Chapter 1
Blinking
awake, my eleven-year old head pounded like my baby sister had taken a hammer
to it. Oh yeah. They abandoned me. How
could Dad do that? How could he leave me here with his grouchy old mom, just
because I’d gotten sick? Why were they out exploring anyway? Weren’t we here
for Grandpa’s funeral? Grandma hadn’t even cried. Weren’t wives supposed to cry
when their husbands died? She had one layer— grouchy.
At least
I didn’t have to see grumpy Amelia.
I’d been napping in this dusty old bedroom all morning.
Climbing
out of Amelia’s spare bed, I crept over to the bedroom window. I stared up at
the big elm in her yard—tall, beautiful, and never grouchy. Down on the ground,
I spotted a curly haired boy on the grass. He dribbled a soccer ball between
his feet, right next to the elm. He laughed, and I smiled down at him. He
kicked his ball, flinging it high into the air. Jumping, he hit the black and white ball with
his head, smacking it into the side of Amelia’s house.
“Logan
Heyborn!” Grandma yelled. Grandma was grumpy—always, always grumpy, but I’d
never heard her yell before.
With
both of my palms against the cold windowpane, two stories off the ground, I stared
at the laughing boy. “Run!” I whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear me. “Run,
boy!” What would she do to him?
Walking
out into the yard, Amelia stood beside the lovely elm tree. Her grouchy folded arms
didn’t look right there, much too unpleasant for such a pretty tree. Her salt
and pepper hair curled under at her neck and her head tilted toward the boy,
who now stood out of my view. Watching the top of her head, I couldn’t read her
grumpy face. Maybe he had gotten
away…
“Logan,”
I could just hear her voice through the glass—as if my head were dunked under
water. “When did you get home?”
The boy
spoke to her, but I couldn’t make out what he said. Pressing my nose to the
glass, I gasped. Grandma wrapped her arms around him, his dark curls just under
her chin. The hug didn’t last long, but it sent my heart racing just the same. Jumping
away from the window, I lay my body flat against the wall—out of sight. But I
had to look back, like when my brother Jared squishes a spider—I have to look,
I have to see, is it really dead? Was Amelia really hugging some boy?
Their
hug over, Amelia kicked the soccer ball back to Logan. Picking it up, he waved
and disappeared into the house next door.
Running
as fast as I could back to my bed, a shiver crawled down my back. What had I
just witnessed? And why had it frightened me? I’d never seen Amelia hug anyone
before.
Covering
my aching head with Amelia’s old quilt, I listened to my heavy breaths, in and
out. It seemed no time had passed when I woke from another nap. Afternoon had
come. My head still whirled with the curly haired boy. Had it really happened?
Yawning, I rolled back toward the door. There beside the bed sat one of
Amelia’s kitchen chairs and on top of it a tray of food, a peanut butter
sandwich, an apple, and a cup of orange juice. Maybe this wouldn’t be so
terrible. It didn’t look as if I’d even have to speak to Amelia.
Sitting up,
I felt like a queen, eating my meal in bed. All I needed now were my—oh, no! My
books were all down stairs. I couldn’t sit in this bed doing nothing all day,
and I didn’t have a servant—like a queen should, to order the promptness of my
novels. If I kept quiet, maybe she wouldn’t notice me. Maybe I could sneak down
stairs and be back to the safety of my parent’s room without one grouchy glance
from Grandma.
The
creaking of the bedroom door screamed through Dad’s old room. “Shh!” I glared
at it. I tip toed down the wooden staircase without much noise. Creeping over
to the living room, I saw my things, lying on Amelia’s old square coffee table.
And then
I heard it.
The
horrible blubber came from Amelia’s dining room. Jerking my head upright, I
held my breath. What is it? Who is
it?
Again, I
heard a weak moan, this time followed by a cry. “Oh, Seth.”
My
racing heart pumped blood through my veins. My eyes widened as the cries grew
louder. Each sob, just out of my view, as
if it were right next to me. I took one step. Just turn around. Another step. Just
walk away. One more—closer. Just get
out! But—I had to see.
Knuckles
white, I clutched my book to my chest, my heart thumping against the hard cover
of Romeo and Juliet.
Peeking
around the wall separating the two rooms, my eyes focused on the figure before
me. Amelia—down on her knees in the dining area. She had moved the table and pulled
up one of the wooden floorboards, leaning it against the wall, revealing a hole
in the floor. A small wooden box sat beside her, its contents a mystery.
Sucking
in a quiet breath, I let it go—she couldn’t see me. Thank goodness her back
faced me. Amelia didn’t know I was there. Her body rocked back and forth with
her sobs. “Seth,” she said through
another sob. “My Seth.”
Grandma sat
there crying. Her husband of more than fifty years had died and finally-- finally she had decided to
cry. Even grumpy people should cry when their husbands die.
Only my
grandfather’s name wasn’t Seth.
