Page 19 of Collided

When I get home, I find the front door ajar. And no, the lock isn’t broken.

I stop in my tracks.

Mom won’t leave the front door open. No one besides us has the key, except for one person. Alex Hanson, my father, who can’t be here. He walked out on us three months ago.

With caution, I enter the house. The eerie quietness makes my heart beat erratically fast.

I tiptoe into the living room and find no sign of him.

Maneuvering into the kitchen, I gasp at the state it is in. All the cabinets are open. Pots, containers, spoons, forks, and food boxes are strewn on the floor as if a wild raccoon paid a visit. The refrigerator top is a mess— Mom puts emergency cash there.

Taking a stool, I stand on it and search behind the candle box. The money’s gone. All of it. There’s not a single penny.

I hop down the stool and sit on it as I try to think. There’s no way Dad took it. He knows why we put it there; in case we have to go to the hospital, buy a meal when there’s no food or fare for a cab.

I take my phone out to call Mom but a knock on the door startles me.

Taking a deep breath, I go outside, and find Nadina, our seventy-year-old next-door neighbor, standing with the help of her cane. For a moment, I’m in shock to see her at my doorstep.

Giving me a smile she breaks the silence. “Hey, dear. You got a minute?” she asks, wrinkles surfacing with each word.

I hold onto the door frame and pull myself together. “Yes. Would you like to come in?”

“No, I have to go back and babysit my grandchild. I came over to tell you, I saw your father earlier this afternoon. He was so drunk he was missing steps and talking to himself. I was going to help him but thought otherwise when I saw how wasted he was. I heard stuff breaking and then he left in a car.”

I stay mute, not knowing what to say to her. The woman has never talked to me before, but the way she’s looking at me tells me that she knows everything about us. She must’ve heard everything over the years. After all, walls are thin.

My cheeks burn in embarrassment.

I never wanted anyone to know what happened in my home. My parents went from love to fighting with each other. Affection changed into abuse. The things I heard and saw still haunt me.

I tightly hold the door to not shut it and hide in my room.

“If you need anything I’m only a few steps away,” Nadina offers, despite no reply.

My stomach curls in uneasiness. She knows stuff I want to erase from her memory—and mine.

“Thank you.” I avoid eye contact and stare at her strawberry earrings and the orange gown she’s wearing. She also has bracelets and necklaces on her, and I just know each piece has a story attached to it. Looking at her, I wish I met my grandparents. I wonder what they’re like. Both of my parents never mention them or even talk to them, so I have no idea if they’re even alive or not.

“No problem, dear. Just remember you’re not alone.” With a smile, she steps down the porch and looks back at me. “I’m glad you weren’t home. That man was not in the state to walk, let alone talk to his daughter.”

Something tells me this won’t be the last time my father shows up.

6

Heath

THUNDERING DOWN THE STAIRS, I CROSS THE HALLWAY WHEN THE OPEN DOOR CATCHES MY EYE AND MAKES ME STOP. The room belongs to my sister—dead sister.

My feet stay glued to the floor as I stare at the purple walls with floral murals drawn over them. The bed is unmade from when she last stepped out of it. Even the little things on the nightstand—her phone, Hello Kitty keychain, journal, and purple glitter pen—rest there messily, exactly where she left them. Her study table with books, pens, and a laptop in the same condition.

This is the only place in the mansion where time has frozen, and nothing has changed. While everything else and everyone else has moved on.Not me. I’m right where she left me. Both mentally and emotionally.

I think about stepping inside, sitting on the floor, and looking at the photo frame that has our picture. A selfie from when wewere getting ready for the fair a few years ago. I took it and sent it to her, not knowing that it’d become one of my favorite pictures after she’d been ripped away from me. I was oblivious to the pain, despair, and loss waiting for me down the years.

If only I had known sooner. Maybe I could’ve helped her in some way. Saved her perhaps.

Regrets are heavy to live with. They have the power to pull you down and drown you.

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