Hollowed (45 page)

Instead I slip a note beneath her door. The thirtieth note I wrote when the first twenty-nine weren
'
t good enough. Because what can I say that
is
good enough? What apology would do for taking away someone she loved?

It was an accident.

I
'
m sorrier than you can ever, ever know.

I acknowledge this is more for me because it isn
'
t
going
to make her feel any better. But it
'
s something. And it
'
s all I can do.

Three:

A cab is waiting to take us to the airport.
Despite Cole offering to let him come with us, Fred said he wanted to go off on his own for awhile and try to sort his head out after all this. How he must be feeling, venturing off alone, I have no idea. Maybe he's stronger than I am. Still, he did promise to come visit in a few months.
 

Daniel and I sneak away while Oliver and Cole are finishing
the packing,
and I dial out on the payphone outside the liquor store. Keeping hold of Daniel
'
s hand with my free one, because his courage is the only thing that
'
s gotten me this far.
He's been doing a lot of hand-holding for me, the way Sherry would have if she were here.

After three rings:
"
Hello?
"

The voice thrums through me, warming me to my core and I want to smile and laugh and cry all at the same time. But I don
'
t say anything. All I wanted was to hear Dad
'
s voice, to know for sure he and Mom were okay and
that Ruby told the truth about one thing.
And as much as I want to talk to them and tell them everything that
'
s happened, I know I can
'
t.
Not yet. Maybe one day, I'll be able to, but today is not that day.

I called to find out they were okay. But I also know I
'
ll never let go
if I don
'
t say
something.

"
Hi, Daddy,
"
I say, and his breath catches on the other end.
"
I just wanted to tell you goodbye.
"

There should be a law against airplanes. At the very least, there should be a law about putting a girl on an airplane with her dead dad in the cargo hold beneath her feet.

Having him there isn't what bothers me
, exactly.
Though every time we hit turbulence, I
squeeze my eyes shut and wonder
if he
's sliding around down there as the plane rocks.

No. What really
bothers me are the
looks
. From the girl at the counter back in Florida who gave me my boarding pass,
to
the attendants on the plane... The people who were informed
,
That's her. She's the girl whose father we're shipping to
Montana
, so be nice.
During my flight I've gotten
three
sodas, extra peanuts, and way t
oo many pitying looks to count. I didn't ask for any of them.

I've never been so happy to get away from anything
as I am to get off that plane
.

At least in the airport, through the hustle and bustle of the lobby, I blend in.
I am no one.
I am anonymous. Here, nobody knows
, and they're likely too wrapped up in their own lives to care even if they did
. Except for Uncle Walter, who's waiting for me near the baggage claim, but he doesn't count seeing as he lost someone important to him, too.

Lost a brother, gained a niece, I guess.

It's been several years since I saw Uncle Walter last. Despite being three years older than Dad, they look (looked?) so much alike. Uncle Walter is thinner, his hair is graying where Dad's was still as brown as mine
when I don't have it dyed
, and his face is darker and has more lines from being out in the sun. But when he spots me through the crowd and grins, my heart crumbles into a thousand tiny pieces.

"There's my girl," he
says, and gathers
me up into his arms.
He smells like hay and animals. The way a farm smells, I think, not that I would know from experience. It's strange. T
he last person
to hug me was my dad. I got the feeling th
e lady from the police who handled me between
the night Dad died
and now wanted to hu
g me
, but never knew how I would
respond
. So she didn't.

"Sorry I'm late," I mumble, hugging him back tight
. I'm
sad when he finally lets me go. "The weather in
Florida
was miserable."

"I imagine." His big, calloused hands brush my hair back. "Look at you. Gotten so big since I saw you last. You must be exhausted."

"A little." A lot. I didn't sleep on the plane.
Actually, I haven't slept at all in two days.

"Let's fetch your things and get outta here, then, hm?"

I have only two pieces of luggage that we retrieve from the baggage claim. Uncle Walter frowns and asks, "Is that it?" but doesn't question me when I say, "That's all of it." It's not like I had much. I brought a few things
of Dad's—pictures, mostly—but
when
CPS told me
to go through the apartment and take anything I wanted, I got overwhelmed and only took the things I couldn't live without.

This is my life: two suitcases and a piece of carry-on.

Uncle Walter acts as a barrier between me and the rest of the airport crowd. No more am I getting lost in the shuffle
. H
e's bigger and people move to get out of his way. Outside, the dark morning is blistering cold. My shoes really aren't made for snow and ice. Neither is my coat, for that matter.

"Ridley's got the truck parked right over there
.
"
Uncle Walter nods
down the loading zone a ways.

My steps hitch
.

Ridley. Ridley's with him?

If I haven't seen Uncle Walter in a long time, then it's been forever since I saw my step-cousin last. Ten years, to be exact, at Uncle Walter and Aunt Mary's wedding.

