Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Kylie
“Hood?”
The woman at the small hostess stand with a scarred wood surface patted two plastic-covered paper bags filled with takeout cartons. Kylie approached the cash register and, when prompted, slid her credit card in, chip first.
“Thank you,” she said, but the woman was busy, already on her phone, scribbling an order while ringing Kylie out. The scent of ginger, garlic, and spiced beef made her mouth water.
Just outside of the town line, there was an Asian fusion restaurant, and Kylie was exploiting every opportunity to order from Mountain Dragon. There was nothing like this here in town when she was a kid.
“Kylie?”
At the sound of her name, she whipped around to find Luke’s sister, Colleen, giving her a crooked smile and a look Kylie knew all too well.
Small-town once-over.
Between Mrs. Petrinelli and Mrs. Chen, the rumor mill had surely completed a full circuit by now. No secret survived even a whiff of public exposure.
“Hi, Colleen!” Kylie reached for her takeout bags, the moist heat a welcome sensorial change from the spike of fear in her.
“Haven’t seen you in years! Luke told me about today. You’re Harriet’s new nanny?”
Not about last night, I hope, Kylie thought but didn’t say. Colleen’s face would show it if he’d blabbed.
Clearly, he’d kept the secret about the donation bin.
Colleen was reserved and hard to read, unlike her mother, who had always been a very open, welcoming woman. Kylie didn’t perceive Colleen’s demeanor as negative.
More like very, very guarded.
“Just helping out.”
“Three months, huh?”
“Luke really filled you in, I see.”
“We’re a close family. If my shifts at the hospital didn’t overlap all the time with Luke’s, I’d babysit her myself.”
Kylie could read between the lines. That was code for: You’re watching precious cargo. Don’t you dare harm a hair on my niece’s head.
Or a single vessel in her heart.
“I’m sure Harriet would much prefer you over me. I’ll do my absolute best, though. She’s a sweetie who deserves that.”
“Right. Glad you understand.” Colleen’s smile widened.
Kylie had passed some unspoken test.
“What’re you getting?”
“Bi bim bap.”
Disgust twisted Colleen’s smile. “You and Luke with the gooey egg yolk.”
“Yum!”
“Gross! I’ll stick to my egg rolls and orange chicken.”
“Those are great, too.”
“Are you always so flexible?”
Kylie shrugged. “I just like to try new things.”
Colleen’s eyes narrowed as if to say, My brother better not be one of them.
An image of Number 14, Part A popped like a photo being taken, the image flash-frozen in her mind.
“Luview?” The woman at the register, her name tag impossible to read, pointed to a small bag. Looked like Colleen was eating alone tonight.
Two people behind her snickered. Being descendants of the town’s founder meant Luke and his siblings, along with his many cousins in town, were ever aware of their last name.
Colleen grabbed her small bag. “Gotta go. See you around, Kylie!”
And with that, the unexpected interrogation was over.
The long drive back to her apartment gave her time for her mind to wander, retrieving as many memories of Colleen as she could.
Years ago, she’d spent nearly every waking moment tracing the fine emotional outlines of her years in Luview, as if doing so would permanently etch them inside her, as if to say, This was real.
This is me.
Indiana wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t here.
Transferring as a rising sophomore from a state most people in the Midwest thought was populated mostly by moose didn’t help, either. Unlike Luview, in Rio (pronounced RYE-oh), Indiana, she had no history.
And history mattered.
Fortunately, Kylie had an easy connection with little kids. With loads of church camps and after-school programs nearby, she’d quickly become the go-to teen girl for any program involving childcare and fun.
Little kids didn’t judge you.
Little kids didn’t have pecking orders (or, at least, different ones).
Little kids knew how to live in the moment.
And, best of all, they knew how to feel unadulterated joy and share in it with you.
When a camp director made an offhand comment about majoring in education and human development during the summer between Kylie’s junior and senior years of high school, she had a sudden sense of how her life could be.
The structure of it all fell into place.
A teaching degree, but not just to be in a classroom.
To be with kids.
To walk the journey of life together with small people who were authentic.
Life here in Luview always held a place inside her nothing else could fill.
After her mom forced them to leave so quickly, she’d begged for a social media account to connect with friends, quickly requesting them.
Not allowed to have a cellphone until she was sixteen, she’d done the best she could with email, her one social media account, and good old-fashioned snail mail.
