Now, it was me.
To my surprise, everyone else fell into their old positions, leaving me up front. Teeny was on my left. Aidy was on my right. Bigs rode behind his sister, and Ruby rode at the back, the box in her basket. The V was misshapen without Harrison and Nick.
“I’ll just run,” Harrison said.
“Sounds good,” Aidy told him.
Nick didn’t even bother to come close to the rest of us, instead heading off with a small bob of the head.
The formation wasn’t exactly right, but it would have to do. My legs burned the instant I began pedaling. I pushed on, turning onto Albany, pedaling up the hill and over. As delicate wind pressed into my face, a tear rolled down my cheek. The kids of Albany Lane, united again.
“Close your eyes!” I screamed, my voice sounding like Marley’s.
And they did.
July 11
Five Years Prior
Everyone was still asleep by the time Marley and I made it back to her house. Even her mom. Her dad had gone out of town for a week, something we weren’t allowed to ask any questions about. When Officer Bricket was home, his fights with Mrs. Bricket underscored every sleepover, an erratic heartbeat beneath our less-than-innocent games of Truth or Dare and Never Have I Ever.
There was a hose in Marley’s backyard, meant for rinsing feet after pool time. Her dad was so strict about it I once took off for home in the middle of his reprimands, barefoot and belittled. Marley picked my foot up as I rested my hand on the side of her house. The hose blasted icy cold water onto my sole. “Don’t scream,” Marley warned. I bit my lip to keep from yelping out. “It’s clean now,” she announced. I stepped my left foot onto the towel beside the hose while Marley washed my right.
When we repeated the process on her, she smiled. “I love cold water,” she told me. “Wakes you up like nothing else.”
We went into her house through the back sliding door that was always unlocked. “Let’s pretend to sleep for at least another hour,” she whispered as we crept down the hallway, past her parents’ bedroom, into her own.
I wondered why it was necessary but decided not to ask. I was always wondering with her and rarely asking. I hoped one day that would change. Or maybe the questions would start to answer themselves.
The air inside her bedroom had grown thick from the warmth of bodies. The night before, we’d draped colorful sheets from bookshelf to bookshelf, tenting her bedroom. We’d hung string lights in random patterns across the cotton ceiling and rolled out our sleeping bags underneath. There wasn’t enough room on the floor for all of us, so Marley slept in her bed. Only Aidy was allowed to share it with her.
It was getting harder to have sleepovers. Marley’s dad thought it was inappropriate for the boys to stay over. With him out of town, we knew it was one of our last chances to have one before the rest of our parents started to feel the same way as Officer Bricket.
We got away with a lot by having such a wide age gap between the eight of us. Most of our parents figured the younger kids kept the older kids from having too much fun, like we were built-in narcs and they were somehow authority figures. In reality, it was just easier on our parents for us to move as such a large unit. Strength in numbers among us meant less for them to keep track of during summertime.
My spot on the floor was right beside Nick, as always. I took a wide step over Bigs and another over Teeny, scooted around Ruby, and settled back in. I was careful not to wake Nick, who had his arm extended over my open spot as if he were saving it for me. I picked his arm up at the elbow and moved it enough to shimmy into my sleeping bag.
I lay on my back to examine the man-made constellations overhead. They didn’t shine as bright in the early morning light, but still my finger traced across the glowing bulbs, drawing my own versions of the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper and Orion’s Belt. The only ones I knew.
Marley cleared her throat. My cue to close my eyes and pretend to sleep.
I must have been very convincing, because after a while, Marley opened one of her nightstand drawers and took out her journal. I watched her through slitted eyes as she wrote and wrote, her hand scribbling faster than my thoughts could even form.
5
Sleep found and held me into early afternoon, when I awoke to Aidy perched on the edge of my bed, using the absolute bare minimum space required to hold her up without falling. “Mom and Dad want to talk to us,” she said.
It was inevitable. A weak-brewed coffee of a speech poured hot down our throats, as it usually was on the day following trouble. The ritual of receiving our punishment actually excited me. It had been so long, I was interested to see how different it would be.
I’d forgotten to charge my cell phone overnight. The dead device would likely be the cost of my bail, so I dug through the pile of belongings closest to my bed and grabbed it as my offering. Piles of clothes, papers, empty bowls, cups, and other random things populated my bedroom floor. My mom always got on my case about cleaning. I liked the mess. Occasionally, I’d shift it around into more visually appealing piles for her, but ridding myself of it entirely meant doing hard work for a temporary outcome. The mess would eventually return. Best to leave it be.
Aidy tried her best to sidestep everything, tripping over herself to follow me out of my room and down the hallway into Dad’s office. Always his office. To communicate that this was official business.
Dad sat in his old leather chair, like old times, leaning into the rickety back that was sure to someday break under such undue stress. He had his hands folded across his lap and an unreadable expression on his face. Mom stood beside him with the pads of her fingers pressed into the desk. They exchanged a look as we walked in, Mom twisting her wedding ring around her finger while Dad raised his eyebrows.
“Hi, girls,” he started. “I’d say morning, but you slept right through that.”
