“Leele—uh, Lee,” I use her common name, “from the Vine Lodge.”
“Oh, Ms. Nye is your grandmother?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s cool.” I nod, not knowing what else to say. I start to leave. “Don’t forget your muffin.”
“Oh, right.” I smile tightly. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” he says, handing it to me. His fingers touch my palm and warmth jolts through me. My eyes meet his for a beat and he sucks on the lip ring before he glances over my shoulder at the customer behind me.
“What can I get for you?” he says, effectively dismissing me.
I grab my cup and my muffin and slink out the door, taking care not to let it slam, so I can vanish like a ghost.
My heart races all the way back to the lodge, the weirdly named moose muffin warm in my hand, and it doesn’t start to ease until I’m safe behind closed doors.
5
It’s harder watching my mother leave than I expected. I love her. I do. She’s sacrificed a lot for me, which is part of the problem. That sacrifice created my own guilt, which made me feel awful, and it triggers my anxiety and it sends me spiraling and then she gets worried and we go around and around and around in a never-ending cycle of isolation, fear, and guilt.
“I think it will be good for her,” Leelee says, not realizing I can hear them. They’re talking on the porch. “Fresh air, friendly people. There’s no pressure up here.”
“I remember.”
“It will be a slow reentry. This time next year, she’ll be ready for something bigger. If not, she can always stay.”
There’s a pause, and I peek through the lace curtain covering the door window. I see the shine in my mother’s eyes. She’s going to cry. I hate it when she cries. “I never meant for this to happen. I thought I was keeping her safe, but really I was just holding her back.”
My mother’s confession surprises me. She always acts so confident. Her decisions seem sure and true. I fight against her but I always trust her. She’s usually right, and removing me from school, keeping me close…it seemed right at the time. But now, I watch her wipe tears from under her eyes as she second guesses herself. She looks young and old at the same time. It’s confusing.
“Star, you did the best that you could under the circumstances. No one will ever blame you for taking care of your child. And from what I’ve seen, there’s nothing wrong with her. She needed time to heal and now that she has, she can start living again.”
The second and third Starlee Nyes hug in the front yard. I listen as my mother says, “Thank you, Mama. Just keep an eye on her. She’s never had a lot of friends. Boys were mean—then the school…She doesn’t always make good decisions.”
“You never let her have the chance to fail, Star.”
“Because when I did…” She swallows back the argument. I know she’s thinking about me and Sara and how it quickly got out of control. She blames herself. Which is dumb. That one was all on me.
“I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry.” Leelee’s voice carries a familiar firmness. I know where my mother gets hers from. “You go back and take care of yourself. You need a break, too. I can tell.”
I feel like a stalker watching them like this, so I jiggle the doorknob, making a lot of noise as I walk out of the house. The two Starlees watch me, faces arranged carefully. From there, the scene ends quickly. I give my mother hugs and promises about schoolwork and helping Leelee with the lodge. I assure her I’ll be safe, no wandering off alone. There’s a strange mixture of relief and sadness combined as her little car heads back the way we came—this time going to the coast to catch a plane back home.
“Work calls,” Leelee says, heading down the path to the main office. She glances back to see me still standing there, looking in the direction of the vanished car. “You coming?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling a weight lifted off my shoulders. “I’m coming.”
The next few days fall into a routine. With limited internet and no real friends to engage with, even online, I go to bed early, my body still adjusting to the time change. I wake before dawn, slip on my shoes and hoodie and climb the metal trash can to get a better view of the sunrise before the little town starts moving. Each day, the sunrise is breathtaking and I find it a little easier to breathe.
I haven’t seen the person on the roof again, but I do catch on to a flurry of activity at the Wayward Sun. The coffee shop itself does a lot of business. A woman named Sierra has been at the counter every morning since the first one, although I’ve seen the boy with the angry face in the kitchen a few times.
“So what’s going on with that place?” I ask Leelee one afternoon. “Is it a hotel? There’s that big vacancy sign out front but I’ve never seen it lit up.”
“Hmmm?” Leelee sits on the stool behind the counter, cursing at her computer. She’s been having a problem with it since before I arrived and we’ve had more than one goof-up with guests and their reservations.
“The Wayward Sun? Is it a hotel too?”
She holds the pencil she’s been using as a pecking instrument on the keyboard in the air. “Oh, well, it used to be, but now that Sierra’s taken over it’s more like a long-term residence type place. She opens it up to people in need