Return to Sender (6 page)

I start to pull out of my hazy funk, remembering when I found out my parents were intoxicated the night they crashed their car. In an emotional rage, I’d ripped open every box and flung trophies and picture frames all over the garage. I mimicked Blair and picked up another box, sitting down on the floor like her, grabbing the tape she’d brought upstairs, assembling the box, and then picking up random items to place inside it.

Blair chatters away, making nostalgic comments here and there about items in my closet while I remain silent, nodding at the appropriate times. I have no clue what Jackie and Grandma are conversing about downstairs, but she told me not to worry about anyone else besides myself today.

After I fold and fill three boxes, the urge to get up, to be alone hits me hard. I’m thawing out. I scramble to my feet, brushing the dust off the back of my shorts. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Blair.

She looks up at me, probably checking to make sure this isn’t one of the moments where I want her to follow me, before saying, “Okay, no problem.”

In the hallway, I run my fingers along the bumpy textured walls like I’ve done hundreds of times before. When I was little, I called them oatmeal walls because it looked like someone tossed their oatmeal on the wall and let it dry up. The door to my parents’ bedroom is already open. I pass through the threshold but stop before going any farther. My gaze sweeps the room, my lungs already constricting. The king-sized bed is perfectly made, the lamp beside the bed turned on. Grandma must have been in here already.

I move toward the dresser and barely touch a finger to the top of it. Then slowly, I rest my hand on the lid of my mother’s jewelry box before opening it. There’s a beautiful pair of diamond stud earrings glimmering at me. The sight of them, the sight of everything inside this room, is so much more comforting that I would have imagined. I didn’t even want to come inside; now I’m not sure if I’ll be able to leave.

I lift the earrings out of the box and carefully place them in my own ears, checking my work in the mirror above the dresser. I follow up the earrings with a diamond-studded platinum heart necklace that my dad got Mom for Valentine’s Day years ago. He took me to the jewelry store with him to pick it out. And we did that on Valentine’s Day, so either Dad was a huge gift-buying procrastinator or he was afraid I would spill the details to Mom and ruin the surprise. I probably would have told Blair and she would have slipped in the car on the way to gym or something.

Two gold bracelets slip over my wrist easily. Next I put on a ruby ring—my mom’s birthstone—it’s a little big but it stays in place on my index finger. Mom’s high school and college rings sit at the very bottom of the jewelry box, boasting of her National Honor society membership and her college sorority. I never saw her wear either of these rings, but I’ve looked at them before.

Loaded down with jewelry, I walk over to Mom’s closet and open the door. I’m hit with her scent, so powerful and real, tears coming tumbling down my cheeks. I flip the light switch on and bury my face in a row of silk dresses. I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering what Jackie said last week about my letters.

The waterworks are so heavy, I can’t even contemplate walking out of this room right now and facing anyone else. I wish Jordan were here. I move the dresses to the side, step behind them and slide my back down the wall until I’m seated on the plush carpet, hiding behind my mother’s clothes and engulfed in her scent. I pull my phone out of my pocket and take a deep breath before dialing Jordan’s number.

“Hey,” he says after only one ring.

There’s laughing and water splashing in the background. I immediately regret calling him like this and I’m too tongue-tied to say anything.

“Karen?” he sounds worried now.

Say something! And don’t hang up on him!

“I’m in my mom’s closet,” I blurt out, my voice shaking with tears. I sniff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand.

He doesn’t say anything for several seconds and then the laughing and the splashing vanishes. “Sorry, it’s noisy by the lake. Talk to me…”

“I’m wearing twenty thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry.”

“In the closet?”

“Yes.” I sniff again and lift my shirt to my eyes, wiping them dry. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” he says. “Do you want to talk about the closet? Or the jewelry?”

I shake my head and then remember that he can’t see me. “Not really.”

“What should we talk about?”

“I did a double double on floor today. Into the pit, but it was filled with mats.”

“That’s… that’s…” Confusion leaks through his voice. “… insane. When did you learn a double double on floor?”

