Chapter 2
SAGE
After a painful goodbye to some friends in LA, and a night of tossing and turning that eventually turned into doom scrolling, I wake with swollen eyes and a knot in my stomach.
In a zombie-like state, I take a shower and get dressed but don’t bother putting on any makeup. It’s all packed in my carry-on anyway, and digging through my belongings isn’t something I have the energy for.
I received a follow-up email regarding my new reality a few hours into the day yesterday, explaining how much luggage I could bring and where to leave the stuff I want shipped and another location for the stuff I want put into storage.
With the short notice, most of my parents’ belongings will probably end up at an estate sale, but at least I was able to save some memories.
With those instructions also came the address for my grandmother’s home in Blackmore, as well as the new bank account I’ll have access to until I graduate and my trust is unlocked.
The sun is shining, the crisp air from the October breeze making goosebumps pop up all over my skin when I finally step out my front door for the last time.
I turn to look at my home, my eyes wet and blurry, and say a silent goodbye while the driver puts my suitcases in the back of the SUV hired to take me to the airport.
I was allowed three suitcases, two to check and one carry-on, which feels insulting since I also have to bring all my school stuff as well. Choosing the clothes I wanted immediate access to was annoying and difficult and has left me in a foul mood.
This fucking sucks.
I stare up at the sun, and even though it’ll be the same sun that shines in Georgia, it’s like I’m saying goodbye. Like I’m leaving Earth and moving to a new planet.
I never thought I would leave LA. I was born here, grew up here, made a life here. But here I go, heading toward a brand-new fucking life with nothing and no one waiting for me on the other side.
“Do you need help in?” the driver asks as we’re pulling up to the departures drop-off at LAX.
“I should be fine,” I answer, throwing my backpack on. Once the car has stopped, I hop out and help the driver get my bags from the back.
He gives me a compassionate look, tipping his head, and I step up onto the curb. “There should be a tip coming from whoever hired you. I don’t have any money, I’m sorry.”
He nods again. “Yes, miss, have a safe flight.”
Then he gets back into the car and pulls away, leaving me standing on the curb outside of the departures entrance.
I take one last breath of California air, telling my home that I will be back one day, then grab the handles of my suitcases. I manage to figure out a way to wheel them by myself and head toward the counter to check my bags.
After getting through security, I find my gate easily, sitting down to wait for boarding. My ticket is saved to my phone, so I pull it from my backpack and scroll to see what boarding group I’m in.
Obviously—because that’s just how my life is going right now—I’m in the last boarding group.
Sighing, I slide my earbuds in, pressing play on a familiar audiobook that makes me feel at home, then sit back to wait.
I get to my seat on the plane to a very old man who’s snoring loudly in the window seat, even though the plane hasn’t even taken off yet. I’m wondering if he’s taken some sleeping pills and consider rifling through the backpack at his feet, when a little girl sits down on my other side.
“Hi!” she yells, her freckled face lighting up with a smile. “I’m going to visit my cousins!”
“Great,” I answer before facing forward to mind my own business.
“Yeah, they live in Georgia.” I guess she has other plans. “Are you going to Georgia?”
I blink, looking at her again and swirling my finger around the air. “We’re all going there.”
She shrugs happily. “Why are you going?”
I sigh. “I’m moving.”
“That’s cool. I wish I could live there; my cousins are cool,” she hums, buckling her seatbelt. “Wanna play scrabble? I brought a travel-size.”
I tuck a strand of my blonde hair behind my ear, pulling my backpack from my feet so I can get my headphones out. I have absolutely no intention of entertaining this child for six hours, so I’m simply going to plug in some music and shut out my surroundings until we land.
“No, thanks,” I grumble, popping my AirPods into my ears.
She doesn’t take the hint. “We could play tic-tac-toe. I have a notebook. Or make up a secret handshake!”
“Passengers, we’re ready for takeoff. Please make sure your seats are upright and your trays are snapped into place. Thank you.”
I point a finger at the ceiling, eyeing the little girl as I grab my phone and put it on airplane mode. “We’re going to take off.”
