Page 11

FIVE

THE JOURNAL

May 2000

My parents were never good parents. They would fight daily. Mouths set into caves full of anger. Enough flowing tears to fill a river. And me? I was always just there, lingering in the shadows, darkness my only comfort.

My father would leave home and my mother would drown in wine. Rich, vintage wine was her drug. My father’s? Other women.

It was on the cusp of a cold May morning, the night after an explosive fight, that my mother dragged me from my bed and told me, “We’re moving, you have an hour.”

I’d always thought my mother was the most beautiful person on this planet, but that day especially, she was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen. And I suppose I was too, because I didn’t speak to her from wheels up to wheels down. When we’d arrived at the airport, a heavy rain began to pour, soaking me down to my socks, despite the umbrella in my hand. The rain was one thing that I could have written off, but it had been bone chilling cold.

The rain pelted at my face like icy nails and despite the drawstring hood of the jacket I’d been wearing, the cold water drifted past the hood, down my neck where stray rivulets streamed down my back. Suffice to say I was shivering with cold and anger. I glared and pouted the entire ride in the warmth of our SUV. Every chance my parents had spoken to me, I allowed their words to trail off into the ether where they were useless.

Soloman and Antonella Wren could have fucked off and I wouldn’t have cared.

As we breached the outskirts of our new hometown, it gave way to miles of untouched land, with small livable areas dotting the curving terrain. The smooth glide of the asphalt coupled with the crystal clear view of evergreens and choppy cliffs stole my anger and replaced it with wonder. When we crested a hill on the local highway, over the only bridge connecting two sides of a mountain, we slowly coasted along the view looking down at the seaside town.

Beyond, I could make out an imposing structure on a cliffside. A mansion. Or a castle? A lingering fog cut through my view every now and then and with each reveal I was granted a closer glimpse. And to my dismay, a bubbling excitement crawled its way up my throat and tingled across my face. I had no choice but to hide a smile behind my coat’s sleeve, long forgotten was the wet shirt and soggy boots.

We eventually arrived at Main Street and slowed in front of a building composed of a slate-gray exterior smashed between two older buildings of red brick and iron windows that reminded me of the brownstones of home, only shorter with creaky old signs that I couldn’t quite make out.

“This will be the new office, you like it?” my mother asked from the front seat.

I shrugged, hoping they knew this kind of silence usually came before a storm.

My mother sighed as she exited the car alongside my father.

On the sidewalk before the store was a brawny-looking man clad in all black with a fitted baseball cap. I glanced away, staring out the opposite window at a small movie theater across the street.

Bistro lights hung below its awning, and a smattering of teens loitered outside the ticket booth. I asked myself, would I make friends here? Home was filled with life, here in this new town it was devoid, empty.

“Sara.” My father knocked on the window beside me, pulling me from my thoughts. “Come on.”

I rolled my eyes, fixed my jacket, and exited the car. The same man was speaking with my mother as they entered what would be the office space for my father’s medical practice.

It would be soon enough, the man would become my mother’s plaything.

Outside, leaning against the wall was a boy kicking at the concrete seemingly without a care in the world. He was wearing all black and his hair was messy in a textured crop sort of way. A laid-back rockstar he looked like. His golden-brown skin stood out against the dreary backdrop of the day, and angry copper eyes clashed with mine the moment I stepped near the building.

He looked to be around my age, significantly taller with a lithe build. I wondered who he was, just leaning there with all the effortless coolness in the world.

My chest radiated with warmth as he straightened from the wall and became engaged in our mutual stare-down.

“Ash, this is my daughter, Sara.” My dad introduced us, and I didn’t know what could be more embarrassing. I blushed out of character as the boy extended a hand and I stared awkwardly at it for a moment before realizing I was supposed to be shaking his hand. “Sara, nice to meet you.”

A cold wind danced between us.

“Call me Ash.” The boy straightened and fixed a black beanie on his head.

“Ash, why don’t you show Sara around? Main Street isn’t so big.” My dad offered.

My eyes flared as I shot him daggers. The last thing I wanted was to be forced into friendships so quickly.

“I can show myself around,” I retorted, turning to walk in the direction we’d come from. Remorse was not something I felt for my father that year.

Down this street was a row of stores and a few cafes with patio seating, and I hated to admit it was entirely too cute to believe.