Things Happen
-Haley Marvil
“Teagon, I’m telling you, you’re going to love it. Okay? Quit worrying about things so much.”
It wasn’t that I was worried, it was that I was upset that I had to leave everyone and everything I’d once loved to come here.
“I’m not worried. Why would I be worried?” My leg is bouncing uncontrollably, like it always does when I’m nervous.
“Just a hunch.” Riley says quietly. She turns, and suddenly we’re heading down a street I’ve never seen anything like. On my right, there’s a large lake, and it’s beautiful. On my left, there are dozens and dozens of houses lined up, each house we pass better than the last. My hopes go up for a moment, and I think there really is still hope. But I lose it quickly, when I realize who I’ll be living with. My mother. The woman who abandoned me. Who abandoned Brielle. Riley’s the only one who really knows this woman, and insists on not telling me anything about her. Because Riley has lived with her this whole time. I’ve only just met Riley, less than two weeks ago. She showed up when she heard her long-lost father was in the hospital. Mother did not bother to show herself. I imagine she didn’t even care.
Riley is pretty. She has long blonde hair and bright, big blue eyes. She isn’t tall, but she’s skinny. She could probably be a gymnast. She probably used to be. There are no signs of her being Irish at all, besides her name, which doesn’t say much because girls can be named Riley and not be Irish anyway.
I, on the other hand, am tall. I have green eyes and a light sprinkle of freckles, and my hair is a bright red orange color. Brielle has the same color hair, but no freckles, and she’s still pretty short.
Dad’s funeral was the worst. Brielle was balling in the front row, next to Grandma and Grandpa. Riley was sitting awkwardly on the other side of her, not sure of how she should feel, probably. She’s never met Dad.
Everyone was crying but me, because I’d already cried myself to sleep every night prior to that day, and in that hospital room beside my frail father, on the rare occasions when it was just me and him alone in there, Brielle down in the cafeteria or with Grandma and Grandpa, or even when he was asleep and I was sitting on the couch watching him, thinking, Why do these terrible things have to happen to the good people of the world?
I never did get my answer to that question.
Grandma and Grandpa said they couldn’t take care of two children. I am not a child, I am seventeen and just graduated high school. But, Brielle is still fifteen, with a permit, so they would have to take care of her, and they couldn’t. They’re retired now, and they have been planning to sail around the world since the day they both turned forty. We couldn’t interfere.
So, here we are, on our way to Mom’s with Riley. A young, mature woman we’ve never met before who claims to be our sister. We have no real basic way of making sure, so we’re going on instincts. We trust this girl.
The house we arrive at is beautiful, as I’d predicted the moment we turned onto that street. It turns out it’s a very long, almost ever-lasting street of beauty, until you have to turn left at the end and you come onto a road that leads to another right turn, and you’re at an amusement park.
I’m sitting up here on my balcony and I have a strange urge to go downstairs right now and talk to my mother. No, not my mother; Riley, maybe. Because I can confide in her, apparently. At least that’s what she told me. I would, and I probably should, but I just watched her leave, and I’m not going to talk to my mother. Not now.
So I settle with going down to Brielle’s room.
“What?” She calls after I knock on the door and let myself in. Her room is huge, too. All the rooms in this house are huge, I’ve noticed. It’s sort of weird, because in our old house, none of the rooms were big. Not even the living room. It was small. The biggest room in the house was our unfinished basement, where we never went. That was the place that held all of our keepsakes and things we never looked at anymore. Photo albums I’ve never seen. I wonder where they’ve all gone.
“How are you doing?” I sit on her bed, opening myself up to her. Brielle turns around and looks at me as if I’m crazy, eyeing me suspiciously, before responding.
“I’m pretty good...how are you?” She says slowly.
“Good.” We sit in silence for a bit. “How’s the unpacking going?”
“It’s going.” I nod. She sighs. “Listen...could I, like, be alone for a bit...?” I stand up quickly, almost relieved.
“Oh, alright. That’s fine, if you need anything, I’m upstairs. Across the attic, you know.” She nods. I leave. Shutting the door behind me, I lean back against it. My sister just kicked me out of her room so she could be alone. Brielle, otherwise known as the most outgoing girl I know. She loves attention and loves being with people.
Before Dad died, that is.