“Yeah,” she chirps. “Anyways, what’s your name?”
The plane starts to move then, so I scroll my phone for a playlist I can access while it’s offline. “My name’s Sage.”
“I’m Sandra. It’s my mom’s name too, and my grandma’s.” She grins, wiggling in her seat. “Are you excited to move?”
I hold up my phone as the plane picks up some speed, then lifts from the ground. “I’m going to listen to some music.”
“Okay!” Sandra answers, still bright-eyed and cheery.
It makes me want to scream. I’m a bitch.
Naturally, I’m light on my feet, positive and easygoing, usually. But there’s this storm cloud hanging over me right now, and the last thing I want to do is spend time with someone too young to realize that life fucking sucks.
The flight attendants go around a few times during the flight, offering drinks and little bags of pretzels, which I decline.
My stomach is doing flips, and it has nothing to do with the turbulence.
I’m fucking anxious, scared, and dreading the moment this plane lands and nails the lid on my proverbial coffin.
Sandra wiggles some more in anticipation next to me after a flight attendant announces that we’re making our final descent into Atlanta, and it makes me itchy. She’s excited to see her family, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but I’m miserable and cynical.
The plane circles the city, nearing the landing strip, so I lean over the old man who’s still snoring next to me to peek out the window.
It’s cloudy, but because of the time change, it’s deep into the afternoon in Atlanta.
The sun’s starting to set, sitting about midway in the sky as we move lower.
I admire the shadowed high-rises of downtown Atlanta in the distance, watching my new home grow nearer.
Not that I’ll be staying in the city—that would be too kind.
Blackmore is a nothing town about three hours from humanity.
When I say bumfuck, I mean it. I did a google search last night, looking for anything that would help me get to know my new home, but was disappointed when I realized Blackmore is essentially a patch of grass with a local, private university of almost 800 students.
The town is very small, very old, and seems very boring.
Founded in the early 1800s, Blackmore is home to just about 10,000 people. I’m coming from a huge city, so claustrophobia is already sinking into my bones.
From what I’ve learned from movies and TV shows, nothing’s private in towns as small as this one.
Everyone knows everyone and their mama too.
I’m sure my arrival will be the topic of conversation in a lot of homes over the coming weeks, because I assume there aren’t a lot of transplant residents in towns like Blackmore.
As much as I can imagine different scenarios, I’m honestly not sure what to expect. I’ve read about people developing culture shock when they move abroad, and I hope this won’t be like that for me.
I sit back in my seat as the plane is about to touch ground, grabbing onto the thick strap of my seat belt for dear life just before the bump of the landing. Then the brakes are screeching, and we’re pulling into the gate, immersing me in this brand-new reality.
Well, bumfuck was definitely putting it kindly.
My cab got an hour outside Atlanta before it was nothing after nothing of absolutely nothing. Trees, grass, and farms, to be precise. It feels like an alternate universe.
After two hours and forty-seven minutes, I’m finally laying my eyes on the town of Blackmore.
An old, faded, flaking sign hangs just at the town limits, right at the edge of an empty road parallel to a field of cows.
WELCOME TO BLACKMORE, Founded 1812. Population: 10,128.
I guess it’s 10,129 now.
I lean against the window, trying to imprint everything I see into my brain, mostly because it’s unbelievable.
It’s nothing like Los Angeles. The first thing we pass is a cemetery, and my breath catches in my throat as I run my gaze over the decrepit, cracked headstones and decaying trees that surround them.
There’re a few larger structures—crypts—and they’re creepy as fuck.
It’s like I was picked up and dropped into an episode of American Horror Story.
The cemetery must be over a hundred years old, maybe even dating back to the founders, because it’s all covered in moss and broken branches.
Leaves skate across the ground and when the wind blows, they all flutter into the air.
The cab driver makes a stop at a flashing red light, making sure to look both ways, even though we’re the only car around, then makes a left turn onto Main Street.
An old store sits on the corner that looks like a pharmacy or something, and I spot a couple of people inside before it’s out of sight.
The rest of the strip is dingy and in need of some TLC from wear and tear.
