ONE
I laugh when I see the palm trees.
I know they’re everywhere in Florida, but I’ve never seen one in person, and a crazed sort of giggle bubbles up in my throat at the sight of the strange, tropical foliage. It feels almost…symbolic, because for the first time in my life, I’m free of the people I’ve known since birth, free of the toxic small-town spell, free of that suffocating pressure to stay in Green Haven forever.
I refocus on the road ahead, adjusting my grip on the wheel, and do my best to memorize this moment, to bookmark it in my mind so that I can look back on it years from now with fondness and enthusiasm.
It’s just me and the palm trees now, and isn’t that something?
Smiling to myself, I roll down the windows and let the humid air whip my hair around my face. Only five and a half hours until I reach my destination. Five and a half hours until I arrive on Mel’s doorstep with nothing but my duffel bag and a hug that’s nearly eight years overdue.
My chest tightens with nerves, but I shake them off with a steadying breath, telling myself that I’m being silly. There’s absolutely nothing to be nervous about. When Mel opens the door, she’ll be thrilled to see her baby sister for the first time in nearly a decade, and I have no doubt that she’s been imagining our long-overdue reunion the same way I have. In five hours and thirty minutes, I’ll be reunited with the sister I haven’t seen since I was twelve.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
The next few hours fly by in a blur of bubblegum pop music and anticipation. Watching as the vivid sun begins to set, I don’t think about the ways this could go terribly wrong. It won’t do me any good, and I refuse to put that kind of negative energy out into the universe. Dad always says my optimism is my greatest strength and my greatest weakness, but I’ve never understood the weakness part. I always try to focus on the positive. That, and pessimism gives me an ulcer.
The sky’s grown dark by the time the map guides me off the main road and into a residential community. It’s not gated, but it’s the kind of neighborhood you’d expect to be, and I double-check the address I have for Melanie James with the address plugged in Google Maps. Sure enough, it’s correct, but it’s not what I pictured. Not atall.Even in the dim glow of the streetlights, I can see that these houses are huge and extravagant, the lawns pristine and manicured. There’s not a single car in sight on the quiet street, but I keep driving anyway.
“You have arrived at your destination,” the map tells me, and I roll to a stop in front of 128 West Palm Lane.
“This is it,” I murmur, staring up at the house in awe. “This has to be it.”
I just didn’t expect my sister to live in a freakingmansion.
Because unless the dark’s playing a trick on my tired eyes, the house before me is monstrous in size and rich in embellishment. It’s way nicer than anything I’d envisioned, and trust me, I’ve imagined it all over the course of the past eight years. Clearly, my sister isn’t struggling or scraping by. She’s not even coasting. If this is her house, Melanie James hasmade it, and for a moment, I feel a pang of hurt that she never contacted me.
I push it away and focus on the present.
I’m here. Finally.
I shift into park and shut off the car, which makes a painful-sounding whine I purposefully ignore. My body’s stiff as I step into the street, and I give my limbs a quick stretch before approaching the house. I don’t think twice about the late hour because that kind of stuff shouldn’t matter when you’re about to reunite with family. I don’t hesitate before ringing the bell.
The chime echoes through the cavernous home, and I take a step back. I wait. I try not to fidget because that’s not a very good first impression.
Nothing.
Two minutes pass. Then five. I ring the bell again and wait some more.
Still nothing.
Only then does doubt begin to creep in around the edges of my mind, and my dad’s voice echoes through my head.
Who knows if she lives there anymore, Violet? What if she doesn’t? Then what will you do?
Good Question.
After six years of no contact—not a single phone call, text message, or carrier pigeon—the letter came from Mel. By that point, we’d gone so long without communication that Dad had written her off completely. I hadn’t. I’d held out hope that one day she’d reach out to me. That she’d come back for me after she’d gotten her life together somewhere else, somewhere far away from Green Haven. I missed my sister desperately, and I’d clung to that little thought in my darkest moments like a life raft in stormy waters.
Nothing upsets my dad, he’s a pretty stable guy despite everything, but I vividly remember the way he opened that envelope with shaking hands. I’d been expecting a message, some sort of explanation of why she’d cut contact and what she’d been up to all these years since she left us behind, but instead, it was a check made out to Dad. That’s it. No note. No description. Just money. Dad wouldn’t show me the dollar amount, but I knew from his face that it was significant.
“Well. Isn’t that a surprise,” he said, shaking his head.
“She sent…money?” I asked, confused. Mostly, though, I’d been disappointed that there was no letter for me.
Dad had sighed in that way he did, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and gave me a look that was almost pitying. “I never wanted to tell you this, Vi, but when your sister left, she…took money from me.”
I blinked at him, not understanding. Mel had taken money? Without asking? That hadn’t sounded like her. Not at all. “Shestolefrom you? Are you sure?”