I faked a laugh to ease the tension. “I was pretty tired.”
“We’ll make this short,” Dad assured.
“I’m not going to fall asleep during this, I promise.”
He didn’t seem to get the joke. He had a look of concentration I recognized in myself sometimes, like when I hadn’t studied for a test but needed to come up with an answer to something I swear I’d never been taught.
“Your dad and I spent a lot of time talking about the best course of action for today,” Mom interjected. “Olivia, your behavior at the memorial was inexcusable.” As she went over the details, I handed over my cell phone in lieu of a response. She took it but did not accept it as full payment. “Ms. DeVeau fell apart after you went running out. I know you’re young, but you need to try and understand what that woman’s been through.”
I understood pretty perfectly.
“As soon as we’re done here, you’ll get dressed and walk over to her house and apologize,” she said.
Now I was listening. “I don’t even know where she lives,” I lied. Right after the divorce, Ms. DeVeau bought the house next to the railroad tracks on Arbor Street. She had the exterior painted a shade of soft orange she wanted to read as authentic California. She also took up gardening. Her excessive yard work didn’t impress anyone in our drought-ridden town, but she had a lifetime my-child-died-and-is-now-Cadence’s-legacy pass and got to do whatever she so pleased.
“You won’t be alone. Aidy will be going with you,” Mom added.
“What?” Aidy and I both asked in unison. Aidy held a near-exempt status herself. The punishments she received never extended beyond stern words and restricted computer use, and now that she was a collegiate nineteen-year-old, I assumed her days of being reprimanded were nothing but a memory.
“For one, you left the memorial with the keys to our car in your purse. Not only that, but on our unexpected little walk home, Dad and I saw you and Harrison pedaling down Albany on bikes we told you were never to be used again.”
“You can’t be serious. I was fourteen when you said that!” Aidy protested.
“Aidy, you are in no place to argue with us,” Mom said. The edge in her voice meant there was a story, some trouble I hadn’t yet heard about. “The both of you made us look like bad parents in front of the entire town.”
“Mom, I didn’t do anything! I went and found Olivia, and I’m somehow in trouble for that?” Aidy could not hide her disdain for me. We’d been told for years that when we got older, we’d not only love each other, but like each other. Judging by the angry glare she hurled at me, we were still waiting to find that bridge, much less cross it.
Part of me hoped she’d keep digging her own little hole with Mom and Dad. It used to be me that made it worse. I could never stop myself from yelling about how unfair they were being. I was always the first to cry, which they assumed made me the guiltiest. Aidy once broke four bowls at once—I had no idea how—and I had to mow people’s lawns for two weeks to pay for the damage, all because when asked if I did it, I protested so much that snot bubbles formed in my nose from crying.
Carrying Marley made me calmer. There were more important things to fight about. More effective ways to handle myself. At the same time, Aidy was right. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Not on purpose, at least.
“She was helping me with something,” I said in her defense.
Mom let out a sigh so long and steady, it almost sounded melodic. She rolled her head toward my dad, her neck muscles straining.
Dad took this as his cue to reenter the conversation. “Girls, when you’re under our roof, you play by our rules. No cell phones for a week. Aidy, your iPad is mine. Olivia, you’re not to use the house laptop. Neither of you are to leave here while we’re at work, and you need to check in with us from the house phone every two hours.”
“Come on!” Aidy shrieked.
“Every hour,” Dad countered, even though he knew it wouldn’t stick.
“Is that all?” I asked.
Dad looked to Mom, nodding to ease a hesitant sentence out of her lips. “We made a few calls while you were asleep,” she said to me. “You’ll be returning to Camp Califree at the end of the month.”
She wanted this to resonate. Be a big moment where I broke down weeping, grateful. What could be better than gigantic slides that tossed me into a wide-open lake? Relay races and tugs-of-war and Pizza Fridays? Suntans and curfews and loosely structured days spent hugging other kids who’d experienced real trauma and grief?
Summer in Cadence was better. My messy bedroom and my messy friends. Marley.
“Whatever,” I whispered, clenching my teeth to keep from crying. It would do me no good to protest, even though my every breath seemed to be laced with searing rebuttals. I knew I should show them joy, but I was too tired to perform that much.
I should’ve seen this coming. I’d been out in public with Nick Cline. I’d run out of the memorial crying. I hadn’t meant to make my own perfect storm, and yet there I sat in the eye of it, watching the chaos swirl around me with stunning efficiency. I stalked out of the office and back to the comfort of my bedroom, shutting my door and locking it behind me. I had to come up with a way to get out of camp.
The Adventure had only just begun.
I couldn’t miss a single day.
July 11
Five Years Prior
Mrs. Bricket opened Marley’s door at exactly eight in the morning. The hinges squeaked to announce her presence right as the quail started his song, cheerful and off-key as ever.
“Marley,” she called out in a hushed yell. “I need to go to work. The Stantons said you’re all spending the afternoon at their house. Please eat breakfast there. I don’t have enough food for all of you.”