“Last week.”

“Karen,” his tone shifts to carefully controlled frustration, “why didn’t you tell me you were going home? I would have—”

“Would have what? Left your job so you could hold my hand while I dig through my mom’s stuff? I didn’t want you to feel bad for not being here.”

“I thought that was our thing. We tell each other stuff like this, right?”

“I’m sorry.” I brush away fresh tears. “We have to get used to being apart more often than not, right?”

He doesn’t disagree with me. He can’t. “So your Grandma’s there?”

“For the whole damn week,” I admit.

“And then you’re coming here.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Me either,” he says. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m not sure. I mean… I can’t figure out what I’m feeling. I thought I’d want to run away from this house and now I don’t want to leave the closet.”

“I’ll talk to you as long as you want. You can stay in there all night if it helps.”

I laugh and a small amount of the sadness falls off me. “I’ll let you get back to work, okay?”

“Promise you’ll call me back if you need anything?”

“I promise.”

“Hey, Karen?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

My eyes close and I let out a sigh. “I love you, too.”

As soon as I hang up, footsteps softly pad across the floor outside the closet. The door opens and a small hand shoves the clothes aside. Then Blair is sitting beside me, her dark hair whipping me in the eyes.

“How’d you find me?”

She pulls her knees to her chest, matching my position. “I saw the empty jewelry box and figured you went in search of shoes and a dress.”

I laugh and swipe a few tears that I’d missed earlier. “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m sitting in a closet.”

Blair leans her head back, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath. “It smells like her, doesn’t it? Like dozens and dozens of car rides from the gym or to your house. I remember sliding into the seat with you and her perfume or shampoo would be the first thing I’d notice.”

I swallow the huge lump in my throat and rest my head on Blair’s shoulder.

“I loved when it was your mom’s turn to pick us up, instead of mine, because she’d always ask us if we did something awesome at practice or if we got to play that game on the beam that we loved so much.”

“Or who won the handstand contest,” I say.

“And my mom…” she shakes her head. “God, she’s like a detective interrogating—how were your beam routines? Did you do any with the full D score?”

“At least she doesn’t watch every practice like Ellen’s mom.”

Her arm goes around my shoulders giving me a squeeze. “I suck at this, Karen. I’m sorry. The last thing I should be doing is complaining about my mom.”

“It’s okay.” I reach out and run my fingers through the silky dresses again.

Blair picks up a pair of red heels. “Let’s try something on?” She’s on her feet before I can object. She holds out her hand to help me up.

Once I’m up, being in here doesn’t seem as overwhelming as before. I sift through the rack and choose a blue sequined mini-minidress. Blair selects a red gown to match the heels.

We shed our T-shirts and shorts, both of us still with our practice leotards on. I zip up Blair’s dress first and then she helps me with mine. It takes a few minutes to find the perfect shoes to accompany blue sequins. After I’ve got a pair of black four-inch heels, we spend a few minutes checking ourselves out in the mirror, laughing at the ridiculousness of the dresses with our practice leotards poking out.

Blair looks me over and says, “Now, I think we’re ready to finish your room. Just don’t trip in those heels, Bentley will kill us.”

With a heavy heart, I abandon my parents’ room and return to packing up the remaining items from my bedroom.

Blair tosses a soccer ball from my closet at me. “When did you play soccer?”

I shrug. “First grade, I think.”

“Weren’t you level five then? How did you do both?”

I honestly can’t remember. I must have fit it in on days off from gymnastics or maybe I missed practices? All I remember is my dad running along the sidelines during the games cheering for me and the thermos of hot chocolate that my mom brought to every game and I’d drink it on the way home when it was finally cool enough to sip without burning my tongue.

“I wish you were coming to gymnastics camp with me for the whole month.”

“At least I’ll be there with you for the last week,” she says, her disappointment not even close to matching mine. “Do you ever think about doing something else? Besides gymnastics.”

“Not really.” My hand freezes over an old pair of tennis shoes. “Do you?”