And for the first month, Luke had messaged her every day. Sent three letters in envelopes she wore to silk with her fingers. They had two phone calls.
Then… silence.
And then worse.
Because he’d blocked her on social media.
And her final email to him bounced back, undeliverable.
For some reason she never understood, but that broke her teenage heart, he’d cut her out.
Kylie sniffed in the silent car, startled by the sound. The turn into the driveway of her apartment, one of four in a carved-up old house, was made by reflex. Memory Lane wasn’t just a road in your mind and heart.
It required careful navigation. Lots of curves and speed bumps, and sometimes, it washed out.
Leaving you with nowhere to go.
One long set of stairs led up to the small apartment over a two-car garage. The door was unlocked and Wendy opened it as Kylie fumbled.
“Here,” she said, taking one of the bags from Kylie’s left arm, the bicep aching.
Bi bim bap was light, but the ramen soup was the opposite.
Quickly, they settled in for dinner, both eager and hungry. Kylie shed her venture into the past, wholly focused on the precious few hours left with her sister.
“We never had any good Korean food like this in Indiana,” Wendy said between moans of culinary delight.
“That’s because we didn’t have any Korean food in Rio, Indiana,” Kylie corrected her sister, who was currently bingeing on bi bim bap, breaking the yolk on her fried egg and mixing the goo into her rice, beef, and vegetable mixture.
Of all the ways this region of Maine had changed since Kylie last lived here, it was culinary variety that was greatest.
And most appreciated.
“How did I live for so long without eating this?” Wendy groaned as she savored each bite, making Kylie smile.
“Because we lived in Rio,” Kylie emphasized, pronouncing it like the locals did. “Do they have good Korean food in France?” she teased.
“If they don’t, I’ll suffer. Poor me, eating from French bakeries, shopping for produce at the markets, getting gourmet cheese from the fromageries....”
“Poor you. Right.”
They laughed and chatted through the rest of dinner, until Kylie pulled out her secret weapon.
“Chocolate gummy worm bombs? No way!” Wendy squealed with delight.
“Complete with crushed Oreos in the center.”
“Kylie!” Wendy began to cry, dabbing at her lower lids with her fingertip.
“Why are you upset?”
“Because I’m leaving you! I’m leaving everything! I’m going to a foreign country where I barely speak the language, moving in with strangers, and watching their kids all day. What was I thinking? I’m insane!”
Waterworks ensued.
It was about time.
Wendy was always the first to volunteer for an adventure, eager to try something new, something exciting–and often the guinea pig who acted first, thought later.
Here came the delayed thoughts and feelings.
In triplicate.
“You’re going to do great,” Kylie soothed, rubbing her sister’s back, trying to calm her down. “I really admire you.”
That stopped Wendy’s tears in their tracks. “You do?”
“Of course.”
“I can’t believe you just said that. Why would you admire me? You’re so much more accomplished. You have a master’s degree. You’ve lived and worked in New York City. I’m some podunk girl with a two-year degree who is nothing but an imposter going off to France!”
“Stop it! You’re way more than that, Wendy. You’re young and free and full of life. The Durand family is lucky to have you! You’ll teach their kids English and be a steady, stable presence for them, and you’ll get to live immersed in another culture. And get paid for it!”
“I–I–I hope you’re right.”
Kylie handed her a takeout napkin. It was the closest thing to a tissue they had, other than toilet paper.
“You’re just having last-minute jitters. It’s normal.”
Wendy wiped her eyes. “Remind me to ask you to be my maid of honor at my wedding. You’re good at this.”
“Pay my plane ticket to France for the wedding. I hope you meet your Prince Charming there.”
“I’ll settle for a guy with two last names, a hot bod, and a strong accent. Everything sounds dirtier in French.”
Wendy was back to normal.
Crisis averted.
As her sister devoured the rest of her food, Kylie was not far behind her. Soon she was slicing the special dessert and they were exploding from gluttony.
If something had to make you explode, there were worse ways to go.
Wendy groaned. “I’m going to get on that plane bloated and it’s all your fault.”
“Guilty as charged. But we can’t leave any. That would be wasteful.” Kylie forced herself to take another bite.
“I’ve gone past self-loathing into some state I didn’t know existed.”
