Whatever Happens Chapters 1-3

Chapter One

Stepping
out of the massive SUV, my worn purple Vans touch down on the crumbling asphalt
outside my new home.

The new
house, unlike the road in front, isn’t falling apart.

It’s a
pristine, newly renovated, modern looking farmhouse.

It looks
too sparkly and lifeless to me. It’s beautiful, sure, but it’s not my home.

My home is
miles and miles away in the rearview mirror.

My parents
wanted to escape the memories. I wanted to drown in them.

Now, we’d
moved all the way from Texas to a small town not far from Cambridge,
Massachusetts. The bank my dad worked for as the head of IT paid for the move,
and the massive moving truck rolled to a stop behind the Escalade.

“What do
you think?” The passenger door closes softly and my mom steps up beside me,
sizing up the house. Her voice is soft, not filled with any sort of joy at all,
mostly just a tone of resignation.

“It’s a
house,” I answer resolutely, exhaling a small sigh.

A house is
four walls encapsulating emptiness. A home is the people, the laughter, the
memories. This home doesn’t have any of that. It’s merely a shell.

“It’s a
house,” she echoes.

My dad
joins us at my other side. None of us speak to the notable absence between us.

It’s been
three months, nearly four, since my little sister took her own life. The
tragedy still dangles over the three of us like the guillotine I learned about
in my history and French classes.

We barely
speak of her nonexistence, all grieving in our own ways and unable to talk
about it. I’ve tried, but my dad shuts down and my mom bursts into tears at the
mention of Luna.

“Should we
check it out?” Dad cocks his head to the side, his hands on his hips. His dark
blue pants and white button down are loose on his normally broad frame. He’s
lost weight since my sister died. “What do you say, Vi?” He forces a smile, but
it’s not like the wide one he used to sport.

“Lead the
way.” I plaster on a smile as well.

All of us
are puppets right now. We don’t know how to function without Luna. She was the
light, life, the stars itself. She shined brighter than anyone I knew.

Before
following my parents up the driveway, I open the car door and grab the small
travel cage holding my beloved pet ferret. I get him out, cradling him in my
arms.

“Well,
Will Ferret, welcome to our new home.”

He looks
back at me with his small black eyes and I swear he even cocks his head to the
side like he knows what I’m saying.

“Vi, hurry
up.” Dad waves from the steps of the front porch and I hurry to catch up.

When I
join them he swings the front door open, revealing a foyer with vaulted
ceilings, an L-shaped staircase, and dark wood floors spanning from the foyer
to the rest of the house.

Tilting my
head back, I take in the chandelier above. It’s black, wrought iron maybe, and
reminds me of something you might see in a Spanish style home.

I follow
my parents from room to room as they point out each and every one, talking
about where they plan to put pieces of furniture from our old house.

It’s all
so normal, but not.

We
wouldn’t even be here if Luna was still alive.

Will
wiggles in my arms and I let him down. He thinks he’s a dog and runs around the
house most of the time when I’m home anyway.

Dad steps
up to the row of windows overlooking the backyard and a field beyond. His hands
are on his hips and he lets out a heavy breath. My heart clenches, because I
know he’s thinking of Luna. We all always are.

I stop
beside him, and he tilts his chin down to me before wrapping an arm around my
shoulders. “What do you think, kiddo? Think you’ll like it here?”

I miss
home, this place is a stranger to me, but suddenly I understand why my parents
were so adamant about this. Maybe it’s exactly what we all need. A fresh start.

I smile at
him. “I think it’ll be perfect, Dad.”

He wraps
me in a hug and I bury my face against his chest, inhaling the scent of our
laundry detergent.

I never
want to let go, because I’m afraid if I do my feet might never touch the earth
again.

Chapter Two

Hours
later all the furniture is in the house and boxes are strewn about.

Sitting at
the top of the stairs I can hear my parents arguing in the kitchen about some
vase my mom is freaking out didn’t get packed, while my dad insists he
personally packed it himself and it’s just been mislabeled or placed in the
wrong room.

My parents
have never fought often, and they were always open with Luna and I when they
did. They wanted us to know marriage isn’t easy and you’re not always going to
agree, but you do have to love each other enough to get through it.

I hope
they can love each other enough to get through this. I lost a sister, but they
lost a child. Come next year, I’ll be gone too. College looms over me like a
heavy cloud. I used to be excited to start that chapter of my life, but not
anymore. It seems so trivial when living is so important.

Standing
up, I turn around and head down the hall to my room. The walls are white, but I
don’t mind. Soon enough they’ll be covered in posters and photos.

My bed
sits against the back wall and the window to the left overlooks the backyard
and has a portion of roof I can open the window and climb out on to sit. I’m
thankful for that. My room back home had it, and I always liked sitting out
there looking at the stars. When my emotions get too big I like to look at the
stars, the universe, and be reminded of how small we really are.

