break. How’d you get to school?”
“Scranton’s not exactly rural, Stace,” says Adam.
“There was a school bus.”
“In high school?” Stacy practically bullies.
“Maybe she got a ride,” offers Josh. “With a friend.”
“In fact, I did.” I take the bait. “Muffy used to take me,” I turn to tell Stacy in the back. “Muffy Steinberg had her own car.”
“Well, don’t worry. Because it’s now my mission to make sure you get your license, eMay,” says Josh. “Sound good?”
“Sounds
. . . interesting.
” Turning my head, I lift my fingers in the smallest gesture to spit-spit pooh-pooh away the evil eye. One problem down, another to begin.
Do I even hear a word anyone says during the whole rest of the ride in the car? Known now for quiet, I stay that way. I try to close my eyes, but they open soon after. Is sleep actually required for something to qualify as a nightmare?
“There it is,” says Stacy when we pull up to a nice white house. A nice white house that looks, to me, a lot like Daphne’s nice gray one. I won’t get out of the car. What can happen to me if I don’t get out of the car?
“E, you coming?” asks Josh.
“Of course,” I say, getting out of the car.
I need an ally quickly. I immediately rush over to Stacy.
“This is
so
nice. Lovely. My, my my. I love this house. It reminds me of houses in my neighborhood growing up in Scranton,” I say.
Stacy practically glares. Ooops!
“But nicer,” I recoup. “
Much
nicer. Much more
. . . upscale.
” That word makes her smile.
“We love it,” says Stacy, and without much prompting she proceeds to tell me about the house. “It’s got three bedrooms, two baths—we’ll probably build more—a brick fireplace, central air, a stone patio, and listen to this . . . It’s a split level, but the laundry room is on the first floor with the family room, which will be so totally great. I’ll be able to watch the kid
and
throw in another load.”
“How soon will you be going back to work?” I ask, wondering how this high-powered lawyer can get that excited over doing laundry.
“I don’t know you well, Aimee, but I swear. If you had dark curly hair, you’d almost be the spitting image of Lauren. Plus when I told her we were moving, that was like the first thing she asked me too.”
The guys, behind us in the driveway, now catch up. Stacy takes the lead and rings the bell.
“If they’re home, I’m sure they won’t mind.” But they aren’t.
“So who’s hungry?” I ask, anxious to get back in the car and out of here as soon as possible.
“Well, as long as we’re here, don’t you want to see the neighborhood?” asks Stacy.
Josh defers to me. Stacy shows there’ll be no deferring. Adam tells us he grew up a few towns away, so he is the tour guide. We follow him down Lenox Terrace, and he shows us the sights. Josh holds my hand as we pass house after house, driveway after driveway, SUV after SUV. Following one leafless tree after another, Adam regales us with tales of his childhood. Riding home from school on his bike, something he hopes in a neighborhood like this his kids will also get to do.
At that exact moment, as if to prove his point, a bunch of children burst through a front door, running to greet parents who have gathered on the lawn to pick them up. We near a corner I am hopeful does not say Beaumont Terrace, but it no longer matters as my hopes are dashed when someone calls, “Aunt Aimee,” and, though a common name, this Aunt Aimee is me.
“I didn’t know you were coming today.”
In her denim skirt and pink cowboy boots, a purple ski jacket on her little body, my niece is so delicious you could eat her up. I crouch to give her a hug as I certainly won’t ignore her, my heart frantically beating as I wonder what will happen now.
“Aimee?” I look up and see a startled Daphne staring down at me and Hannah. Fortunately, Daphne and I never looked alike. “It is you. When Hannah said
“Scranton’s not exactly rural, Stace,” says Adam.
“There was a school bus.”
“In high school?” Stacy practically bullies.
“Maybe she got a ride,” offers Josh. “With a friend.”
“In fact, I did.” I take the bait. “Muffy used to take me,” I turn to tell Stacy in the back. “Muffy Steinberg had her own car.”
“Well, don’t worry. Because it’s now my mission to make sure you get your license, eMay,” says Josh. “Sound good?”
“Sounds
. . . interesting.
” Turning my head, I lift my fingers in the smallest gesture to spit-spit pooh-pooh away the evil eye. One problem down, another to begin.
Do I even hear a word anyone says during the whole rest of the ride in the car? Known now for quiet, I stay that way. I try to close my eyes, but they open soon after. Is sleep actually required for something to qualify as a nightmare?
“There it is,” says Stacy when we pull up to a nice white house. A nice white house that looks, to me, a lot like Daphne’s nice gray one. I won’t get out of the car. What can happen to me if I don’t get out of the car?
“E, you coming?” asks Josh.
“Of course,” I say, getting out of the car.
I need an ally quickly. I immediately rush over to Stacy.
“This is
so
nice. Lovely. My, my my. I love this house. It reminds me of houses in my neighborhood growing up in Scranton,” I say.
Stacy practically glares. Ooops!
“But nicer,” I recoup. “
Much
nicer. Much more
. . . upscale.
” That word makes her smile.
“We love it,” says Stacy, and without much prompting she proceeds to tell me about the house. “It’s got three bedrooms, two baths—we’ll probably build more—a brick fireplace, central air, a stone patio, and listen to this . . . It’s a split level, but the laundry room is on the first floor with the family room, which will be so totally great. I’ll be able to watch the kid
and
throw in another load.”
“How soon will you be going back to work?” I ask, wondering how this high-powered lawyer can get that excited over doing laundry.
“I don’t know you well, Aimee, but I swear. If you had dark curly hair, you’d almost be the spitting image of Lauren. Plus when I told her we were moving, that was like the first thing she asked me too.”
The guys, behind us in the driveway, now catch up. Stacy takes the lead and rings the bell.
“If they’re home, I’m sure they won’t mind.” But they aren’t.
“So who’s hungry?” I ask, anxious to get back in the car and out of here as soon as possible.
“Well, as long as we’re here, don’t you want to see the neighborhood?” asks Stacy.
Josh defers to me. Stacy shows there’ll be no deferring. Adam tells us he grew up a few towns away, so he is the tour guide. We follow him down Lenox Terrace, and he shows us the sights. Josh holds my hand as we pass house after house, driveway after driveway, SUV after SUV. Following one leafless tree after another, Adam regales us with tales of his childhood. Riding home from school on his bike, something he hopes in a neighborhood like this his kids will also get to do.
At that exact moment, as if to prove his point, a bunch of children burst through a front door, running to greet parents who have gathered on the lawn to pick them up. We near a corner I am hopeful does not say Beaumont Terrace, but it no longer matters as my hopes are dashed when someone calls, “Aunt Aimee,” and, though a common name, this Aunt Aimee is me.
“I didn’t know you were coming today.”
In her denim skirt and pink cowboy boots, a purple ski jacket on her little body, my niece is so delicious you could eat her up. I crouch to give her a hug as I certainly won’t ignore her, my heart frantically beating as I wonder what will happen now.
“Aimee?” I look up and see a startled Daphne staring down at me and Hannah. Fortunately, Daphne and I never looked alike. “It is you. When Hannah said
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