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I love her, I really do. I love the fire in her, her passion, but she is not a realist. I am, or I had to become one. When your father sends you an ocean away because you remind him of his dead wife, it’s a necessity.
The words of my so-called uncle stay with me.
I spend the entire night analyzing his words that sparked fear in my soul, resonating with the one that started after my father informed me I would be going home. My gut instinct tells me this is not good. After a night of chasing sleep, I scoot upright.
Chiara is already dressed. With slumped shoulders, she eyes her suitcases as if they personally offend her.
“My parents are on their way here. Yay. My one-way ticket to hell,” she says, chest deflating.
I rush to her and hug her. “It’s okay to be afraid, but if someone is capable of turning her prison into a life worth living, it’s going to be you.”
She hugs me tighter. The door opens and her shoulders go high as she meets her parents, who sigh at her sign of rebellion. They exchange a worried look and greet me before they leave together.
I’m alone again. This has been my reality for so long, I don’t even remember what life was like before this. There are just flashes of the past. My mother, smiles, hugs, chatter, and love. But it all vanished in the blink of an eye. Screeching tires, panic, gurgled sounds, and a car wrapped around a tree.
I change and finish packing, the phone my alleged uncle gave me vibrating on my nightstand. I freeze, urging myself to ignore it, but I answer. The silence is the first sign of a shift in plans, the sigh the second.
“Your father’s jet is early and there is no time, but I will come for you. Until then, be brave, okay? Promise me. I’m sorry.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“You have my number. Hide the phone. I’ll try to get to you as soon as possible. Do not let anyone know about me or what we talked about.”
“I won’t.” I pledge my loyalty without a second thought. Am I so starved for a bit of love that I make promises I am bound to keep?
“You have no reason to trust me, but I’m asking for it anyway. I wish I could have spared you for what’s to come, but your mother was a fighter, and you are one too. Everyone loses their innocence eventually. I am sorry I couldn’t have shielded you.”
The phone disconnects, and my heart pounds in my chest, a merciless thud of dreadful anticipation. I feel as if everyone around me knows about my future while I stumble blindly through endless corridors.
A knock has me jumping back into action, and Sister Theodora enters. “There is a car waiting for you.”
I nod and follow her to a black town car, hoping my brother is here to pick me up, but the flicker of hope fizzles.
A driver steps out and places my luggage in the trunk. I get in the back seat, uncertainty veiling me.
When we pull into the airport, my body strains with nerves. I force my legs to move toward the jet and take a few deep breaths to calm myself down while the driver carries the luggage behind me. A flight attendant greets me, and my nerves ease when I catch the familiar face of the pilot. I take my seat, and when the jet meets the sky, the flight attendant brings me a glass of sparkling water.
I write in my notebook, jotting down ideas for my book. In a perfect world, I’d travel the globe and follow my passion—writing. Words have been a consolation that turned into a calling—words I read, words I write, they sweep me into another world. They flow, create a world out of nothing but a blank page, giving me a sense of belonging, a deeper sense of being. Everything halts—time, worries, uncertainty when I give in to the call of writing.
Depleted of my creative juices, I close my eyes, more at ease and proud of the small accomplishment.
When I open them, the countdown begins as the plane descends. I chant to myself, “Be strong, be brave, be happy.”
A lone tear rolls down my cheek. I miss my best friend. I miss my simple life of studying, reading, writing, and tending to the flowers in the school garden.
The moment the plane lands, all my hard work at keeping my nerves at bay flickers like the remaining embers in a foot-stomped fire.
I step outside to the Boston summer sun beating down on me. My brother Cameron steps out of a bulky black Escalade waiting on the tarmac. He shoves his hands in his pockets.
Even from a distance, I see the displeased look on his face.
I ignore it. I missed him. Rushing to him, I wrap my arms around his waist. He holds me tightly to his chest.
“Welcome home,” he says, his lips lifting in a terse smile.
The driver opens the car for us and we step inside. After shooting off a quick message, he turns to me. He’s so much like Father, from his hazel eyes to that square jaw and elegant nose. The silence makes me antsy, and I fidget with my fingers.
“Where is Father?”