Marley didn’t answer her mother. She pretended to sleep, which was ridiculous, because she’d been painting her nails mere moments before. The bottle was open on her nightstand and the room was sharp with the unmistakable metallic scent that only came from fresh polish in a closed space.
“Marley, I know you hear me. Can you please acknowledge your mother?”
Marley started fake snoring.
All of us were awake. Our collectively held breaths pressed down on the silence, everyone wondering how far Marley would push her disrespect.
“I’ve got it, Mrs. Bricket,” Aidy said. “I’ll tell her.”
“Thank you, Aidy, but I’d prefer for my daughter to tell me herself.” She snapped her fingers. “Come on, Marley. Don’t be a brat. I’m not in the mood.”
I turned my back from the door, rolling toward Marley’s bed. When I opened my eyes, Marley did too. She was on her side, facing me. She winked at me before she stretched her limbs and yawned, as if she’d just come to. “Morning, everyone,” she said in a husky whisper. She sat up. “Oh. Hi, Mommy. Good morning. You look lovely.”
Mrs. Bricket combed down her pencil skirt. It was mint green, starting above her navel and landing right below the knees. She’d tucked a flowy white blouse into it, the kind that had a bow built into the neckline. Her hair was almost the same shade as Marley’s, like bleached wheat rinsed in champagne, and she had it pulled into a low ponytail. I wasn’t sure what her job was. Something that made her dress up a few mornings a week and drive forty miles each way. That’s all I’d learned.
“Did you hear me?” Mrs. Bricket asked.
Marley gave her a coy grin. “Oh, no. I was sound asleep. What is it?”
“You need to take your friends to the Stantons’. I’ve already texted all of their parents letting them know that’s where they’ll be. Please eat breakfast there.”
“Perfect. Sounds amazing. Will do.”
“And clean up your room before you go,” Mrs. Bricket added.
“Mm-hmm.”
“All right. See you later.” Mrs. Bricket started closing the door. “Please be good, Marley.”
Marley blew her mother a kiss. “Of course.”
“Love you,” her mom said in a clipped rush, shutting the door as Marley answered with a “Love you too.”
Mrs. Bricket’s heels clacked along on the hardwood of the hallway. Once the sound of her steps disappeared, Marley picked up her cherry-red polish and finished painting her left hand.
“Do you guys wanna swim here today?” she asked, a mischievous smirk plastered across her face.
6
My curtains failed to make my room dark enough. Light still snuck in through slits I couldn’t seem to cover, even by pinning together the thick, black fabric designed to block everything out. I rushed into my cocoon all the same, hoping it would be good enough. That was all anyone ever settled for anyway.
By the time I’d caught my breath and mellowed out, hours had passed. The sun still waved at me through the curtain slits, but softer. An entire day of the Adventure was almost done slipping away from me, all because of Camp Califree.
I pressed my door open an inch at a time, needing to be in control of when my family realized I’d come back around. I tiptoed down the stairs, unsure of what awaited me. Mom sat on the couch watching reality TV. Aidy lounged beside her in the recliner. Without her phone to stare at, she gazed blankly at the television.
To my mom, I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think before I acted. I know better. You’re only doing what’s best for me. I’m excited to go back to camp.”
“Olivia,” she cooed. “My baby girl. It’s gonna be fun, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” I hugged her. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. When dealing with my mom, repetition did wonders for my authenticity.
“It’ll be good for the soul,” Mom said. “We all need breaks sometimes.”
I was sixteen. I didn’t have a job. It was summer. What I needed a break from wasn’t something I wanted to hear her explain. “We do.”
“We should go,” Aidy interrupted. “I don’t want to do this to
morrow.”
I sensed challenge in her voice. “Where?”
“To Ms. DeVeau’s.”
I’d forgotten. At the sound of my unchecked gasp, Mom closed her eyes to pray for my obedience.
“I’ll run and change, and then I’m ready,” I told Aidy. If I wanted to win the war of Camp Califree, I had to lose some battles.
In my bedroom, stacks of folded clothing decorated the floor in front of my dresser. In the wreckage I found a slouchy gray shirt and black leggings to replace my sleepwear. I hurried to pull my hair into a ponytail, threw on sandals, then headed for our front door.
On the walk to Ms. DeVeau’s, Aidy kept her eyes trained on the ground. She had on black polka-dotted shorts and a black V-neck tucked into the high waistband. Shiny black flats on her feet to tie it all together. Classic as ever. She handled each crack in Albany Lane with graceful high-kneed steps, artful in her avoidance of the many uncertainties in her presence. Like sisters do, we moved in time with one another, even our breathing the same, a soft chest-lifting hum, rising with the incline.
“You’re really excited for camp?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“I thought you hated it the first time.”
“I was young then. I didn’t understand the point.”
“But you do now?”
“Of course,” I lied again.
“Mom and Dad never sent me to camp,” she muttered.
Her words were a match tossed right to the embers inside my belly. “Oh. Did you see someone die too, and I missed it, Aidy?”
“I did, actually, Olivia. I was there too.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t actually see it happen.” She had no idea. No one had any idea.
“I didn’t realize the camp application required actually witnessing the exact instance someone was lost.”
When the Light Went Out Page 6