongings, and I’m soon surrounded by the chaos of unpacking.
Mom’s making my bed with new sheets, and I’m unloading notebooks and a reading lamp when Jada walks in.
“Abbi, you made it!” Jada has gorgeous corkscrew hair, wears a tank top and shorts, and has toenails painted bright purpl
e.
“Jada!”
“Hey, roomie!” She pulls me into a hug. “I hope you don’t mind that I took this side.” She tosses her keys onto her desk.
“Not at all. I love your twinkle lights.”
“Look at your cool stuff! All your accessories match. I love the teal and gray theme.”
“Hi, I’m Abbi’s mom,” my mother says.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Thorp.”
Mom smiles as Jada and I make our first impressions with each other. As an only child, I’ve always had my own room growing up, so sharing with a complete stranger is going to be new for me.
With Jada’s help, I’m unpacked in no time. I’ve left behind all my high school keepsakes. I’m starting a new chapter of life, and there isn’t really any need for pictures of me and my friends cheerleading on our senior trip to Florida. I pin up a pic of me and Grandma at the Grand Canyon a couple of years ago. Other than a handful of family pictures, I’m starting fresh. Looking at how everything fits in, I can see myself spending a lot of time in this cozy little room.
Mom shakes open my quilt, an intricate design made up of old clothing scraps. It lands on top of the sheets like a layer of colorful icing.
“Your bedspread is beautiful. Did you make this?” Jada asks my mom.
“Abbi’s grandmother made it.” Mom smiles at me.
Jada turns to me with a sympathetic face. “I’m sorry, I forgot that your grandma recently passed.” She examines the square patterns. “Some of these look really old.”
Mom leans forward and points to a square. “This is from Abbi’s baby blanket. And this one’s from her grandmother’s wedding dress.”
A swell of pride fills me. Grandma was hardly the traditionally sweet old lady who knitted and sewed. She was much more comfortable at a dusty dig site in the middle of some remote desert wearing her favorite Peruvian sweater and Birkenstocks, or trudging through mud when she’d take me geocaching in state parks. So when she decided to make this quilt for me, it was a true labor of love that included pricked fingers and colorful swearwords.
“She also gave me this Badger calendar. What do you think? Is it too much?” I ask, hanging it up.
“It’s just enough to show school pride without going overboard,” Jada says with a laugh. “Wait till you see Erin and Anna’s room down the hall. It’s like someone hurled Badger red and white all over.”
Mom dusts her hands off on her jeans. “I think that’ll about do it. Jada, do you want to join us for a soda and a snack? I’m sure there’s got to be dozens of good places to eat around here.”
“Thanks, but I’ve gotta take off for the boathouse. They’re giving a crew demonstration today, but Abbi, later we can explore campus if you want.”
“Yeah, I’d love to.” I’m grateful that the roommate lottery gave me Jada and not some boring stick in the mud.
Jada collects her ID and keys. “You guys should check out the Memorial Union Terrace. My parents and I had lunch there earlier. It’s attached to the student union and overlooks the lake. Amazing view.”
“Thanks. We will!” Mom calls after her.
After loading all the empty boxes back into the car for Mom to haul home, we explore the building. We follow the steps down from the main entrance of the dormitory. It’s like one of the grand staircases from Gone with the Wind or something. At the base of the stairs is a large carpeted sitting room filled with outdated furniture. “Antiques,” Mom corrects me. Along one wall is a fireplace framed by couches and a large coffee table. There are wall sconces and old-fashioned radiators. Heavy beige drapes hang at the large picture windows that overlook a balcony and a patio below.
“I bet this was the date parlor,” Mom says, soaking it all in.
“What the heck is a date parlor?”
“Gram used to tell stories about how the gentlemen callers would wait for their dates here in the date parlor. Back in her day, guys weren’t allowed in the dorm rooms. The boys dressed up in suit jackets and waited for their dates to make their entrance. Isn’t that romantic?”
“Let’s go eat,” I say and try not to roll my eyes.
* * *
The Terrace is packed with people gathered at brightly colored tables with a spectacular view of the lake, and a dozen or so students are catching rays out on the pier. Boats bob in the water, and birds flit near the shore. Cooks at an outside concession area are grilling up burgers, brats, and hotdogs. I still can’t believe this is my new home. It all seems too good to be true.
“Oh, honey. You’re going to love it here. You were right to pick Madison over a small school,” Mom says as we wander through the crowd and find a table with orange sunburst chairs under the shade of an old oak.
“It’s like an awesome club I don’t belong to,” I murmur.