“Oh, so I see Perry’s dumped you, too?”
Her bitter laugh filled the air.
“At least you have a job for the next three months now,” Wendy said with a wink. “With Hot Cop.”
“Stop calling him that. And it’s in my employment contract–no fraternizing.”
“He just put that in there to protect himself. No scandals.”
“It’s smart. Makes me respect him even more.”
“Oh, I can tell how much you want to ‘respect’ him,” Wendy said, using finger quotes. “You’d ‘respect’ him all night long if you could. Naked. In bed. Cops have handcuffs, right?”
For that, Wendy earned an arm smack.
“Hey! Now that you know he’s not married, he’s fair game.”
“No, he’s not! He’s my boss now. And it’s perfect. I get to play with Harriet and get paid to do it, all while job hunting before my lease is up. Something’s finally going right.”
A big yawn from Wendy was contagious, Kylie’s body stretching as she let it do its job. “Don't you need to go to bed?”
Wendy looked at the clock. “It’s not like I’ll really sleep, but yes. My ride is scheduled for five a.m.” It was almost eleven already.
Kylie was exhausted.
Next to the door, Wendy’s luggage and her carry-on were neatly stacked. She knew her sister would get up at four, shower, eat, and leave at five.
That would be it.
Another yawn. They hugged, then went to sleep, Kylie’s alarm set for half past four.
As she faded off to sleep, all she could see was Luke’s face.
And Number 14, Part A of that contract.
As scheduled, Kylie’s alarm went off at 4:30.
Coffee didn’t seem appropriate when she planned to go right back to bed, so she made herself some lemon tea while Wendy finished showering, the sound of the hair dryer going off making Kylie’s stomach tighten.
As kids, she and Wendy had never been super close, given the eight-year difference in age. But her willingness to come on the spur of the moment and move in with Kylie after Perry was such a jerk meant so much.
And gave them this precious time together.
Soon enough, Wendy came out of the bathroom, zipping her toiletry bag and tucking it into her suitcase, which protested at the seams.
All that was left of Wendy in the tiny apartment was… nothing, actually.
Kylie owned everything that remained and it wasn’t much.
A bed. A nightstand. A couch. An end table. A small kitchen table and two chairs. Perry (or, more accurately, Perry’s sister) had taken the television and stand, so she’d gotten rid of cable. Streaming from her laptop was enough.
Life shrank when people left you.
Two headlights appeared, the driver flicking them off, running lights on, looming with the reminder of the pending transition.
Minutes.
She had minutes.
Stomach tightening, she remembered the day after she kissed Luke at summer camp, how her mother’s eyes were raw and red, suitcases already packed. Mom was a wreck, raging against her father, and the abrupt move was sold to her and Wendy as a “trip” to see Grandma and Grandpa for a few weeks.
The lie was the part Kylie couldn’t forgive.
Because they never came back.
“Well,” Wendy said, spooling a scarf around her neck, coming out of the hallway with her coat already on. “This is it!”
“This is it.”
Voice going high and reedy with emotion, Wendy declared, “I’m going to hug you once, then go. I can’t drag this out.”
“I know.”
The hug was tight. Kylie felt her blood drain then surge, like high tide.
Wendy smiled a shaky but determined smile, then turned away, grabbing her large suitcase and her carry-on and waving good-bye.
Kylie waved into the dark from the front window, until she was gone.
A sick feeling, the kind you get from waking before your body’s ready, washed over her. Bed beckoning, she went to crawl into it, but stopped. Instead, she headed for the small desk in the corner of her bedroom.
In the left drawer, she found what she was looking for.
Three letters.
Postmarked fifteen years ago, all addressed to Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Rio, Indiana, in Luke’s flat architect’s hand.
Seeing her name in his hand made her cry.
For years, she’d dreamed about coming home, but never–not once–did it involve seeing Luke for the first time while trapped in a donation bin.
Or becoming his nanny.
Or being wholly alone.
That’s what life just gave her, all in the span of a day and a half.
You can yearn for something. Squeeze every drop of hope from the sky and try to marinate your wish in it, until the flavor and scent are so ripe, you almost manifest it.
Almost.
But not quite.
As Kylie drifted off to sleep, letting herself indulge in a heaping dose of self-pity, she smiled in the end because, this life?
It might not be what she wanted.
But she had a feeling it was what she needed.