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My lips curve as I head out the front door of the building.
Chapter40
Kaia
Istand in my attic apartment in Jamaica, Queens, trying to find the will to leave. My black kitty Exupéry meows and rubs against my leg. He is completely blind but usually seems to be in good spirits. No one else would take him in at the animal shelter so I did.
Kaia, keeper of broken things.
My face would go great on one of those Catholic saint candles that I so love to collect. I turn my head and look at my collection of candles, each looking stoic on its cylindrical glass form.
What can I say, they are cheap at the bodega on the corner. Plus, when I light them, it gives my apartment instant ambiance.
I scratch Exupéry behind his ears and sigh. Taking a deep breath, I stop double checking the contents of my backpack. Exupéry butts me with his head.
“I see you,” I tell Exupéry. Kneeling, I scratch him under his chin.
Purrs burst from Exupéry’s chest. My lips curve upward in a smile. He always seems enthused about everything I do, especially if it directly involves me petting him. He’s been like that ever since he strolled up the attic stairs when I left the door open last summer. He doesn’t mind how tiny my studio is in the least or how secondhand chic my attempts to decorate it are.
He doesn’t even seem to notice the fact that he’s blind, other than the occasional fall down the stairs.
I make eye contact with him as I gently scratch behind his ears. “I wish you could come to Hartford with me. My family would hate you, but at least I’d have a buddy.” I scrunch my face up. “You’d be a welcome distraction, honestly.”
Exupéry’s tail twitches; he loves being talked to and petted at the same time. I pet him for another twenty seconds and then I sigh.
“Okay. Wish me luck.”
Grabbing my backpack, I shoulder the straps as I start down the stairs. It’s only a few blocks to the bus I need to catch that will take me out of New York City and all the way to Hartford. It’s cold and overcast as I climb on the bus and find a window seat.
I text my father to let him know I’m on my way. Then I stare out the window, trying not to bite my nails as the bus pulls out.
The question of why my father summoned me home is heavy on my mind. Did I just wait too long between visits? Or is there a more sinister reason?
The scenery changes, though I’m barely aware of it. The gritty concrete texture of New York soon gives way to the strangely empty echo of the highway that winds itself near the suburbs. At one point, there are no exits for miles, just dead grass and barren trees.
Then we’re in Connecticut; only an hour and half from New York City, Hartford likes to play the charming country cousin to it’s older, more glamorous sister city.
Outside, the suburbs of Hartford are entirely different than that of New York. The streets here are clean as a pin, the yards expansive and green, the houses are huge three story affairs made of brick. It’s kind of amazing how much each house looks to the next.
I suck in a deep breath and get off at my stop, my heart hammering the entire three blocks to my parent’s house.
I trot the last forty feet up the yard, ringing the doorbell on the off-white brick house. Out of the corner of my eye, I see ivy starting to climb a corner of the house.
My father hates ivy. One corner of my mouth lifts in the ghost of a smile as I wait for someone to open the broad oak door.
But as soon as it opens, my smile vanishes. My sister stands there in her dark blue Catholic schoolgirl outfit, her blonde hair pulled halfway up with a long dark blue ribbon. Her lips twist with humor as she eyes me, wearing jeans and a black sweater.
“God, you look wretched,” she says. “As always.”
I repress a sigh. “Hello, Hazel.”
She rolls her eyes and leaves the door open, heading down the long hallway into the kitchen. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I step in and close the door behind myself. Although I’ve just come from the blustery day outside, it feels colder inside. As I head in my sister’s wake, I guess that Dad has been on a money saving kick again.
The heating is usually the first to go when he rages about how everything costs him too damn much.
It’s a frequent complaint because the costs of heating a house of this size here in Hartford are significant.
I walk into the kitchen, bracing myself. But my father is nowhere to be seen. Instead, my sister sits at the kitchen counter, absorbed in her phone.
