Hannah
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, eyes blazing in rage as I focus my gaze on my aunt who is sitting across the dining room table from me.
There is no anger in her eyes, though. Only sorrow.
She nods her head, realizing that she just called me something that was one of the last things I heard from my parents before they were t-boned by a drunk driver on their way back to the arena.
“Sell it,” I cut him off, firmly meeting his gaze.
A mask of determination and finality slips into place.
“The day after the funeral, list it. House and land.” I stand and leave the room, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.
I overhear my aunt telling the lawyer to wait a moment, then the sound of her footsteps follow me out the back door.
I stare out at the five acres of green that I’ve called home for my entire life.
The clouds run across the sky until they slam up against the mountain peaks, the wind making the tall, overgrown grass sway like waves in the ocean.
Am I ready to give this all up? Thoughts plague me, but despite the war in my head, I know that this will never feel like home again.
Not without them. When my aunt’s arm wraps around my shoulder, twisting my body into hers, I shake with emotion.
Anger that this is the way my life has turned out.
Pain that I’ve lost my parents before I’ve even turned twenty .
Denial that I’ll live the rest of my life without them.
“It’s ok, let it out.” And despite my best efforts, I do. I let my tears fall until I feel weak, exhaustion tugging at me to lay down. “You don’t have to make any decisions yet,” she whispers against my hair, smoothing it down like my mama used to do.
Looking up at her face, so similar to my dad’s, I nod my head.
“I’ve made my decision.” My voice sounds stronger than I feel.
I give her a tight nod and head back inside, sitting across from the man who has patiently been waiting.
Then I sign the papers and pretend to have it all together on the outside, while internally I can feel my heart putting a wall around itself brick by brick.
The night before the funeral, I toss and turn.
When I can’t take it anymore, I get out of bed and pad down the hallway, stopping briefly in front of my parents’ slightly open door.
I haven’t been able to go in, but the sight of the boxes that my aunt has packed up makes my chest clench.
I dodge the creaky floorboards outside the guest room where my aunt and uncle sleep.
Her kids are grown and live in dorms on their college campuses; she told me she would stay as long as I needed her to.
If there is any time better than the present to get ready to be on my own, I can’t think of it.
I sink into one of the worn leather stools at the kitchen island and power up my laptop.
The numbers that have popped up in my bank account are astounding.
I’m not sure if it’s sleep deprivation or self-preservation, but by the time my eyelids are drooping and my head bobs up and down from exhaustion, I close my laptop and slink back towards my room.
Morning comes too quickly, the birds outside far too happy for the occasion.
Turning towards the mirror, I clasp my mama’s necklace around my neck, a simple gold chain connected on each side of a diamond studded horseshoe.
I hold it in my palm for a few moments, pushing down the emotion that threatens to break free.
Voices grow louder from the kitchen as I make my way down the hall, stopping abruptly when my uncle sees me walk through the doorway.
My aunt's eyes swing to me, fire blazing behind her red, swollen eyes. She’s held it together in front of me, but I’ve heard her cries from her room each time she closes the door.
“What’s this?!” she hiccups at me, tears spilling down her cheeks. I look to where she is pointing. My laptop sits on the counter with emails and websites open on the screen. I lean against the wall, running a finger under my chin.
“I can’t stay here, Shan.”
“So what, you're going to live your life in a trailer?” She clicks on a tab at the top of the screen, a website for Trek Right Trailers popping up.
I simply nod my head as her hands fly to her hair and she stares at the floor.
Out of all the floor plans, model 7840 caught my eye.
Two horse stalls in the back, a small tack room off to the side.
Inside the sleeping quarters is a kitchenette, bathroom, couch and queen bed.
Everything I need to run away from all of this.
“And this?” She swings back to the laptop, stabbing at the screen with enough force I’m worried she’ll crack the screen. An email confirmation for a truck that hasn’t even hit the lot yet pops up. She does a double take at the price before cursing under her breath.
I shrug mindlessly. “I need something to pull the trailer with.” My aunt's jaw drops, eyes swinging to my uncle who has his head in his hands. When he looks up, though, it isn’t disappointment on his face.
It’s pride. He stands, making his way to my aunt and pulling her into his arms. Turning to look at me, he says, “Shan, look at her.” Her puffy eyes and tear stained face turn to me.
“Doesn’t she look just like him?” Nodding her head up and down, fresh tears breaking free.
“It’s like telling the wind to stop blowing.
” She laughs when she untangles herself from her husband and then quickly crosses the room, pulling me into her.
“I used to say that about your dad, Hannah.” I sink into her, not that I need anyone’s permission to make my choices, but living with her mad at me would be a burden that I don’t need sitting on my shoulders.
“I’ll be ok,” I whisper, rubbing her back.
When she finally pulls away, she holds me at arm’s length, then nods her head before walking outside to get in the cars that will take us to the church.
My uncle gives me a wink, then follows her out.
I take a look around my house that in a few hours will be filled with people, the sagging couch where we’d watch our shows together, the dining room table that we ate dinner and Dad taught me how to play cards.
So many memories that I don’t want to forget, but could never create new ones.
The choice is made: I’m selling and moving on.
It’s one of those perfect summer storm days in the West. A rumble in the distance draws my attention from the two caskets in front of me.
One covered in deep red roses. Dad. The other has bright yellow lilies draped over the dark wood.
Mama . Dark clouds gather across the valley and I feel the breeze pick up.
I didn’t bother tying my hair back today, and I lean into the caress of it against my skin.
I stay until everyone has filtered out, hushed condolences and pats on the back as people pass by on their way to their cars.
I watch as the men in black suits lower my parents into the ground, not shedding one tear as I listen to the sound of dirt being tossed into the hole as it showers over their caskets.
It’s not until the first drop of rain falls and a crash of thunder rings that I’m shaken from my thoughts.
I lean down against the fresh dirt, laying a palm on each of my parents.
“I got this,” I whisper the words from my mom’s last text before standing, wiping the dirt off on my dress and walking through the light rain fall to my dad’s truck. One last ride, I think to myself.
The rain mists across the mountains that separate us from busy Park City.
I’ve always loved summer storms, Mama did, too, so it felt like she was riding shotgun with me.
The moment I parked my dad’s truck back in the driveway of my childhood home, I storm through the house, passing all our family and friends dressed in black, quiet sobs muffled around me as I pushed out the backdoor and raced across the muddy drive to the barn.
My black dress blows behind me like the storm cloud I’ve turned into after that night.
Queen raises her head the moment I throw open the sliding doors, tossing her mane like she can’t wait to escape this hell with me, either.
I don’t even bother throwing the saddle on her, just tossing a rope around her muzzle and jumping up.
We take off across the five acres of freedom that will forever hold a special place in my heart.
Rain soaks us and chills our skin to the bone, but we don’t stop until the sun peeks out from behind the clouds.
A beam of sunlight resting on top of the green peaks in the distance.
Only then do I drop down on Queen's back and let my tears mix with her already rain-drenched coat.
I make a promise to myself, here at my lowest and most broken point, that it will be the last time I cry.
The last time I let anyone get close to me, so that I never have to feel this heartbreak again.
By the time I walk Queen back to her stall, the once bright yellow stitched sunflowers on my Roman boots are brown with caked mud. Good. Nothing pretty ever lasts.