I don't have to ask which truck is theirs, because Ridley
is standing
outside of it,
slouched
against the passenger's side door. Ten years, but I still recognize him and that mop of
dark
hair and the hunch of his shoulders. It's wet and freezing all around us, but my throat
has become
a desert.

Uncle Walter nudges me along, puffing out little clouds of warm air as we go. Ridley straightens, moving away from the truck, and
reaches out
to help his step-dad with my bags.

"
Noël
, you remember your cousin, Ridley?" Uncle Walter says, heaving a suitcase into the truck bed.

"Um,
yeah. Hi."

"Hey." Ridley turns to me and—good lord, he's got pretty eyes beneath those long lashes—holds out a hand. I stare at him stupidly for a second before realizing he wants my bag. I hug the strap protectively.

"Oh
, it's okay; it's my laptop."

He shrugs and turns away again, and I bite back the disappointment. What was I expecting?
A
big hug
and a warm greeting
like I got from Uncle Walter? We've only met once
, and it was only for
a few hours, and I don't think we exchanged more than a
handful of
words the entire
time. Ridley sat at a table throughout the
reception, drawing on napkins, while I crawled up into the chair beside him and watched.

Uncle Walter rolls his eyes and smiles. "He's a talkative boy, that one. Don't let him bother you."

Ridley grunts and opens up the passenger's side door while Uncle Walter circles around for the driver's side. I guess it's good to know Ridley's as short and scowl-y with everyone. I inch forward and crawl into the truck, taking the middle seat while the two of them settle on either side of me.

Trucks aren't exactly roomy for three people. I hug my bag to my chest, trying to keep my elbows from jabbing into anyone's ribs. Uncle Walter chats at me the whole way, keeping the conversation light and easy. Away from any mention of suicide and police and Dad. Ridley stares out the frosty window. I don't think he says a single word
during
the hour-long drive home.

Home, home, home. Is it really?

Maybe-home is a mini-farm in the middle of nowhere. Uncle Walter used to do some sort of business that required him to travel. Dad said Aunt Mary missed him when he was gone for weeks at a time, though, and they worked
it so he could retire early. T
hey get a bit of extra money from the
few
crops on the farm at the lo
cal markets, but it isn't much.

The paved road turns off into dirt-slash-snow leading the long way up to the two-story house. Snow covered fields stretch out in every direction, running into a jagged line of trees straight back. Uncle Walter drives to the rear of the house and parks beneath a covered spot by the back porch.

I was just starting to get warm
.
T
he second I get out of the truck,
cold
seeps back into my pores. Ridley and Uncle Walter get my suitcases from the
truck
, leaving me with only my bag to carry.

I have no idea what to expect about any of this. Not about Uncle Walter, or Aunt Mary or Ridley, or even the house itself.
Dad and I moved around all the time, and the apartments we rented were small, sparse, and in big cities. Nothing like this. I can't remember ever having lived in an actual house.

The smell of bacon and eggs hits me full in the face the second we step inside. Aunt Mary is a plain lady and her dress is a floral pattern than nearly matches the wallpaper, but she has a sweet smile in place when she turns around to
greet us. She all but ignores her son and husband, and hurries
over to me instead.

"
Noël
, sweetheart. It's so good to see you again. How are you? How was the flight?"

Her hands are warm as she cups my face and kisses my forehead. What stupid questions, but I don't say as much. "I'm fine. It was all right. Um, thank you for having me."

The look on her face softens into something pained. "I'm sorry it wasn't under better circumstances."

I shrug, trying to focus my gaze on my feet. What do I say?

Aunt Mary clears her throat. "You must be starving. Come sit down and we'll get you fed."

"I ate on the plane," I protest feebly, but I don't know a polite way to argue as she ushers me over to the table. Peanuts may not count much as a meal, but I'm not sure I can stomach anything more than that.

Uncle Walter makes an amused sound as he pours himself a cup of coffee. "Why don't you let the girl get settled a bit first? Ridley, carry your cousin's things up to her room, would you?"

I glance at Ridley, who gathers both of my suitcases and raises an eyebrow at me with a nod for the door. I mumble a thank you to my aunt and uncle, and trail after him out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Any time Dad and I lived
with an apartment that only had one room, Dad always made sure that room was mine while he used the living room as his. He said, as a teenager, I needed my own privacy and space. Which was cool, I guess, but it's hard to get settled into a room when you know you'll be moving again in seven months or less. So I don't know what to think when Ridley opens a door at the top of the stairs and brings my things inside.

"Well, here you go."

It's
the longest sentence he's said to me yet. Maybe we're making progress.

I move to the middle of the room and look around. A bed, dresser, nightstand, book shelf.
S
ans the tacky wallpaper I saw in the kitchen.

"It's nice," I say, turning to face him. He lingers uncomfortably in the doorway, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He might be the first guy I've met who can pull off a tattered flannel and paint-stained jeans without looking like a slob. It kinda suits him, actually.