I walk downstairs and look around. The day is almost over, actually. It should be dinner time. I wonder what we’re eating.
Walking into the kitchen, I smell something burning. There’s something in the oven, and it smells terrible. I quickly grab an oven mitt off the counter and open the oven, pulling out a large pan with a turkey in it, now burnt. I place it on a cloth set out on the counter and stare down at it. I hear someone gasp and look over.
“Oh, no!” Mom gasps again, rushing over. She stares at the turkey, unsure of what needs to be done. “The turkey. Ah,” she starts to say something, but stops herself as she looks over at me. “Crap.” She says quickly.
“Were you making dinner?” This is a stupid question, because she was quite obviously making dinner.
She snorts. “Yeah. More like burning dinner, if you ask me.” I actually laugh at this, the first laugh I’ve had since Dad died. She shakes her head. “I’m a terrible cook. As long as you’re here, I might as well tell you this now, don’t expect a high-class meal, because that’s just not going to happen. Not unless your sister and Mark come over, that is. They’ve always got something nice out for us.” She sighs.
Who’s Mark?
“But Jodie and Justin can get quite aggressive, too, I should probably add. Just as a warning. They’re good kids, but they get a little... rowdy, sometimes.”
Who are Jodie and Justin?
“Jamie is a cutie pie, though. So adorable. One of the cutest babies I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Another sigh.
Who is Jamie?
Who are these people she’s talking about? And why have I never heard of them before?
I guess I’m staring at her with an expression that gives away my thoughts, because suddenly her eyes go all wide.
“Oh, shoot. I’m so sorry. Here, let me just...” Her voice trails off as she fumbles around the kitchen frantically, then stops and looks at me. “There’s a box. Upstairs, in the attic. Full of photo albums, from your house?” How did those get here? “I can’t believe he hasn’t told you anything- that doesn’t matter. Just go upstairs and look for the box marked with your name. That one belongs to you and Brielle.” She sighs. “I’ve got to get going on dinner.” Two seconds later it’s as if I don’t exist, as if I’m not even in the kitchen anymore. I excuse myself, feeling awkward again, and run upstairs. I stare at the attic door, a door that, for some reason, is smaller than all the other doors, thinner, like a closet door or pantry door might be. I open it slowly and step in, the wood creaking beneath my feet. It’s so different from the rest of the house. It’s dark, and covered in cobwebs. The rest of the house is white here, white there, white carpet, white tiled floors. The only color is the furniture. The walls up here, though, one is bright blue, one is bright red, one is yellow, and one is green. Like a kid’s room, maybe.
It takes me a while to find my box. It’s over against the wall, under a couple other old, dusty boxes. Then I see it, a big box with my name on it in a beautiful script that seems to glide across the flaps that hold the box shut. I notice that the tape has never been cut, which means the box has never been opened. How could this be? If it was from our house, wouldn’t we have opened at least once before? Or wouldn’t have Dad opened it? Even once?
I hull the box into my room, because I don’t really want to sit in the attic looking through an old box. The thought just gives me the creeps. I put the box down and run downstairs to find something to open the box. I see Mom in the kitchen, still running around, so I let her be. I show myself to the garage, where there’s sure to be at least something sharp I can use. Luckily, there’s a pocket knife sitting on a shelf by the door. I grab it and run back upstairs without Mom even noticing me.
I stop when I pass Brielle’s door. Would she want to see this? I peek in at what she’s doing. Nothing. Sitting on her bed doing nothing. Literally.
“Um, Bri?” She looks up and sees me. “Do you wanna come up to my room with me? I, uh...I found something. In the attic.” She shrugs. “It’s from Dad’s house, Bri. We never opened it, because it was in the basement.” She stares at me with big eyes before getting up and following me up to my room. We each sit on one side of the box and stare at it for a moment before I slide the knife through the tape.
Photo albums.
“What are these?” She asks, clearly confused. We each grab one with a date on it, and I slowly open it.
YEAR 1993, the front says. The first page there’s only one picture, and it’s of Mom at a younger age holding a baby in a pink blanket. She’s sitting in a hospital bed and she’s smiling down at the baby as if it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
The next two pages are full of pictures, none of which I recognize. She’s still holding the girl in her arms, smiling, but now she’s looking at the camera. She looks young and happy. Next to her is a little girl with long blonde hair, and she has the biggest smile on her face you’ve ever seen. She isn’t very old, maybe three or four. The next picture is of her holding the little baby on a hospital chair, with Grandma beside her, smiling.
