“That’s smart,” he said. “She always had a plan, you know. She always knew what she was doing.”
“I wonder what that’s like.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, kid. Just a skip away from the end of high school. College waiting in the distance. You’re doing pretty good from where I’m sitting.”
“I guess. I mean, I know what I’m doing and what my goals are, but... I guess I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to achieve them.”
“Whoa, whoa—where is this coming from?”
“It’s just... nothing is a given, you know? I got into school, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be able to actually do it.”
“If anyone’s going to excel at this college thing it’syou, Lottie. You’ve been ready for college since your first day of preschool. You wouldn’t even let me walk you into the classroom, remember?I got this, Dad.”
I didn’t remember, admittedly, and that also didn’t really sound like me.
When had my anxiety kicked in? Sometime after that?
And why?
“And if I don’t? If I don’t excel? What then?”
“Then we make a nice little in-law apartment for you in the basement, and you live the rest of your days as a shut-in.”
“Dad! I’m being serious.”
“I have no doubt in your ability to kick this college’s ass,Lottie, but on the off chance it doesn’t work out, there are a hundred other paths you could take. A college degree isn’t the only thing in life. Look at your aunt Helen.”
He kissed my cheek, used my shoulder to push himself up. He went inside the house. I dumped the rest of my coffee on the grass and went inside to take a shower.
I tried to read the Ponce de León book later that day. I didn’t understand why she had wanted me to have it. I hated history, and I wasn’t particularly fond of nonfiction. I slugged through the first paragraph, and in theory it was pretty cool—it was all about an impossible quest and an unreachable dream—but the writing was so long-winded and dry that my eyes unfocused after just a few sentences.
Aunt Helen had owned the most expansive private library of anyone I’d ever heard of (she was featured on the front page ofLibraries Internationaltwelve separate times). (Yes,Libraries Internationalwas an actual magazine.) So I wasn’t quite sure why one of her last wishes had been to have this particular book back.
I put it back on my bookshelf and went to play croquet with Abe.
The next morning was Sunday, my day with Sam. I woke up early and took a shower and found something to wear and then knocked on Abe’s door at ten.
“Go away,” he yelled.
Abe was sometimes a morning person and sometimesnot. It came and went in waves.
“It’s me!” I said.
“Go away, me.”
“Abe, I miss you!”
“You live with me.”
“It just doesn’t feel like that lately, you know?” I leaned against the door and ran my fingernails down the wood over and over, because I knew that drove him crazy.
“FINE,” he yelled, so I turned the doorknob and let myself into the room.
Abe’s room was kind of a mystery to me. He didn’t love intruders and so every time I was let inside, it felt like my first time. Every wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, now packed with first editions and rare hardcovers from my aunt. He’d unpacked much quicker than I had. Aunt Helen’s boxes were still sitting on my carpet, still covered in a blanket, waiting.
Abe was lying in bed, the comforter pulled up to his chin, his eyes squinted shut, and his face scowling.
“What do you want?” he hissed.
