Page 2 of Cruel Legacy

I’m on the side of the road, standing on a narrow stretch of asphalt that’s supposed to be a safe pull-off by mile marker two sixty-six. It’s so safe I’m staring over the side of the cliff. The embankment is a steep drop of at least fifty feet and I’m hovering over it like there’s a steel guard rail to protect me from falling. There isn’t. In fact, there’s no sort of railing at all. Not even a hazard sign, cone, or construction barricade to warn you about getting too close.

This is definitely not the road to speed along after having anything to drink. In the daylight, it’s treacherous. At night bathed in pitch black nothingness, it’s probably deadly. There’s nothing below me but jagged rock, and yet I see the majestic beauty of this cliff and feel as calm as I would be if I were sunbathing on a tropical beach.

My heart rate spikes as I lean over a little further, a laugh falls from my lips. There’s nothing better than the feeling of adrenaline pumping through my veins. If this were any other day, and I had my stuff, I’d scale down the side to see what’s at the bottom beyond my line of sight.

Unfortunately, Idon’thave my gear. I’m short on time, and I have at least another hour of driving ahead of me. I need to get moving if I want to reach my destination before it gets dark. I close my eyes once more, inhaling deeply, committing this feeling to memory before returning to my car.

My shoulders deflate as soon as I’m settled in the driver’s seat. I doubt there’s any room for fun and excitement where I’m heading. If the stilted calls, texts and emails I’ve received from my aunt and uncle are any clue, I’d say they don’t believe in fun.

I start the car, my gaze sliding over the envelope on the passenger seat. It’s the letter from my social worker officially discharging me from the Nags Creek Independent Living Program.

Independent Living is the post placement program for foster children who have technically aged out of the system. As long as you work, are attending school or some type of training program, or have a medical disability that prevents you from being able to do one of those things, the state continues providing medical coverage, employment assistance, a small living stipend and subsidizes your housing to help you transition to adulthood.

I was all set to start paying the rent on my own in eighteen months, but my case worker threw me a curve ball and sprung this aunt and uncle into the mix. After years of being on my own, here come some people I don’t even know wanting to take me in. I roll my eyes at their “generosity”.Nowthey wanna help, when the hard part is done and I no longer need it.

I was planning to tell them to stuff their helpfulness up their asses but Mrs. Sprout, my social worker, made it a point to tell me over and over again how this move was a great opportunity I couldn’t pass up. It provides me with a chance to graduate from an Ivy League College without owing a mountain of debt.

For that reason andonlythat reason I packed up my two-bedroom apartment and loaded everything I own into the back of the moving van my aunt and uncle sent.

My things shipped last week, and I opted to drive instead of using the airline ticket they wanted to buy. Flying would have been faster, but I needed these endless hours on the road to convince myself this move was a good idea. Spoiler alert… I still need convincing. I’ve turned this rental car around at least three times already, but I’ve never gotten more than a few miles down the road before turning around again. My nine-hour drive is heading into unlucky hour number thirteen. My favorite ring tone cuts in over the music playing on the radio. I stab the button on my corded microphone to answer. “Sup, girl?”

“Well, since you answered, I guess this means you’re still not there yet. Are you still sitting outside the truck stop on the edge of town?” My best friend Sasha knows me so well. Because I did spend thirty minutes at the truck stop before getting on the road this morning. I wait until the background noise on her end dies down before answering. “I’ve got another thirty minutes or so before I make it to the last rest stop, then the navigation system says it’s another ten minutes to the turnoff from there.”

“And fifteen miles to town.” She says repeating the directions I told her last night and this morning.

“Yup.”

“And you said you won’t have cell reception?”

“The map says this place is surrounded by mountains and dead air. Shit, girl, I’m already out of range for my prepaid plan. I’m shocked I’ve even got a signal right now. But I paid for two months of service just in case. It might be spotty with hella roaming charges, but you know there’s no way I was gonna risk not being able to call you when this shit goes sideways.”

“Now Thea, don’t be like that. We’re expecting good things to come from this.”

I roll my eyes at my bestie’s expectations. I appreciate her trying to put a spin on it, but I’m less inclined to believe this move is the answer to all my unspoken prayers. Shit, I don’thaveprayers because I stopped believing they’d come true long before I wound up in the system.

When you have no clue who your father is, and your mom’s known as the town drunk, you quickly learn there’s no such thing as the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and Happily Ever After.

My friendship with Sasha is the only thing that’s endured my many moves and school changes. We met when we were seven, at one of the first foster homes they sent me to. That was about six months before her grandparents came and got her. I spent another year in the home before my foster mother had a heart attack requiring me to move to a new home.

I went back to my mom a little bit after that and Sasha and I wound up in the same school. Then the cycle started. Mom would be sober. Things would be good. Then she'd meet some asshole and the minute things didn’t work out, she’d spiral out of control. First, she’d stop going to work, so there would be no money for paying the bills and no food in the house to eat. Then she’d trash the place the moment the landlord confronted her about the unpaid rent, and let’s not forget my personal favorite… moving us in the middle of the night like the hounds of hell were on our tail.

I guess I can consider myself lucky I’m an only child and learned to make do with the situation. I rationed out food when it was in the house, or swiped an extra lunch from school, but if there had been another kid around there would’ve been way more days I’d have gone hungry.

I zone out while Sasha yells at one of her cousins. She still lives with her grandparents, who took in three of their other grandchildren. It’s always a full house over there.

Sasha is happy and loved, but I know she’s waiting for the day she has enough money to move out on her own. She’s crashed with me plenty of times, but we never made it official since it was against the rules for Independent Living to have anyone live with you. We had plans to get a place together just as soon as I turned twenty-one and finished the program. We still might, if this relocation doesn’t work out.

When there’s a lull in the yelling, I say, “Still busy around there, I see.”

“Girl, yes. My cousin Casey is here with her man and they’ve got shit everywhere. It’s like I can’t even get a minute of peace. And since they’re a couple, Alicia and I had to move into the room with Ellie. We’re standing on top of each other.”

“I thought Ellie was moving out?”

“She is. Her departure date for basic training got pushed back another month, but she’s going.”

There’s a scuffling sound, then Sasha groans. “See this is-”

Whatever else she says gets cut off when my phone signal drops. I crank the radio up, letting the music keep me pumped during this boring ass drive. I’m in the middle of my road trip concert, when the Australian voice on the navigation system cuts through my harmonies.In two miles, take a right at the fork.

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