Page 5 of When Sparks Fly

Lunch with Nana would’ve been a day trip, including the two-hour drive each way. Now, it makes more sense to stay in Bull Creek at Nana’s for the weekend.

The sun chases my Jeep as it rises behind me when I eventually head for Bull Creek. Twisty roads, single-stoplight towns, and spotty reception greet me on my drive. This road has been calming in the past, offering a peaceful, often uninterrupted expanse of road, perfect for daydreaming. Today, each mile heightens my anxiety at dealing with Stephanie and Alan, my step-father, and facing this heartbreaking loss.

I choose soft music to fill the background of my thoughts, emotionally ill-equipped to deal with love songs or heartbreaking lyrics. When I lose signal on the back roads, I’m forced to switch over to the radio from my streaming app, adjusting the station as I drive in and out of coverage areas.

By the time I reach the east outskirts of town, I’ve been subjected to at least three self-indulgent radio hosts. Three too many for my liking. More coffee would help curb my building frustration, but my travel mug is empty.Instead, silence reigns when I smash my finger on the radio power button, ceasing the incessant chatter.

There are three whole stoplights in Bull Creek. I turn left at the second, where River Road and Main Street meet, and head south. Then it’s a right at the first to drive across town and back into the hill country to Nana’s house.

Dread fills my insides the closer I get to my final turn. I have half a mind to turn around and head straight for a bar. At last check, there were only two to choose from. Stephanie’s reproachful voice echoes in my head, speaking of obligations to be fulfilled.

Obligations.

As if this is nothing more than a task on a to-do list. For her, it likely is.

Still, the promise of an ass-chewing isn’t what keeps me moving toward Nana’s house. There is nowhere I’d rather be than honoring Nana’s life, even if I would prefer to mourn her in relative peace. Something that will never be achieved with my mother and step-father around.

Mature oak trees line the driveway, greeting me at the entrance, and lead directly to Nana’s farmhouse. Alan’s Mercedes is parked next to Nana’s older Toyota on the gravel near the house. My Jeep settles behind her sedan, but I don’t get out.

I wait for the echo of the drive to vacate my ears and then take in my reflection. Swollen eyes stare back at me from the rearview mirror. Crying intensifies the vibrant green of my irises, an uninvited positive. Soft brown hair is falling from the loose bun I secured it in. I refresh it quickly, somewhat out of habit, in an effort to give Stephanie less to pick at. Ten months of no contact and her years of grooming still affect me.

The deep breath I take before exiting with my purse in hand does nothing to prepare me for what I’m about to endure. Nothing can.

This isgonna hurt like Hell.

As if they’ve been watching, Stephanie and Alan open the front door, not bothering to step out on the covered porch. Instead, they create a bottleneck where they want me to enter, but won’t move unless I ask. I say nothing.

“Hi, honey,” my mother greets me with emotionless words.

Alan and I eye each other, but neither of us speak. It’s better that way. His usual look of contempt is frozen in place. Without further preamble, he walks into the kitchen.

I don’t know why he bothered to come to the door except to give me another dirty look.

Stephanie backs up robotically for me to enter. Her programming right on time she asks, “How was the drive?”

She doesn’t care and we both know it.

Pick your battles.

I swallow deeply. “It was fine.”

It’s my turn to look her over. Loose, blonde hair shines against her black outfit of mourning, a trend I’ve no doubt she’ll maintain for her stay. Her cold mannerisms and polished appearance couldn’t be further from Nana’s warmth. I’ve never been to the house she and Alan share now, but I assume it’s modern, sterile. Similar to the house we lived in when I was a teenager. Nothing like the cozy embrace here.

Voices drift in from the kitchen, but all the sounds of normal life in this house are gone. The TV isn’t on with Nana’s favorite reality shows. There’s no giggle as she thinks of some random funny thing to share with me, something I grew used to during all of my school holidays and summer breaks spent here.

“Who’s here?” My voice cuts through the tension as my mother continues to stare at me.

She lifts her chin. “Your Aunt Randi and your cousin Olivia.” Liv’s name sounds odd coming out in full, even though it doesn’t surprise me when my mother uses her given name. She clears her throat. “I didn’t mention it on the phone because it didn’t seem pertinent at the time.”

Her nails make a clicking noise as they flick against each other, drawing my eyes down. I’ve never seen her fidget. “Your Aunt Randi was the one to…find Mother.”

My jaw drops before I can stop it. I snap it closed. She blinks, but her face is otherwise composed, her body still again.

“I’ll let you put your things away. We can gather in the kitchen and discuss what comes next.” In typical Stephanie fashion, she turns sharply, exiting to the kitchen before I’ve responded.

I inhale until my lungs are uncomfortably full. The distinct scent of Nana’s house rushes through me and I’m hit with an aching wave of nostalgia. Home-cooked meals, paperback books, and her subtle perfume envelop me simultaneously in a blanket of comfort and longing.

Nana will never wrap me up in her arms again and the scent will fade with time.

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