He leaves, but doesn’t close the door.
“My dad has a camera in here, doesn’t he?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Sawyer’s body shakes as he laughs. “In case you should need him while he’s downstairs.”
First thing I’m going to do when I’m not so damned tired is take an ax to the security system in the kitchen.
* * *
Dad is chatting nonstop, which means he’s nervous. He’s moving around the first floor of our apartment gathering things into a duffel bag. Picking up anything and everything he thinks we might or could ever need for my first chemo treatment.
I sit in the window seat, my knees drawn to my chest. Gentle rain pats against the windows. The house feels weird. It’s home, but not home, and I’m a bit empty. Mom’s not here. I miss her. Desperately.
My cell pings and I glance down at it to find a text from Sawyer: Where’s the first place you want to go when you’re done with your treatments?
I frown as it feels like I should know that answer. I frown deeper as I realize I don’t have any type of answer. I never really thought about life past graduation. It has always been right here, right now. The beach?
Sawyer: Why the question mark?
Me: Because everything feels like a question mark.
Dad jogs up the stairs, and thankfully, stops talking for at least two beats. My cell pings again. I expect Sawyer, but tilt my head in surprise. Glory: I’m here if you need someone.
I stare at her words then scroll through my cell. One ring and she answers, “Hi, V.”
“Hey.”
“How are you?”
I could lie, but don’t feel like it. “Scared.”
“Understandable.”
“Have you searched my future?” Am I going to live?
“Do you want me to?”
I squish my lips to the side. “If it’s good news then yes.”
“Your future is based off your decisions, you know this. Nothing is ever defined.”
While I do know this, it’s not why I called. “Was my mom ever here?” I don’t pretend that my lying about Mom for months hasn’t been a topic of conversation for people in my life.
There’s silence on her end. “Is she there now?”
“No. I haven’t seen her since the night Dad took me to the ER. But does that mean she wasn’t real? I mean, I spent months researching ghosts and hauntings and I saw things and experienced things that proves there’s something more, something beyond.”
“There is something more. There is something beyond.”
“But was she real?”
Glory sighs heavily into the phone. “Your dad would like me to tell you no. In fact, he’s told me point-blank to tell you no. I never felt her, V. She never appeared to me, she never talked to me, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t real. As far as I’m concerned, I’m grateful for whatever happened that night. That conversation you had with your mom, yelling out for your father—that saved your life.”
She’s right. It had. Things had happened in my brain. Things the doctors were able to stop. Otherwise, Dad would have found me dead in the morning. I let Glory go and stand from the window seat.
I’m slow as I touch the different pieces of furniture in my house, my home. The couch where Mom and I would curl up together after her treatments. The table where Dad and I have shared many meals. The desk where I spent hours poring over Dad’s finances for his business, and then my eyes fall on the piano. The one that my mother played when she was a child. The one she taught me how to play before I could sing my ABCs. The one I spent hours playing for her when she was sick and she said it was the only thing that brought her joy.
Then she died and I stopped. Maybe Glory was right. Maybe it was in that moment that I decided to die, too.
Dust covers the aging, upright piano and I rub my hand along the wood. Dust bunnies float in the air and fall to the ground. I push back the wooden cover and my heart thumps at the sight of the white resin keys. It’s been so many years there’s no doubt that the piano is out of tune, yet I’m drawn to hear the chord.
I try the C first, then my fingers spread out for the chord. The pitch is off, but the sound is sweet. I close my eyes as the music vibrates along my skin and in my blood.
The piano bench scratches against the floor