Page 26 of Somewhere Without You
I thought of the sprawling field stretching into the mountains and a shiver crept over me. Wewerealone out here, three miles from town, in this little white house—justGran, Katherine, and me. I stared at the mug in front of me, unsure of what to say next.
Gran sat back, studying me.“You don’t have to be afraid of it, youknow,”she said, breaking the quiet.“Whatever’s outthere, whatever’s in here. . . it’s been here long before us.Andit’ll be here long after we’re gone.”
I took a deep breath, looking around the room, at the faded furniture, the cluttered shelves, the smoky air. Thiswasour home now, for better or worse.
Katherine didn’t come in until an hour later, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Dinnerwasquiet. No one spoke—therewasn’tmuch to say. Gran made hamburger helper. Itwasok, but Iwasn’thungry. Katherine didn’t eat at all.
Afterwards, I helped Gran clean up. The kitchenwassmall and old, the two of usbarelyfit. Through the window, the setting sun bathed the mountains in a soft, golden light. Gran told methatin the summer, hummingbirds would come flitting through the garden, drinking the nectar from wild zinnias and columbinesthatgrew along the fence.
The TVwasancient and Gran only got two channels—QVC and the local news. Around eight, Katherine and I carried our few belongings upstairs and down the hall to whatwasnow our shared bedroom.
Two twin beds with iron frames flanked a small white nightstand. I chose the bed by the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a hummingbird when summer came around.
Neitherof us spoke as we unpacked. I hated it—this heavy weight of grief between us.We’dlostthe only parent wehadand now we tiptoed around her death as if it never happened at all.
Buried beneath the sheets, in a bedthatfeltwrong, I tried not to breathe in the unfamiliar scent of this strange place.Beforeall this,we’donly seen Gran on a handful of holidays. Now, shewasall wehadleft.
The soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across the room. Iwatchedin silence as Katherine reached over and flicked the switch, plunging the room into darkness. Moonlight flooded through the window, painting eerie shadows across the pale pink quilts.
None of thisfeltright.
“Kat?”I squeaked into the darkness.“Kat, I want to go home.”
Katherine’s voicewasflat.“This is home now.”
“No, it’s not,”I shook my head, my body trembling. This bed, this room—itwasall wrong. “I want to go home. I want Mom.”I couldn’tgetcomfortable. Not here, in this bedthatwasn’treallymine in this room I didn’t like. Hot tearsfinallyspilled over.“I want to go home. I want to go home,”I chanted, inconsolable.“I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.”
“Emily, stop it!”Katherine shouted. Shewasout of bed now, standing beside me. “Whetheryou like it or not, this is home now. Crying and screaming isn’t going to changethat.”
Snot bubbled beneath my nose, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand.“I want to go home,”I repeated, quieter this time.
Thenher armswerearound me, pulling me close as the weight of her body settled in next to mine.“It’sjusta house Emily,”she whispered, her voice soothing as she brushed her fingers through my hair, mimicking Mom’s familiar touch.“Aslong as we’re together, you’ll always be home.”
Thirteen
Now
Theslidingglassdoorsparted with a soft whoosh, and the glaring California sunlight hit me all at once. I breathed in the warm air, feeling it press against my skin. It had been four days since that terrifying night. Four days with Katherine’s constant presence—sometimes comforting, other times grating. Four days of silence from Jackson.
Miraculously, nothingwasbroken. Dark bruises circled my throat, and angry welts marked my arms and legs. Some would scar—a permanent reminder, but at least Iwasalive to carry them.
Katherine stood next to me, her expression blank.We’darguedbefore leaving the hospital.I’dwantedto go home—hishome now, to gather some of my things, but Katherinehadinsistedshe go instead. So here wewere, standing at the edge of an uncertain future.
The hospital staffhadbeen discreet, offering the number for a battered women’s shelter in a quiet, almost unnoticeable way. Katherinehadimmediatelydismissed it. Wehada plan, a place to go. It mightfeelmore like a prison than a refuge, but at leastwe’dhave each other.
We walked in silence past rows of parked cars,finallystopping in front of a beat-up red Ford Focus.
I glanced at my sister, confused, but her face remained a hard line.“Katherine?”I asked.“What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, Emily,” she said, unable to meet my eyes.
Shewasn’tcoming with me.
“Iknowit’s not the Lexus, but driving your car is too risky.”Katherine unlocked the back door, revealing my dusty pink suitcase. My heart sank.“I only took whatwasabsolutelynecessary.”
I stared at her, a cold knot forming in my stomach.“So that’s it?”I croaked, my throat raw.“After everything, you’rejustgoing to leave me?”
“It’s not likethat,”Katherine started, but I didn’t let her finish.