Grandma?
Then there’s another picture, one I recognize. A picture of Dad holding the baby. But, this one is different, because this picture was framed in my Dad’s room. He’s holding me in the picture. I look at the other pictures. Yes, it’s the same child.
So these pictures are of me?
There’s one last one, on a page all by itself. Mom is holding me in her arms, with the little blonde girl beside her. Dad is on the other side of her, with his arm around Mom. Grandma and Grandpa are on each side of the picture, Grandma behind Dad, Grandpa behind the blonde girl.
Is the blonde girl... Riley?
This picture comes with a description, in the same script that was on the box.
The day my baby girl, Teagon, was born. One of the happiest days of my life, let me tell you. No drugs were involved in the birth. Date: February 28, 1993. Picture: Me, Claire Harrison, holding Teagon Harrison, Riley Harrison, first born daughter beside me (right). Phillip Harrison to beside me (left). Hannah Harrison behind Phillip Harrison. John Harrison behind Riley Harrison. One big happy family.
I close the album and grab a new one with the date 1996.
The first picture is of me and Mom. I’m standing there with some of my hair in a little ponytail, the rest hanging down. My eyes are squinted but you can still see that they’re a bright green color you almost couldn’t believe was possible. I barely have any freckles yet. My hands are clasped in front of me and I have the biggest smile on my face. Beside me, Mom is squatting, her hair down and blown out of her face. She still looks young. The grass below us is green and healthy.
The next picture is of me and Riley. Either she hasn’t grown since the last picture or I’m already growing, because we’re the same height. I look the same, except not as cheesy in this one, just happy, like a little sister is around their older sister. Riley has her hair in a loose low ponytail. It’s long and blonde, almost down to her butt. She’s completely adorable, with big blue eyes and naturally pink lips. She’s smiling big. We’re standing in front of a tree.
There’s another one of Mom lounging on a lawn chair on a patio area. She’s holding a baby up in front of her, making a cute face at the child, probably trying to make her laugh. She looks happy.
Then I see one with me and Dad. We’re both sitting on some wooden steps, and there’s a blur in the top corner of the picture, above me. Dad’s in the middle of saying something, and he’s pointing at the camera. I’m laughing, reaching for the camera eagerly. Right after that one there’s a better one, Dad hugging me, still sitting on the steps. We’re both smiling at the camera. The blur in the picture is gone. I guess it was Mom’s finger or something.
I can tell they wanted to get every single picture and memory into these albums, because after a few other nice pictures, there’s a zoomed-in picture of Riley’s face, all scrunched-up and excited that she’s getting her picture taken. That one makes me want to laugh.
But I quickly realize that I can’t, because I’m actually crying.
I look up at Brielle. She’s crying, too. She quickly wipes her eyes and puts the album she was looking at back. She gets up and leaves. I want to call out to her, to tell her to wait, to sit and talk to me, to tell me what she thought of the pictures. But I can’t. All that comes out is a hiccup-like sound that I can’t explain, and then more tears.
After I put away the photo albums (meaning I threw them back into the box and shoved it into the corner of my room), I went downstairs. I stood at the top of the stairs and watched as Mom let in a group of people. There were also some people I didn’t know who were sitting in the living room, chatting quietly. Riley was sitting with them, and she looked up. When she saw me there was a weird expression on her face I couldn’t read, as if she were sorry about something.
It was moments later I realized why she’d been wearing that expression.
Suddenly, there was a large woman standing in the middle of the living room. She gasped when she saw me.
“Claire, I didn’t realize you had house guests! I never would have asked if I’d known...” Mom shakes her head, walking over to join the lady.
“I don’t have house guests, Becky. That’s Teagon, remember?” She said my name slow and loud, so everyone could hear it. The lady eyed me for a moment before gasping again.
