Page 14

“Carpet?” I scan the ground where Amelia’s hardwood floors should be. Sometime in the past eleven years, they were replaced with… carpet! I drop my bag to the ground, my heart pounding as I peer around the living room—same corduroy couch, same lace curtains, same eyesore coffee table. Nothing is new except for the carpet. My roller coaster emotions are going to get the best of me. Quivering, I walk into the dining room, where she knelt all those years ago. More beige carpet. “No,” I whimper. Slumping to the floor, I cross my legs, cover my face with my hands, and cry, “Carpet.” My eyes swell, tear after tear falling onto the new flooring that is the cherry on top of my miserable day.

Dad might be right—he often is—something is wrong with me. I am obsessed with Amelia.

I rest my head against the wall. “Olivia,” I mutter. “What have you gotten yourself into? You’re fighting with Dad. You’re going crazy over carpet. Because there aren’t any floorboards to pull up! All for Amelia?” I’m ready to call my father and tell him to come get me when⁠—

Bzzz! My phone. Digging through my purse, I find it. Benjamin’s name lights up my screen. I hold the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Honey,” he whines. “What is going on with you?” And somehow that whine tells me he just got off the phone with my father.

I hit speaker and glare at his toothy photo on my phone. I swallow down my annoyance and say, “Nothing.” I can be rational. I can be calm.

“Then why aren’t you with Jonathon?”

I muster the sweetest voice I can and say, “Benjamin, I’m going to pretend you haven’t talked to my father and let you in on my news. Amelia left me something. You’ll never guess what⁠—”

“Olivia—”

“A house! I know, I was shocked too, but it’s exciting and mysterious.”

He huffs. “Liv⁠—”

“I have no idea why she left it to me. What do you think?” Curling my hand into a fist, I punch it into the dumb carpet beneath me.

“May I speak now?” he says like a patient teacher speaking to a student. “I’m just asking if something is wrong. This isn’t like you. You usually heed Jonathon’s advice. Are you all right?”

I shove my fist into my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut. Rational. Calm. “Benjamin, it’s usually smart to take the side of the woman you love, rather than her father’s.” I punch the carpet and ignore the sting shooting up into my fingers.

“I’m not taking sides. But to be fair, I do feel like Jonathon has reasonable grievances.” He sounds like a lawyer, not a boyfriend. “However, my prime objective is to make sure you’re well.”

I yank a fuzzy pinch-full of beige polyester free from the floor beneath me. “I’m fine. I’m great.”

“Okay. Well… I would just like to say I think it’s imperative we regard all Dad has to say concerning this house. Once you’ve slept and eaten, I’m sure you’ll agree. We need to think about this from every angle. I mean, Livy, what are you going to do with the place while you’re at school? What will we use it for, a summer home?” He barks out a laugh.

“I don’t need to sleep or eat.” Although, I wouldn’t say no to a Dr Pepper and a cheeseburger. That isn’t the point though. That has nothing to do with my feelings on the subject of Amelia’s gift.

“I’m guessing you do,” he says as if he knows. Then again, he did speak to Dad. He probably does know. I’ve been fed airplane pretzels, one glass of water from the café, and nothing else. Dad probably told him that too. They’re probably calling all of my choices a result of hypoglycemia.

It doesn’t matter. My emotions over this house and Amelia aren’t because of a growling stomach. “I’m going now.”

“Honey, I’m just looking out for you.”

“Right,” I seethe through gritted teeth. My eyes tear and Ben’s picture goes blurry.

“Liv, call Jonathon. Listen to your⁠—”

Click. A shaky breath escapes my throat as I hang up on Ben. I can’t listen anymore. Then I drop my phone into my lap and scream.

All alone, Amelia’s small house suddenly feels enormous. I peek into the kitchen attached to but separate from the dining area. Same ol’ orange blossom linoleum squares, same brown countertops. Then, I walk upstairs and peer into the one bathroom and Dad’s old bedroom.

Nothing has changed—except for the carpet downstairs. I walk into my father’s old room, the place I slept when I stayed behind sick and Amelia took care of me. This room and this house all mean more now. Now, they belong to me. I open the minuscule closet and run my fingers over the men’s shirts hanging up and the shoeboxes stacked inside. It’s a quick stop as the window is beckoning me. My elm is out there. I press one finger to the cold pane, then peer out and up at my tree. I can picture it so clearly: Amelia and Logan, the curly-haired boy, out here. He must have lived next door. She hugged him. He knew her in a way that I didn’t.

Leaving the elm and Dad’s room behind, I walk down the hall and open her bedroom door. Freezing at the threshold, I study her room from afar. I have never been in this room. It feels private. I look over the space as best I can from my perch in the doorway. My gaze stops on the stack of books beside her bed.

A flutter forms in my chest. “Amelia liked to read,” I say to only myself. She told me Pride and Prejudice was her favorite, but I never imagined this.

Thirteen books stack up, almost like an end table. I bite my lip through a grin at the only visible title: Wuthering Heights.

A shaky breath falls from my chest. Amelia. The real Amelia.