“No.”
“You’re going to stay here and keep the bookstore, then?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Are you going to work for Dad?”
“Never!”
She’d said her piece, and sat there now with that impenetrable expression meant to show that she knew everything about me and I knew nothing. I sank back into the sofa, exasperated.
“Can’t I just think it over here?”
“With Dad stressing you out and Dustin all over you?”
I knew she was right. Time was passing, and I couldn’t just sit on my hands.
If only there was some way to avoid choosing and have everything turn out right. But my father had stopped helping out, and the little inheritance my mother had left me had disappeared into school fees, books, rent, and the basic necessities over the last four years. My income was already barely enough to live on.
I had to decide. “Is Scott okay with me using your house?”
“Scott has no idea. Let’s be honest: he’s not the best at keeping secrets. But you don’t need to worry there. He loves you almost as much as I do.”
“I’m not sure, Hayley. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I can’t just up and disappear to some island. I have things to do! I can’t pause my whole life for this.”
“You can!” I saw the pleading in her big, expressive eyes. “You can do whatever you want. You’re not chained down. For once, just make it up as you go along. Do something even you didn’t dare imagine.”
“It’s not that easy.” I tried to hand the tickets back to Hayley. With a sad smile, she refused. After checking her watch, she stood and said, “I need to go.”
“Fine.”
“Your plane leaves Monday. Please, think it over. You’ve got time. If you decide to go, the key to the house is in that envelope along with some useful directions.”
“Thanks. I’ll consider it.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
We hugged goodbye and swore to stay in touch.
I couldn’t fall back to sleep, so I put on some coffee and walked around the house, shooting glances at the envelope on the couch. It was an attractive thought, getting away from it all for a few days. Disappearing somewhere until my head was clear. Without pressure.
Just being gone.
Vanishing.
What a word. It was scary and fascinating at the same time.
But I couldn’t.
Or could I? Maybe.
No, it was impossible.
The story of my life.
The door to my grandmother’s room was cracked. I looked inside and noticed most of Frances’s things were gone: her first editions of classic books, her paintings, the armchair where she used to sit and read by the window…