“Oh, child, child, child! Come down here, so I can see you! Oh!” She kept gasping as I walked down the stairs. I heard someone walking around behind me, and I saw Brielle at the corner of my eye, standing behind the wall so no one could see her. I flattened my hand at my side, my palm facing back to her, telling her to stop. This was our signal, back in the old house, when someone would be in our living room that we didn’t know. Dad would have people over sometimes. Business friends, nothing bad or anything. And Dad never drank, but these people did. He didn’t know this, so the people he trusted to stay with us while he went to do something were not trustworthy at all, really. I would go down to investigate while Brielle sat upstairs (back at home we had stairs that you could sit at the top of and not be seen by the whole house), waiting.
Obviously I was too slow for this large woman, because once I finally reached the bottom of the stairs she was in front of me, hands on my shoulder, practically shaking the life out of me. She eyed me suspiciously, as if I wouldn’t notice. She kept her voice high and sweet, though. Fake. That’s what she was.
She looked at me as if I were a cheap, hideous rag doll she wanted to throw outside and forget about. Maybe I was, though.
“Claire, this is Taylor? Where is Brianna? Where is the other one? I must see the other one.” Mom cleared her throat.
“Teagon.” She said. She sounded annoyed. “Teagon, Becky. And Brielle,” she paused, letting the name sink in. “is upstairs.” Barely seconds after Mom told her this was Becky shoving me aside and pounding up the stairs. I heard Brielle scramble up and take off down the hallway. I looked at Mom. Her mouth formed a line and her eyes narrowed at Becky. But only for a moment.
“This is Teagon, everyone.” She came over and stood beside me. I was slightly taller than her, so she didn’t have to bend over when she mumbled to me quietly, “The worst part is over.”
And she was right. The worst part was over. But in a way, it wasn’t. Because all night the only things I heard from the group that arrived with Becky were criticism and rude comments, mostly toward me and Brielle. But we ignored them.
Up until now.
We’re sitting at the table, ready to eat. Mark (I finally got to meet Riley’s family) was serving food he’d brought. I was sitting with Brielle on one side of me and Becky on the other. Riley was on the other side of Brielle.
Becky takes in a deep breath. “So, Tina,” she still hasn’t learned my name. I hear Mom sigh from across the table. “Why haven’t you been with your mother all these years? I may have bad eye sight, but I can assure you, with that color hair, I would’ve noticed you around here by now.” She chuckles. I stare at her in bewilderment. Who can be this rude?
“Becky...” Mom says slowly.
“I’ve been living with my father.” I tell her calmly, trying to collect myself, ignoring her comment.
“Well, that’s no way to be living. I mean, shouldn’t a young, growing girl such as yourself be living with your mother? You are a girl, after all.” She immediately takes a big bite of food as soon as Mark places it in front of her. I pick up my fork. She’s still chewing as she continues. “Why did you decide to come down here, after all those years? I can’t believe they let you live with your father. I’ve heard so many crude things about him. Such a terrible man.” I slam my fork on the table. Everyone jumps and stares at me, their voices fading.
I turn and stare at Becky. “You can say many things about my father, but you can never say that he was a bad man. You’ve got no room to talk, running your mouth nonstop about other people. I’ve heard nothing from you but complaints and rude comments since you got here. I don’t know you, and I barely know who you are. But to tell you the truth I really don’t care at this point. Someone who’s going to treat me and my sister this way doesn’t deserve to be known. You are a terrible woman, terrible. Don’t you ever say anything about my father again, you hear me? He was a great man, a wonderful man! You never even knew him!” At this point my eyes are watering. I get up, shoving my chair back in the process, and storm upstairs. After I make sure no one’s following me I slow down up the next flight of stairs to my room. There’s still silence downstairs.
Up in my room I dig out some more photo albums. There are some more that were a bit more recent than the others. The date on the front of this one said 1998.
I didn’t have any pictures in this one.
There was a picture of Mom hugging a cute little blonde girl tightly, their cheeks pressing together. It was Riley, I could tell. They looked so happy in the picture. In the background there was a bunch of tables and a banner that said HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Riley had a shiny pink and green party hat on her head, with strings coming out the top and lining the bottom edge.
The next few pictures were of Riley and a few friends. There was one of a girl in a blind fold swinging a bat around with a piniata hanging from a large tree branch. A few other ones were taken inside this house in the den, the girls sitting on the couch, the girls playing Twister, the girls doing this, the girls doing that. There was one of the girls all spread out on the floor in sleeping bags, sprawled out with someone’s foot in someone’s face or an arm on someone’s leg.
