11
RILEY
Age 16
Grandpa heaved a sigh as he pushed himself out of the chair. He reached for the bottle of water on the table, then his hat. I stood to follow, but he waved me off.
“Neil will drive you home after the fireworks.”
I stared at him in shock. “You aren’t staying?” He had been the one making a big deal of how wonderful the Reedsport Freedom Festival was each year. Since we missed it last year, due to him being sick, we’d spent the entire day here wandering through the park and festivities. I’d won a few prizes at the booths and a blue ribbon in the fishing competition. Grandpa had been with me, but… he wasn’t reallywithme. He’d seemed distracted, his mind was probably still on work. It was always on work.
“No, Preston. Fireworks aren’t really my thing, but Neil said he’d stay and bring you home when they’re over.”
I looked at my Grandpa’s driver standing behind me, with his dark sunglasses and ballcap. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and when he saw me looking at him, he gave me the tiniest of smiles.
“But,” I started, but Grandpa cut me off.
“I’ll see you at home. Have fun.”
My heart sank as I watched him go. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. Him abandoning me on what he knew was my favorite holiday was just another confirmation that he didn’t really want to be around me. So why was I here? And why wouldn’t he let me go back to the Henrys’ like I wanted?
I kicked a pebble and tried to shake off my sadness. I’d felt nothing but alone since arriving in this tiny town over a year ago, yet I’d never felt more isolated than at that moment. If only I had someone else to spend today with.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes and I tried to blink them away. I’d learned to hide them in the last year, because tears meant harsh words and terse looks. Not that Grandpa was mean, but he didn’t like that I was “soft” and he’d made it clear he had no time for my “emotional teenage moments” or “acting out for attention”, as he put it.
I sank back in my chair and stared out at the water, trying desperately not to think about my previous Fourth of Julys or else I’d really start to cry. The memories came anyway.
Beckett and I used to work extra hard all throughout May and June, mowing yards for our neighbors or doing extra chores, just to earn some money. We’d spend every cent on as many fireworks as we could—well, almost every cent since we saved some for sweets. Then we’d put on the best show on our street with all the fireworks we were able to buy. For five years we did that, and for five years, it was the best night of the entire summer.
I could still picture Beckett’s face lit up by the light of the sparks and hear his laugh as one of the small tank engines chased him down the street. I could hear Tosh, Tracy, and Harold cheering us on as we put on a great show. My mouth watered as I remembered how good the hamburgers were. They were nothing more than simple frozen beef patties, but they still managed to taste like the best thing ever.
That was what Fourth of July was about, fun with family and friends. Not this. Not sitting here by myself on the pier waiting for someone else to light up the sky.
A soft voice broke through my melancholy thoughts. “Mind if I sit here?”
I turned to see a teenage girl, close to my age, with shoulder-length blonde hair wearing a bright red dress. She seemed just as sad as I was.
“Go ahead. I’m alone anyway.”
She nodded in understanding. “Me, too. My parents are working one of the booths. I’m Amelia, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Preston.”
She gave me a smile as she held out a paper bag. “Want some popcorn, Preston?”
***
Amelia came up behind me, studying the painting I was working on. The scent of peppermint wafted up from the mug in her hands, making me crave my own cup of tea.
“Is that for commission or you?” she asked.
“It’s for Arthur MacIntosh,” I replied as I pointed to the picture clipped to the corner. “It’s his childhood home in Ireland.”
“Beautiful,” she said, then turned to me. “Have you heard from Beckett?”
I hadn’t had the chance to share the good news yet since she’d been sleeping most of the day, thanks to the painkillers. I set my brush down and turned to her. “Michael’s in custody. They arrested him last night.”
She let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God. Did he say anything about the box?”