Brick buildings with barely hanging wood signs, gutters falling down with water trickling out from this morning’s rainstorm onto sidewalks that are stained and cracking into the road.
Save for a few stragglers here and there, the street is empty. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, as I observe the dim little street. There’re no families out for an afternoon of shopping and dinner, no teens causing chaos and laughing with one another. It feels abandoned.
Main Street ends as quickly as it started, then I’m watching pastures and fields pass me by once more.
We pass by a large, dark building that catches my attention.
The brick is dirty and cracked, and all the windows are boarded up with wooden planks.
The doors are as well, except they hold big notices reading NO TRESPASSING.
Before I can make out what the sign at the front says, we’re turning onto the next street.
The cab stops in front of a large, Victorian-style house that’s a faded cream color with some shutters hanging loose on the windows. It looks like it was once a beautiful home, and with a little work, it could be again. It’s cute. Definitely nicer than some of the other homes on the street.
“We’re here, ma’am.”
Just as I’m getting out of the car, the front door opens, and a woman appears in the doorway.
She has greying hair, and she’s wearing what seems to be a nightgown.
I start sweating with nerves, so I hustle around the side of the car to open the trunk and get my bags.
I need another couple of seconds to myself before I’m ready to face my grandmother.
Taking a few deep breaths, I pull out my first suitcase.
“Sage?” my grandmother calls out, her voice thick with a southern twang. I peek at her over the trunk, finding her standing on the porch, smiling kindly. “Oh, Sage, honey.”
I feel a deep sense of longing in my gut—for my parents, for familiarity and security. A wave of emotion rushes through me, making my eyes fill with tears as I pull another suitcase from the trunk, wavering in strength.
“I got this, darlin’.” The cab driver’s voice makes me jump, but I find his kind eyes telling me to go to my grandmother. I give him a quick nod and step forward, grabbing one of the suitcases and dragging it behind me to the house.
My gaze seeks out my grandmother’s, and when I find eyes so reminiscent of my mother’s staring back at me, tears stream down my cheeks. In the next moment, I’m dropping the handle of my suitcase and running to my grandmother to embrace her.
“Oh, honey,” my grandmother mutters as her arms catch me, wrapping around me as I shake with sobs. “Sage, baby, it’s okay.”
Her calm, frail hands stroke down my back as she shushes me kindly, intuition taking over as I cry into her nightgown.
I allow myself to have this, feel this moment, and cry hard against my grandmother’s embrace.
My sobs shake my entire body, making me quake, so she has to use more strength to hold me upright.
Her hands trail along my hair. “It’s so nice to see you, Sage.”
I take another deep breath, filling my lungs with oxygen and blowing it out slowly before I lean back to look into her eyes. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
Wiping at my face, I sniffle, laughing at myself a little.
“Don’t you apologize to me, honey. You’ve been through more than a young lady should.” Her voice spreads warmth through me, the twang of her accent making me smile.
“Now”—she waves a hand—“let me get a good look at my granddaughter. I haven’t seen ya since you was a baby.”
I step back. “We’ve met?”
She nods, her lips pressing into a dissatisfied line. “Your mama and daddy didn’t want ya growin’ up here. Whisked you away right after you was born.”
“Wait, I lived here before? Did you say I was born here?!” I shake my head in confusion.
Unease crawls down my spine, and I visibly shiver, even though I’m standing in the sunshine. My grandmother clicks her tongue in displeasure, but before she can speak again, the cab driver’s stepping up to drop my bags.
“Ma’am?”
I spin to look at him, forcing a smile his way as he wheels my bags to the stairs of the porch and gives me a warm grin.
Taking the handles of the suitcases, I drag them up the stairs. “Thank you so much.”
My grandmother pays him while I wheel my bags across the porch to the front door, then he’s tipping his head in a goodbye and getting back into his car.
“Let’s get you situated, then, Sage. We can catch up over dinner.”
I can’t help the impending feeling that something is off. Anxiety swirls in my gut as I wonder why my parents never told me about this place or my grandmother, why they lied to me about where I was born and who I really am.