Mom wrote RILEY’S FIRST SLEEPOVER on the side of that page. 10 YEARS, it said below that. Her tenth birthday.
I think back. I would’ve been five. I would’ve been starting kindergarten, maybe. While I was starting kindergarten, my sister was here living the dream, having her first real slumber party, turning ten years old, and I didn’t even know it. I suppose I could’ve remembered her from when I was three, but I didn’t. The chances of that were slim, obviously.
The next few pages, there were a couple pictures of Mom sitting around looking depressed. I don’t know who took the pictures. Normally, I would’ve assumed it was Riley, but the pictures were so good and clean, almost like an illusion, in a way, that I doubt a ten-year-old took them. There was one of Mom sitting on the couch reading. One of Mom in bed, asleep, peacefully, probably taking a nap because it wasn’t dark at all and the bed was made beneath her. Another was of Mom sitting on some steps to the backyard. It was of the back of her. She’s leaning forward a little, probably holding a cup of coffee, it seemed like. Strands of her hair (which was pulled into a low bun) flew in the wind, and you can see a couple of leaves on the trees in the backyard swaying in the wind, too. She had on a tinted blue long-sleeve shirt and white pants. She looked small in the picture, which was taken so that Mom would be the focus of the picture. It was really good. Too good.
Obviously Riley hadn’t taken these pictures.
The next few days are pretty rough. I don’t talk to Riley or Mom much. Brielle keeps her distance, too. It’s like they think if they get too close to me, something will go off, and I’ll just explode. It’s sort of weird that they think that, because I’m not explosive anymore. I mean, not as much as I was when Becky was here, but things have gotten better.
She left that night. Mom had asked her to leave, along with everyone else. And naturally Riley just took her family home, sensing that this was a bad time to be visiting. So they went home. So it’s just us again. Me, Brielle, and Mom.
Talk about awkward.
Sun shines in my face. I squint my eyes open, trying to see, quickly realizing it’s impossible unless I move. So I sit up just enough for the sun to no longer be an issue and see Mom standing there with the curtains drawn. She’s watching me.
“What...are you doing?” I ask slowly. She lets go of the curtains. I hope they’ll close again, but they don’t.
“We’re going to the beach today. Get up.” She says calmly.
“The beach? But it’s...” I glance at the clock, look away, and quickly look back. Is that really the time? Noon?
“Time for you to get out of bed. Come on. We’re going to a diner a couple blocks away, then we’re heading to the beach. Riley’s bringing Jodie, Justin and Jamie. You and your sister get to occupy them.” She leaves the room. Are we really going to the beach today? Seriously?
It’s amazing how I’ve already grown into the house. It hasn’t been a week yet, no, but five days is pretty close. It’s also a long time, if you think about the circumstances. Already five days. Crazy. It feel likes only five hours.
I slide on some jean shorts and a tank top over my new swim suit, a navy blue two-piece. I pull my hair up into a messy bun. If we’re going to the beach, it’s obviously going to be hot out. Because it hasn’t been that warm out lately (decent weather, but not that warm), and we haven’t gone to the beach yet. Plus the little ones are going, too. That tells me something.
Downstairs, Mom and Brielle are both already sitting in the living room, on separate pieces of furniture of course, waiting for me to get ready. I check my reflection in the hallway mirror before walking to the front door.
“Coming?” I ask. They both look up, sigh, and get up.
There’s a lime green convertible sitting in the driveway that I do not recognize at all. It’s so new that there might as well have been a giant red bow tied around it, ready to be given away. It’s shiny and clean, basically sparkling. The interior is white leather with a back seat. The wheels are...
“You like?” Mom asks, walking over to the driver’s side and reaching inside it. I nod, speechless. She grins at me. “Good, because it’s yours.” She pulls out keys and tosses them to me. I have to react quicker than I should have, because I was still shocked and in awe of the car. I stare at the keys as if they’re some alien device I have no idea how to work. “Better take care of it, because this is the only one you’re getting. Ever.” She walks around and pulls forward the passenger seat, climbing into the back. Brielle squeals as she runs over and hops happily into the passenger side. I walk over and sit in the driver’s seat. It’s so comfortable, so right...
I can’t help but squeal, too.