Fatigue and a long day weigh my head down within minutes. My life only grows more complicated by the day, and I don’t think it will ever be normal again. I close my eyes and listen to the weatherman reporting faintly in the background, his voice growing quieter and further away.
Chapter Eleven
Stranger Danger
My eyes spring open, my sun-lit room sending me into a panic. Fuck. What time is it? The craft show is today. I flail out of bed, my eyes crusty and my face sticky, and glance at the wall clock.
Seven. It’s seven in the fucking morning. Fucking summertime trickery.
The fair doesn’t start until ten and runs until five, but I have to pack, decide what to wear, shower, and start laundry before I go. I pass my floor-length mirror and stop abruptly. Attached to the side of my face is a macaroni-and-cheese noodle. My eyes drift to the end of my bed where I fell asleep. The bowl I had my macaroni in rests on its side, spilling all over the comforter.
Damnit.
I open my bedroom door and yell, “Boozer.”
Seconds later, a thundering horde of footsteps stampede up the stairs. Boozer barrels around the corner, knocking me sideways into my dresser before diving onto my bed, his nose grazing across the comforter until he finds his prize. I shake my head as he devours the entire thing and excessively licks my comforter.
The dresser drawer slams open, and I paw through it, looking for my nude bra and underwear. I yank a faded light blue pairof capris with tears in the thighs and a white V-neck t-shirt off their hangers, then snatch up my white tennis shoes and carry everything to the bathroom.
After peeling off my clothes from the day before, I turn on the shower and step in, leaping away as the frigid liquid strikes my chest. “Fuck,” I yell, then quickly turn the knob to the left to heat the water. I place my hand under the pelting stream before immersing my face, rinsing the dried macaroni off my cheek.
A soft knock rattles my bathroom door. “You okay?” My mom’s voice carries through the partition.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
She must have heard me yell. Ever since the incident, any stress-related sound I’ve made has made them run to check on me. I guess having so many unanswered questions keeps them on high alert.
I wash myself thoroughly but tenderly over my still-healing calf. Most of the red handprints have faded, with only a few leaving discolored blotches. I’m hoping that one day they, too, will disappear. Until then, I stick to capris instead of shorts so the marks inside my thighs remain invisible to the outside world and to me.
The craft fair will be my first public appearance since the funeral. I’m hoping because it’s in the next county over, not as many locals will show up, but I have my doubts. It’s a pretty popular fair.
My mom helps me pack Grandma’s car after breakfast. She told me before that I couldn’t drive for a while, but I think she realizes that letting me drive myself makes more sense than having her drive me back and forth. And since Grandma June’s car has been parked in the driveway collecting dust, Mom decided to let me use it for the craft fair only. It’s an old Nova, but according to Grandma, it runs like a dream.
I peck my mom’s cheek and drop behind the wheel. She stands there holding the door open, her face riddled with worry.
“Mom, I’ll be fine,” I say reassuringly as I grab the door handle and pull it gently.
She removes her hand, letting me close it, and knocks on the rolled-up window. I crank it down and raise my brows. “Yes?”
Her hand disappears behind her back, and when it reappears, a smile spreads across my face. I snatch the cell phone quickly, tapping the screen like a madwoman. “Is this the new iPhone?”
A heavy sigh escapes her lips as she rests her hands on the open windowsill. “It’s only for emergencies and when you leave the house. When you come home, I want it back. I don’t want you browsing the internet all day.”
“I won’t. I promise. Thank you, Mommy.”
Mommy is what I call her when I really want something, and she gets it for me, which isn’t often. But I didn’t ask for this, so I knew there would be strings.
“Don’t think about going anywhere but the fair. I have a tracker app on it so I can locate you any time.”
I place the phone in the cup holder beside me and smile up at her. “Craft fair and back. I won’t let you down.” The car rumbles to a start, vibrating my entire body.
Drives like a dream, my ass. It sounds like it’s seconds away from bursting into pieces. Mom taps the hood’s top with her palm. “And Tessa, no texting or talking while driving.”
The car staggers backward as I shift it into reverse, backing slowly out of the driveway. “I won’t.” I pull the shifter to drive and wave goodbye.
Once I reach the highway, I relax a little. I haven’t driven since the day of the accident, and it all feels different somehow. The way the road appears before me, the other drivers on it —everything feels surreal. I slow the car down, something in the distance catching my eye. On the side of the road, there’s a crosswith white flowers wrapped around it, staked into the ground beside the bridge railing where my car went over. Maureen’s name is etched across the front. I gasp as I continue driving by it, realizing I stopped breathing momentarily. I take a deep breath, drawing in a large gulp of air before blowing it out slowly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to form. I blink away a stray one and slap the turn signal up, taking the exit toward the sign that reads “Craft Fair Today” with an arrow pointing to the right.
The parking lot is packed full of vendors and early shoppers waiting eagerly to browse this year’s selections.
