After all, I’m still only nineteen. Maybe I don’t know as much as I thought I did a year ago, and it’s easier to just go along with them than argue.
I nod, resigned to follow his decision. What else can I do at this point? My things are packed, the car is ready to take us to Brookhaven.
Adam stands. “I think we’re all done in here. Let’s go see if Henry has arrived.”
I follow him silently out to the living room of our family’s apartment, where my second older brother and our father wait for us.
“Ready to go?” Henry asks us, his voice only slightly tinged with the British accent he developed before moving to the States. I was born here, so I don’t have any indication of our heritage in my voice.
Adam nods and I shrug. I know better than to fight these two.
Father steps forward and holds me in a warm embrace. He’s short, unlike my older brothers, but his hug still feels safe and comforting. “I’ll miss having you here,” he says. “But I know it’s for the best.”
I lean into him. He’s been my constant companion throughout these eleven months, and I’m going to miss his warm smile and encouragement. I pull back, blinking away tears. “I’ll miss you, too. But I’ll call every day.”
Father nods and gives me a sweet kiss on the forehead, then lets me go.
“All right then,” Adam says, ever the stoic. “Let’s head out.”He walks over to the elevator with my suitcase and presses the button, and Henry and I follow behind.
I don’t know if they recognize how monumental this is for me. I haven’t left this building—no, thispenthouse—in a year.
One foot in front of the other. That’s the only way I make it to the elevator. The doorman in the elevator nods at me and my brothers as we step inside, then he presses the button down to the lobby. We take the ride in silence, but I think my heart is pounding so loud everyone can hear.
The elevator stops, and the doors open. My brothers step out first, and Adam looks around to make sure no one is watching. He gestures for me to follow, and I walk through the lobby and take my first steps outside in three hundred and thirty-seven days. The night air is warm, as it usually is in September in Central California.
But I don’t have time to enjoy it. A car is waiting, and Henry opens the back door for me to get in while Adam quickly stashes my suitcases in the trunk. They shut the door and trunk at the same time, slide into their seats, and Henry begins to drive to Brookhaven.
Driving. I haven’t been in a car in a year, either. The last time I was in one, we were in this exact same arrangement. Except that time, Henry was driving us home from Las Vegas and I was an emotional wreck in the back seat. I mean, I’m still an emotional wreck, but I’m trying my best to play it cool.
I’m out of the penthouse…but I’ll be stuck in a tower.
With Aunt Agatha.
As we drive, I rest my head on the seat behind me and close my eyes, hoping Henry was right when he said there’s a piano there.
“There’s no piano,” I say.
Henry and Adam stand on either side of me in the doorway. They drop the suitcases with athump, and we take in the sights of my new home. We just walked up four flights of stairs. Aunt Agatha’s home sits in the middle of the other adorable homes of Brookhaven, all with their pitched roofs and picket fences, but hers has a tower that stands high above the rest of the buildings. The front door of her home leads either to her living room or to the stone staircase that winds up four stories to the top of the tower.
This tower is my new home. It’s a single room, but it’s large enough for a bed, a living area with a small couch, a tiny kitchenette, and a bathroom. I could probably do three or four cartwheels across the floor—if I knew how to do cartwheels.
That might be something to add to my list of hobbies. So far I’ve taught myself the “Cups” song from the movie Pitch Perfect, Cat’s Cradle with a loop of yarn, and how to knit a sweater with the rest of the yarn from the skein. There was a brief attempt at ballet, but I’m definitely not coordinated enough for that. Maybe I’ll be better at cartwheels. Most recently, I’ve enrolled in online classes at Silver Lake University in hopes of finishing my degree.
But most of my time was spent playing the piano.
Henry looks around the bare room. “No. You’re right.”
I turn to face him, my hands on my hips. “You told me there would be a piano.”
“Agatha said?—”
“Lily, what do you think of your room?” Agatha asks in her thick British accent, her tone breathless. She was a little slower than us in climbing the stairs. I’ll be honest, I was surprised she wanted to make the climb, but she seems unusually energetic for one in the morning. Her nightgown looks like it belongs in the Regency era, but I can’t be sure if that’s her usual pajamasor her current wardrobe theme. Aunt Agatha loves to dress according to her book club’s latest choice. Last year, she was a detective and a guest on the Titanic, and earlier this year she was a pirate. You never know what you’re getting next with her.
“It’s lovely, Aunt. Truly.” I swallow hard. “But, uh, where is the piano?”
“Oh, yes, of course!” She steps into the room, her feet padding on the carpeted floor, and opens the closet. “Here it is!” she says, her arms wide with a bigta-daflourish.
I step over to see a small, electronic Casio keyboard on a black metal X-stand. The type with thirty-seven plastic, non-weighted keys, as opposed to the full eighty-eight of the grand piano I just left back in Silver Lake City.