“Give it a few days and you’ll be as comfortable as those kids over there.” She gestures to a table of girls laughing and talking over sodas and nachos, like they don’t have a care in the world. I want to be those girls, and someday I will be. I tell myself that I’ve got plenty of time.
Mom and I nibble at our food, stretching out our last hour together, until she reluctantly lays her napkin on her plate. “I hate to say this, but I’d better head out and let you settle in.”
I clutch her arm as reality hits. “You don’t have to go yet,” I say to stall the inevitable.
“The longer I stay, the longer you aren’t meeting new friends.” She squeezes my hand. “I won’t lie. I’m going to miss you like crazy, kiddo, but it’s time. Plus I need to get some miles behind me if I’m going to get back for my staff meeting tomorrow.”
My nervousness cranks back up. When she leaves, yet another door will be closing on my life. Sure, the giant window of college is opening up before me, but what if I’m not ready? Leaving Mom and home so soon after losing Grandma feels like a roller coaster that won’t ever stop dropping.
We walk back to the car in silence.
“Now don’t do anything dumb like I did and dye your hair blue. Oh, and no more tattoos. The one is plenty.” Mom brushes my hair aside and touches the tiny star on my neck that I got in honor of Grandma. She pulls me in for one last hug. “I love you so much, Abbi. You’ll have the time of your life—I promise,” she says in my ear.
“I love you too,” I whisper, my throat tightening. I know I’ll love it here, but it feels like I’m on the precipice of something huge, and I’m scared. I look around at other students, chatting and horsing around. Either this is harder for me than for them, or they’re just hiding it really well.
“I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.” Mom forces a smile as she buckles up.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“And you can plan on me calling every day, at least for a while.”
“Okay,” I squeak out.
Mom blows a kiss and pulls away, and my new life begins.
CHAPTER 2
So this is college life. I’ve only been on campus for two days. It’s still odd not to wake in my own room back home. Yet somehow, even though everything here at the UW is new and different, I feel closer to Grandma. I like thinking about her attending classes here so many years ago. Did she walk on the same paths I’m learning to take? Did she take the same stairways, or sit at the same place in the cafeteria that Jada and I have staked out? I smooth my hand over her old quilt. My heart warms as I recall the excited look in her eyes when I told her I would be living in Liz Waters, just like she did.
I stretch my legs over the side of my bed, and the ancient wooden frame gives a creak. Someone carved a symbol into the headboard years before. It looks like hands on a clock without the numbers or face. I touch the marred wood and wonder who did this and how long ago. I stand and look out the window at the swaying treetops and Lake Mendota beyond.
The door opens and Jada carries in a shipping box and a steaming cup of
coffee.
“Oh good, you’re up. You got mail,” she says.
“Already?” Mom promised she’d send care packages from home. I never imagined she’d start so soon. “I hope it’s chocolate chip cookies and the pair of Sperrys I forgot.”
Jada sets the box down. “My vote is for cookies. Save some for me—I’ll be right back.”
While she’s gone, I rip into the package, but it’s not cookies or shoes. It’s Grandma’s old hatbox.
I pause and lift out the vintage container covered in a faded floral damask fabric with a fraying rose-colored cord. Tied to the top is a sealed envelope with a yellow sticky note from Mom.
Abbi,
I found this old hatbox of your grandmother’s. She told me a long time ago she was saving it for you.
Miss you!
Love,
Mom
I tear away the Post-it. Grandma had scrawled “Abbi” on the envelope in her flowing handwriting.
Running my hand over the beautiful, aged hatbox, I remember being little and staring up at it high on a shelf in Grandma’s closet. When I asked what it was, she told me it was a hatbox from her younger days. I begged to try on the hats that I thought must be inside, but she laughed and said there were only a bunch of old papers in it.
My heart pounds against my chest. “Oh, Grandma, what have you given me?” I whisper.
I remove the envelope from under the ribbon, carefully slit it open, and slip out a single sheet. A waft of Grandma’s perfume scents the air. My hands begin to shake when I see her familiar script filling the page.
My sweet Abbi,
You have been the gem of my life, and just when this darn cancer came calling, I realized who you are.
Here are a few mementos from the past. I hope they guide you and help you find the answers that I never could. Remember, you promised. I won’t say more, lest you think I’ve gone batty.
All my love,
Grandma
I turn the page over, but there’s nothing more. Maybe she actually had gone batty at the end. In and out of a medicated haze, she had said a lot of crazy things. She had asked me to promise to “find the baby,” and I said that of course I promised, even though she wasn’t making any sense. I just knew I had to reassure her.
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