Happenstance 2 (Happenstance 2)

My curiosity still wasn’t satiated, but the closet was the only place I felt I could look around with the light on. I fingered through her clothes and then her shoes. I found a rectangular toy box behind her hanging clothes. It was white with pink ballet slippers, no lid. There were baby dolls and Barbie dolls, some old McDonald’s toys and notebooks, all empty or mostly empty, with the occasional random, juvenile drawing of a dog or unicorn, and one drawing of three stick figures. Little girls, all with the name ERIN hanging over their differently styled hair. I knew which one was supposed to be me right away. The one with the tangled mess of hair. They were holding hands, smiling. My breath faltered. I remembered when that had happened in real life: the giggles and hand holding. We were best friends back then.

A clear, plastic storage tub full of three-ring binders caught my attention, and I pulled off the lid as quietly as I could, pulling out the first binder. It was green, with JOURNAL written on the cover in black Sharpie marker in Alder’s handwriting.

I put it down and then picked it back up. I did this several times, each time talking myself out of opening it.

“These are her thoughts, Erin. Don’t you dare,” I hissed, snapping the lid back onto the tub. I had to get up early anyway so I could navigate my way over to Weston’s and drive carefully to school for the first time. Reading her thoughts would be wrong. Very wrong, and there were so many moral and ethical principles I valued in myself that would be violated on ten different levels if I opened that binder.

I did it anyway.

I closed the binder, not wanting to know if it was me she was talking about. The journals were dated all the way back to grade school. My eyebrows pushed up. She had filled all of these binders. All of Erin Alderman’s private thoughts were right there for me to know and learn if I wanted. There was a single plastic-covered diary with a silver, broken lock that read MY FIRST DIARY.

I closed the lid and stood up, turning out the light. Alder’s privacy had already been violated, and Sam and Julianne’s trust. Guilt pushed me out of her room, back down the hall, and into my bedroom, all the way under my covers.

After twenty minutes of not being able to settle my thoughts, I looked up at the ceiling fan. Was Alder talking about me? What had I done? Did she mean that Weston was looking at me? Surely not. He’d said once that he’d always liked me, but it didn’t occur to me that he actually did. The questions were there, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted the answers. There were so many within those pages. I might even find out why the Erins had stopped talking to me.

I turned over on my side, holding the remote in my hand, wondering if Julianne knew about the journals. They weren’t particularly hidden. Maybe Julianne respected Alder’s privacy enough that Alder didn’t feel like she needed to hide them.

I closed my eyes, wondering if I was the one Weston was looking at. I had to know. The next time I was alone in the house, I would keep reading until I found out why—why Alder hated me. Why she acted the way she did. And why she hated Blackwell so much when she had it all. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she didn’t want it. It was none of my business. I shouldn’t read those journals. But my should and want were so polarized, I knew curiosity would win in the end, especially since those answers were something I’d wanted for so long.

It wasn’t until I hit the bottom step that the fatigue hit. Sleep hadn’t come easy the night before, and even after I drifted to sleep, I couldn’t stay asleep.

Sam breezed past me toward the kitchen, patting my shoulder.

“Morning, kiddo. Watch that gas gauge. Oh!” he said, turning on his heels and digging into the front pocket of his slacks, pulling out his wallet. “Use this when you get gas. And if you need anything else. Well…within reason.”

I gently pushed it back. “I have money.”

He held the small silver card out again, insistent. “Your paycheck is spending money. We’ll get the rest. Just take it, sweetheart, I’m late.”

After a small pause, I took the card and tried to stick it in the back pocket of my jeans, but they were the new ones Julianne had bought, and the pockets were flapped and buttoned shut. I couldn’t figure out which was the button with all the bling covering the fabric, so I shoved it into my front pocket. It would go into my backpack later. Having it at all made me nervous.

“Thank you,” I said.

Sam winked and rushed to the back door that led to the garage. “Gotta go, honey!”

“Have a good day!” Julianne called.

I joined her in the kitchen. “I’m heading out.”

“No breakfast?” she asked, trying not to let the disappointment show. A beautiful omelet was folded perfectly on a white floral plate. A fork on a cloth napkin and a half glass of orange juice sat nearby.

“You’re so…Everything is always so perfect. This whole house could be photographed for a magazine.”

Julianne beamed. “Thank you. It’s to pass the time, really. I get restless,” she said, putting her palms on the edge of the counter. She looked around. “And a little bored, if you want to know the truth.”

“Have you thought more about going back to work?”

She nodded. “Sam and I discussed it. We think it would be best if I stayed home a little longer. Especially over the summer when you’re home more.”

“I work a lot in the summer,” I said with chagrin.

“About that,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “How would you feel about cutting your hours? That would give you more time at home…and with Weston. And more time to enjoy your senior year and your summer before college. No pressure. Just a thought.”

“I work so much to save up for college.”

“Erin, sweetie, we’re paying for your college. Whatever you’ve saved up is yours to spend however you wish.”

“Um…that’s so generous. But you and Sam have already done so much. You’ve given me a place to stay and that amazing car outside. I couldn’t accept anything else from you. And I have a scholarship.”

She smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

Her words took me aback. I couldn’t remember anyone saying that to me before.

“You’ve worked so hard, and you’re such a good person despite your circumstances.” She teared up, but quickly wiped her eyes. “Your money is yours. Whatever your scholarship doesn’t cover, we’ve got handled. I know it probably seems like we’ve done a lot, but that’s just because it’s all at once. If you’d been here the whole time, it would have been a more gradual process. If it’s overwhelming, I apologize.”