Chapter 1
AURORA
Iused to love storms. Before I turned sixteen and a storm took my parents from me, I’d curl up near a window with a cup of hot cocoa and read a book. I’d savor the sound of the wind whipping against the glass and the cozy comfort it provided.
Driving through this Maine storm, I grit my teeth. I can’t lose my grandmother, not after I lost my parents. I’m twenty-three, and I lost them when I was sixteen— seven years where, I guess, I could’ve healed. But it never happened. The wound still feels raw after all this time.
I got a call from the hospital. Grandma has had a stroke. They didn’t give me any further information, and now I feel like screaming to release some of the tension. Rain whips against the windshield as the wipers struggle to do their job.
Maybe that’s a theme. We’re all just struggling along.
I need to take it easy. I can’t get morose.
With my heart pounding like a scared kid, I finally make it to the hospital after several hours of driving. I rush across the parking lot in a light jacket. With the chill going straight to my bones, the wind trying to knock me off my feet. Maybe there’s a metaphor in that.
Grandma is sitting in the hospital bed, the window a gloomy sheet behind her, her complexion not much better. One of her eyes is slightly shut and the corner of her lip droops downward, but otherwise she seems like her usual self.
Her silver hair tied in a bun, a no-nonsense grimace on her face. “Oh, Aurora,” she says.
Her words have a slur to them, but I can hear the meaning behind them: You didn’t have to come.
“I wasn’t going to stay at college while you’re lying in the hospital,” I tell her, rushing in for a hug.
She embraces me fiercely. “I was getting ready to check myself out. This is a lot of fuss for nothing.”
“Like hell you’re checking yourself out,” I snap, sitting on the chair next to her bed and holding one of her hands in both of mine. I cling desperately to her warmth. “You’re staying right here as long as the doctor says so, and I won’t hear anything different. Got it?”
“Oh, Aurora.”
“You look like a pervert.”
She gives me a sly smile. “Excuse me?”
“That permanent wink you’ve got going on – it’s salacious. You can’t walk the streets wearing that.”
She erupts in laughter. I’ve loved that sound ever since I was a kid, when Mom, Dad, and I would visit her and she’d sit me on her knee and say, “Time for one of your jokes.”
“I needed that,” she says now.
“I’m here as long as you need me.”
She waves her free hand at me.
“Don’t give me that. College will understand.”
“But—”
“You’re all I have left. Don’t make me cry.”
Truthfully, there are already tears in my eyes. I’ve tried to make myself hard-as-nails, but far too often, I end up like putty. Life weighs too heavily sometimes. Outside, thunder cracks, and I flinch as an image from Mom’s open casket bursts brightly in my memory.
“I’m sorry,” Grandma mutters, her slur only slightly altering her words. “You know how busy Halloween is. It keeps me afloat for the rest of the year.”
“I can help with the costumes. I’ve already explained to my teacher about the call from the hospital. Seriously, Grandma – they said to take as long as I need.”
Grandma sighs. “I don’t like this.”
“I’m in my third year. I’ve got a track record. They know I wouldn’t leave unless it was serious.”
“But—”
“If it takes me ditching college for the rest of my life—”
“Don’t say that!”
“To stop you from checking out of the hospital when you’ve had a stroke, then I’ll do it. Call my bluff. Please. See if I’m joking.”
When she rolls her eyes, she looks half her age. Like a sassy teenager. “You’re the boss.”
There’s some truth in that. After Mom and Dad died, I moved in with Grandma. Sometimes it was like the roles were reversed. I’d have to make sure she got enough sleep and didn’t work herself down to a stub. I don’t resent it. She’s family. But it can be difficult.
“Anyway, enough of this depressing nonsense. Tell me, how’s school?”
I spend some time talking about my fashion course, which she always loves hearing about. Soon, she leans against the pillows and her eyes grow heavy. I gently let go of her hand and step outside to call Ellie, my best friend.
“Hey, how is she? I’ve been worried sick,” Ellie says.
“She’s okay… ish. She thought she was going to check herself out today.”
“That’s nuts. But that’s Margot. I’m surprised she even let them take her to a hospital.”
“I know, right? She’s sleeping now.”
“Okay, hon. Let me know if I can help.”
“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
“I’m just around the corner, remember. And I work from home. I’m here for you. Both of you.”
“Ellie, thank you. I mean that.”
“Don’t mention it,” she says. “Are you outside?”
She sounds surprised, and that in itself is no surprise. She knows how much I hate storms. I stare at the raging swirls of rain and the bare trees swaying in the wind at the end of the parking lot.
“Trying to overcome my baby-ness, I suppose.”
“You’ve got trauma. Cut yourself some slack.”
“I’m too busy for trauma.”
“I wish that was how it worked.”
“Yeah,” I say grimly. “Me too. Anyway, I’m going to head back in.”
“Talk later. And call me if you need anything.”
I go back to the room, sitting next to Grandma. The six-hour drive from the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City has taken its toll. I fall into a dreamless sleep – always grateful for that; better than nightmares – and wake to Grandma talking fervently with someone.
She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, back facing me, hunched over her cellphone.
“You think you can take any damn thing you want, you little cretin,” she hisses, her slur almost nonexistent in her anger.
“You think the world belongs to you, that you’re some grand conqueror, some transcendent specimen, hmm? Hmm?”
When Grandma speaks with big, fancy words, I know she’s pissed.
“Grandma?” I say.
“You’re nothing,” she says, then hangs up the phone.
I walk to the other side of the bed, sit, and meet her eyes. “What was that about?”
She tosses her cell phone onto the side table. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“You don’t need to worry about it.”
“I drove six hours through a storm. A storm. To get here. To see you. You know how tough that was for me. Don’t insult my intelligence when I finally get here.”
She massages her forehead. “I really wish you’d stayed in New York.”
“Stop changing the subject.”
“A granddaughter of mine studying fashion design at FIT. Do you know how special that is–how special you are?”
I grab her shoulders. “Grandma, explain.”
“Aurora, sweet girl. I don’t want to stress you out.”
I laugh in sheer disbelief. “Stress me out? I’m not the one who had a stroke!”
She curls her lip. “I hate these fragile human husks we call bodies.”
“Grandma.”
She lets out a huff of reluctance. “Property developers have been trying to buy the building. The shop. The apartment. I’m one of the last holdouts, so now they’ve decided to get nasty. Hire people to go through the trash. Start nonsensical lawsuits about waste disposal. I know what they’re doing.”
I’m gobsmacked, well and truly. That’s the sort of phrase I read in books, but I’m not sure I’ve ever actually felt. A British friend at college once said to me, “Gobsmacked, darling, as in–smacked right in the bloody gob.” That’s how it feels. Like she punched me in the mouth.
“How long has this been going on?”
Grandma looks away guiltily. “Long enough.”
I stare. She tries to wait me out. We get into a staring battle, which I win when she looks away.
“Just after you went to college this semester.”
I gasp. “For two months!”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” she says.
“How bad is it?” I ask. “Are you going to lose the shop?”
Grandma shakes her head. “They’ll have to kill me to get me out of there.”
I pull her into a hug. “Don’t say things like that.”
“I’m sorry, sweetness.” She strokes her hand through my hair. There’s a croak in her voice. “It’s not good. They’ve already dented my savings and then some. But I’ll keep fighting.”
Guilt twists in my gut. “Maybe I should talk to the school and see if we can get this year’s tuition back.”
“No!” she m. “That is absolutely out of the question.”
“You can’t lose the shop and your apartment.”
“And you can’t lose your chance at following your dream,” Grandma says. “That’s the last I want to hear of it.”