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My eyes dash over to the pile of mail with the opened letter from a few days ago. I force out a sigh before walking over to the letter and staring down at it.
I take the letter out and begin forcing myself to read.
Dear Miss Reed, we regret to inform you of the passing of your birth parents, Damian and Christina Gordon. They passed on May 1. I am sorry we are getting this to you so late, but we did not know the Gordons had a daughter until going through the will and dividing their personal effects. We are reaching out with our condolences and to inform you that your childhood home has been left in your name, as well as a sum of money left over from their bank accounts. Enclosed along with this letter is a check for the amount and a key to your home.
Our condolences, Miss Reed
What the hell?
No, really, what the hell? First, they treat me like a nuisance. Now I have a home I hate in a city I hate. Do they think this will wash it all away?
What next?
I can feel Ella’s eyes boring into me, waiting to see what I do. Mimi continues making the tea, but her body is turned to keep me in her peripheral view. They want to see what I’ll do, to see how I’ll react, and honestly, I want the answer just as much.
What am I going to do now?
Will I go back there?
Will I feel better?
Worse?
Right now, any possibility feels like too much. I already feel like crap because of David and Dalton. Now I might be forced to feel like crap because I don’t love my bio parents. I don’t want to do anything. So, I don’t. I walk out fast enough that Ella and Mimi can’t stop me.
Swing sets have always been a calming place for me. I can keep my body moving while not thinking. I think I also like the rush of falling when you are coming down. That quick panic that doesn’t even last a second when your body lifts ever so slightly off the seat. I’ve always been a thrill seeker.
My birth parents are dead, and I’m the owner of their house. A noise comes out of me that I barely understand. It rumbles through my chest and sounds like a mixture of sobbing and laughing before it transforms into an uncontrollable laughter. I must sound like I’ve dived off the deep end.
“Hey, Miss Girl! Hope this is a good sign.”
My head snaps up at the familiar voice. Standing by the back door is one of my two older brothers, Miguel Reed, in his leather biker jacket and goofy smile.
I leap off the swing and run toward him with my first real smile since reading the letter. “Miggy! What are you doing here? I thought you were still in Traverse City?”
Miguel goes to school at Northwestern Michigan College, which is an hour away, so he visits at least once a month. I guess it is summer now, and he can travel as much as he wants. He did get that motorcycle that our parents hate.
“I’m on my way to Lansing to see Rich and decided to spend the night here.” Miguel wraps an arm around me, pulling me into a hug and kissing the top of my head. “How’s my favorite sister?”
Something else is up with him, but he’s not saying it. I don’t pry, though—because I never do—and wiggle out of his hold.
“I heard that!” Both Ella and Mimi exclaim from inside.
“I know!” Miggy sings back as he turns and smiles at me again. Miguel Reed was the first boy to call me a girl. Early on, he learned I loved being referred to in a more feminine way, so he made it his mission to always call me some girly name.
“Hmmm?”
“Don’t make me tickle it out of you.” Miggy’s hands mock-reach for me as I bounce away from him.
“Don’t you dare,” I deadpan before smiling again. Tickles from Miguel are a weakness. I don’t know what magic he has in those hands, but no secrets are safe when the boy is around.
“Well, come on, then. Why are you out here?” he asks, but I know where this line of questioning is heading.
The letter. He saw the letter and knew something was off, or Ella told him the minute he arrived, and Miggy was being Miggy by making sure I was okay.
Back when the bullying was a little worse, he offered to leave a college party and come get me. He said, “They made the princess cry, so now they have to deal with the knight.” That was my freshman year. The boys thought it would be fun to lock me in the boys’ locker room while they were changing.
“Sal? Come on, Miss Girl.” He’s pleading now, even using his puppy-dog eyes. “We’ve always been able to tell each other everything.”
