Shadow by Amanda Sun Page B

napkin. “Thanks.”
    “Okay,” she said, and then she was gone, shoving the tray into
the face of one of Mom’s coworkers.
    I didn’t know Aunt Diane very well. She’d moved to Japan to
teach English when I was eight, and before that, she’d moved around the States
teaching in a bunch of small schools. She had a nomadic streak, restless the way
Mom was, but unlike her, Diane longed to see other countries. Mom liked to stay
where things were predictable and safe. I wondered now if she would have
regretted that choice. If she’d known she’d die so young, would she have lived
differently?
    The anxiety trickled through me. When would death come for me?
Would I suddenly stop existing in the night, leaving a trail of restless
mourners to share memories over puff pastries and room-temperature punch? The
minister had talked about Mom’s legacy to us, her compassion and giving—she was
always volunteering for things, helping people out in the community, although
she often turned around and made human interest stories out of the experiences
for her newspaper gigs. What was my legacy? Would my life matter?
    Did I matter anymore, now that Mom was gone?
    Deep thoughts for a sweaty living room but the panic rose in me
anyway.
    Oh god. Mom is gone. She’s gone. I felt like I would break into a million
shards, all pinpricks and a blood-red dress and pain, clouds looming over me,
raining only on me in the whole room.
    “There’s my Katie.” Suddenly Nan was towering over me, which
she could only do if I was curled in the corner the way I was. It felt as if
reality swirled on either side of her, the cracks holding together like
fragmented glass as I stared at her hopefully, like she could fix it
somehow.
    “Nan,” I said, getting to my feet and then towering over
her.
    “You’re like a bright red rose in a garden of wilting flowers,”
she said, rubbing the fabric of my dress between her fingers as I hugged her.
“Don’t you look pretty in that dress?”
    “Mom never liked black,” I said, and Nan grinned.
    “I know,” she whispered, and pulled back the neck of her dress
to show the bright magenta camisole underneath. I smiled, though I felt like
crying. “You and me, we’re a couple of troublemakers.” She gave me a sly
grin.
    “Yeah,” I said. “We’re rebels.” I relaxed a bit as Nan held my
hands in hers. She understood. She knew what I was feeling. And I was so glad to
have her here, because I knew enough to know I was breaking.
    Leaving Albany would suck. I’d managed to get into the Advanced
English class I’d wanted at school, and there’d been a waitlist a mile long for
that time slot. And leaving my friends and my home—leaving my life with
Mom...
    But at least I had a few friends I knew from summer vacations
in Canada. And being with Nan and Gramps was familiar and comfortable. Their
house was small, an old converted log cabin that they’d built on to, but I was
sure they’d find room for me somehow. Maybe the attic that Nan always talked
about fixing up when Gramps was better.
    “I better go say hello to Linda,” she said. “Thank her for
pulling things together, you know.” Linda had done most of the organizing for
the funeral because Nan had her hands full with Gramps’ health.
    “Okay,” I said. “Where’s Gramps? I want to say hi.” I hadn’t
noticed him at the funeral, but then again, I’d spent most of the service
staring at my lap, pretending it wasn’t happening.
    Nan didn’t let go of my hands. Then she squeezed them, her
mouth a thin line.
    “He couldn’t come, Katie.”
    “But” I scanned the room for his smile, the curve of his back
as he stumbled along with effort, but of course Nan wouldn’t lie about it. “How
are we going to drive to Deep River?”
    “Let’s talk after, okay? It’s been a long day for you.”
    I wanted to ask how they were planning on getting all my stuff
back to their house if Gramps wasn’t here. Had someone else driven Nan to pick
me