She shrugs and crawls back into the closet.

“What?” I press. “Finish what you were trying to say.”

Her head pokes out again. “I love gymnastics and I don’t want to stop doing it. Now. But someday—” I open my mouth to interrupt or protest or something but she shuts me up with a stern look that says,
don’t judge me
. “Being a junior is awesome. There’s not an overwhelming amount of pressure because I’m not old enough to make a World or Olympic team. But this is my last year as a junior and for some reason it feels like it won’t be fun anymore, after this.”

My mouth falls open. I have no words. Personally, I couldn’t wait to move up from juniors to seniors. Having shoulder surgery last year and only competing bars at Nationals was a disappointing start to my senior elite career. And yes, I’ve known of gymnasts who quit before their peak, but Blair… I never saw this coming. “Define ‘someday.’”

Panic fills her expression. “I was just thinking out loud. It’s not something I want to give up anytime soon.”

“Okay.” I don’t believe her, but there’s not much else to say.

“Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

I roll my eyes. “Duh.”

Before I can really psychoanalyze Blair’s words, two people appear in the doorway—Grandma and Jackie. It takes me a few seconds to realize why they’re looking at us like we might be insane. The fancy party dresses. I guess that probably does seem odd.

“Everything okay?” Jackie asks, studying my face.

“Yeah, we’re almost done in here,” Blair answers for me.

My gaze bounces from Jackie to Grandma. “Can we… you know, keep all of their stuff?”

Grandma takes a deep breath and nods. “Of course. I can make arrangements for a rental storage unit.”

“Thank you.” I’m so relieved. I thought we’d have to pick and choose what to keep and get rid of today. Jackie must have known this already, but then again, the house won’t be mine anymore and this is the last week for me to walk around inside and see it as I remembered it.

“I’d like for us to have dinner tonight, if that’s all right with you, Karen?”

Jackie shifts her gaze from Grandma to me, quirking an eyebrow trying to get me to respond.

“Um, yeah, that sounds…
great
.”

Grandma turns her back to us, but calls over her shoulder, “We need to discuss your relationship with the coach’s son.”

My face goes completely red and I look to Blair for help, but I know there’s nothing she can do to get me out of this awkward dinner talk. I can see it now.
Grandma, about that healthy and normal living situation you left me in… it’s turned a bit unconventional.

Oh yeah, this is gonna be a blast.

I toss a few Advil in my mouth and swallow them dry; the prickle of my returning cactus throat causes me to wince.

“Dude.” TJ smacks me in the chest with the back of his hand. “Check out that blond chick. Where has she been for the last two weeks?”

I turn in the direction TJ is looking and see the curvy blonde, rolling a suitcase down the walkway toward the office. My heart jumps up into my throat, my stomach twisting in knots. “Oh shit.”

I glance around, looking for a bush to dive behind or something, but it’s too late.

She stops about ten feet from us, resting her suitcase upright and folding her arms across her chest. “Jordan.”

“Liberty.” My wary tone holds none of the firm confidence hers does. God, I’m a wuss.

TJ’s eyebrows are up so high they’re practically touching his hairline. His gaze bounces between the two of us. “So… you guys know each other?”

Liberty rolls her eyes. “So cliché.”

“Uh, yeah, Liberty…” I clear my throat and watch a second van pull up in front of the office. Karen. “Worked here last summer, too.”

She snorts back a laugh but turns her attention to the new arrivals climbing out of the van.
Thank God for the distraction
.

“You totally hooked up with her,” TJ whispers under his breath. “Didn’t you?”

I scrub my hands over my face. Yes. I hooked up with her. But that was last summer. “Where have you been the past two weeks?” I figured she wasn’t working here this summer when I’d seen she wasn’t at staff training.

“My sister got married. I was in the wedding,” Liberty says, her eyes still on the special guests. “Why did no one tell me that Stevie Davis and Karen Campbell would be here this summer? Talk about fangirl heaven. I so need my autograph book.” She’s busy digging in her backpack and doesn’t notice Karen walk right past her.