Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

She turned around and headed back up the street. Her feet felt heavier as she got closer to the dark brown split-level that had belonged to Ricky and Blake’s parents. Big Al had moved in after the boating accident that had killed his son and daughter-in-law. He hadn’t been close to either, and the transition had been difficult. Emily was always struck by the fact that they acted more like reluctant roommates than a family.

Not that her own family was a shining example.

The Blakely house was at the top of a steep hill. The climb had never bothered Emily before, but now she found herself winded when she got to the garage. Then she made the turn and started the climb up the crazy steep stairs and had to stop on the second landing. She realized her hand was pressed to her back like an old woman. Or like a young pregnant woman. She hadn’t yet felt a connection to what was going on inside her body. Before Dr. Schroeder’s diagnosis, Emily had thought she’d had a stomach bug or eaten something that was off. She had made up all kinds of excuses.

There would be no more excuses now.

She looked down at her stomach. There was a baby growing inside of her. An actual human being. What in God’s name was she going to do?

“Em?” Ricky held the screen door open. She looked as horrible as Emily felt. Tears formed a river down her face. Snot dripped from her nose. Her cheeks were splotchy red.

Emily felt ashamed that her initial reaction was anger. The thought of listening to Ricky sob over something inconsequential Nardo had done to hurt her feelings while Emily’s life was crashing down around her was too much.

It was also incredibly selfish.

“Ricky,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Al—” Ricky’s voice choked. She grabbed Emily’s hand and pulled her into the house. “Al just told us—he said—oh, God, Em, what are we going to do?”

Emily guided her to the overstuffed couch under the bay window. “Ricky, slow down. What’s going on? What happened?”

Ricky fell into Emily. Her head ended up in Emily’s lap. She was shaking.

“Rick.” Emily looked up the stairs into the kitchen, wondering where Blake was. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever it is, we’ll—”

“It won’t be okay,” Ricky muttered. Her head turned to look up at Emily. “The money is gone.”

“What money?”

“From the lawsuit,” Ricky said. “It was supposed to be held in a trust for us to go to college, but Al spent it.”

Emily shook her head, disbelieving. Al was blunt and often rude, but he wouldn’t steal from his own grandchildren.

“We’re going to be stuck here,” Ricky said. “Forever.”

“I don’t …” Emily tried to understand what had happened. It didn’t make sense. She was a judge’s daughter. She knew that trusts were very structured. You couldn’t raid them on a whim. And also, not to be rude, but the house the Blakelys lived in was hardly grand. Al drove a truck that was older than the twins.

She asked Ricky, “What did he spend it on?”

“The restaurant.”

Emily leaned back into the couch. The restaurant had nearly burned to the ground a few years ago. Al had managed to rebuild. Now, she understood how.

Ricky said, “Al told us that the restaurant was our—our legacy. He thinks we want to work at that stupid place, Em. That’s all he thinks we’re good for is slinging milkshakes for fat, rich assholes from Baltimore.”

Emily chewed her lip. Maybe she would’ve agreed with Ricky’s disgust last week, but now, she understood what it meant to have someone else depending on you. Every choice Emily made for the rest of her life would be either to the benefit or the detriment of the child growing inside of her. The diner was a viable business, even successful. College was important, but so was having money for food and a roof over your head.

“It’s too late to apply for scholarships,” Ricky said. “We can’t get financial aid because Al makes too much money. At least on paper.”

“I’m—” Emily didn’t know what to say. She was slightly horrified to find herself siding with Al. “I’m sorry, Ricky.”

“He loves that stupid restaurant more than us.”

Emily tried, “You could work for a year and save up?”

Ricky looked aghast as she sat up. “Work at what, Em? Are you kidding me?”

“I’m sorry,” Emily apologized instinctively. Ricky had always been mercurial, but her fury was head-turning. “You want to go into journalism. You could find an internship at a newspaper or—”