Will
Ferret’s large playhouse sits on the floor for the time being.

My dresser
is across from the bed with a mirror above and my desk is tucked into the
corner. The table Will Ferret’s cage goes on is stationed between the doors to
my closet and bathroom.

A gray
fluffy rug is rolled up in the corner of the room with ample boxes scattered
around.

“Well,
Will, I better get started on this.” Or
else I’ll be sleeping on a bare mattress.

I grab the
box cutter I brought up with me an hour ago when I intended to start unpacking
my room, but things got overwhelming and I had to take a breather.

Starting
with the box labeled BEDDING I unpack my sheets and quilt. Another box contains
my pillows. Once I have everything I need, I make my bed and already the room
looks more like an actual bedroom.

Will
watches me from the floor and I wish I could lift his cage myself up onto the
table, but it’s large and awkward, which means I’ll need my dad’s help.

 After my bed’s made and looks halfway decent I
start on the boxes containing my clothes. It takes a good two hours to get all
of my clothes put into the closet and stuffed in my dresser.

I slide
one of the dresser drawers closed and as it clatters into place my mom calls
out my name. “Violet! Pizza is here!”

I didn’t
even know they’d ordered pizza, but my stomach comes to life, growling like a
little gremlin lives there.

“Be good,
Will.” His black little eyes follow me as I leave the room.

My feet
pound down the steps and I ignore the fact there isn’t an echoing of them
behind me.

In the
bright modern kitchen—white cabinets and white granite—I find two boxes of
pizza on the bar top. Three barstools are already fixed in front.

Three, not four. My heart seizes in my chest and tears prick the back of my eyes. I
cried every day after she died. Everything reminded me of Luna. Now, I’m
better, but the strangest things will cause the pain to come flooding back.

I force
myself to look away and realize they’ve almost completely unpacked the kitchen
items. There are only two boxes left, with what looks like a million already
taken down and stacked in the corner for recycling.

“Pizza,
Vi.” My mom breezes by me, shaking me from my thoughts. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Y-Yeah.”
My hands shake as I tuck a piece of long brown hair behind my ear. Grabbing a
plate stacked on the counter, I swipe two slices of pepperoni pizza and join my
parents at the kitchen table to the right. It’s surrounded by two walls of
windows overlooking the backyard and the neighbor’s house.

“Getting
anything done?” Mom asks me, sprinkling red pepper flakes onto her pizza. Her
hair is the same shade as mine. We actually look a lot alike. I have her pouty
mouth and small nose, but my eyes are all my dad from their shape to icy blue
color. With my dad’s dark hair and olive skin his eyes really pop. I, however,
inherited my mom’s pale skin.

“Yeah, my
clothes are unpacked and I made my bed. It’s basically just books and odds and
ends left.”

“That’s
good.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners with a smile.  I nod along, not knowing what to say.
Thankfully, for me, she carries on the conversation. “Do you think you’ll try
out for the cheer team here?”

I’ve been
a cheerleader since seventh grade and before that I was in gymnastics from the
time I was three. I always loved tumbling and flipping.

“No.” The
one word leaves me in adamant refusal.

Her eyes
widen in surprise. “No? Why? This is your senior year. Surely, you want to do
it your final year of high school. It seems a shame to give it all up.”

“I don’t
want to,” I bite out, my words cutting.

Her brows
furrow and she opens her mouth to argue, but my dad clears his throat.

“I think
it’s fine you don’t want to do it this year. Focus on your grades and college.”
He gives my mom a significant look to drop it and when his eyes connect with
mine I know he understands there’s more to it than me not wanting to do it.

“School
starts in three weeks, what do you think you’ll do between now and then?”

I pick
apart the crust of my first slice of pizza. “I don’t know. Explore the town.
Maybe get a job.”

“A job?”
Her eyebrows raise.

“Yeah, I
can save for a car.”

“Honey, we
told you we’d get you a car for graduation.”

“I think
if you want a job, that’s a great idea. As long as it doesn’t interfere with
school.”

I flash my
dad a grateful smile for once again saving me. “It’s just an idea. I might not
have time. Maybe I’ll join a club at school or something.”

A wrinkle
forms in Mom’s forehead. “A job? Club? But not cheerleading like you’ve done
for years. I don’t under—”

“The pizza
was great.” I stand up with my plate. “I’m going to try to finish unpacking my
room before I go to bed.”

“Violet—”

I hear my
dad whisper something to her as I dump the remains of my dinner in a trash bag
lying on the floor, full of miscellaneous crap from the move.

Escaping
upstairs I close the door to my room. It’s seven in the evening but since it’s
summer, the sun hasn’t even set yet.

Sitting
down, I start on another box. I go through the photos in it, sighing as I look
at pictures of me with girls I called my friends for years. Friends who I
haven’t heard from all summer. It’s not like I couldn’t have reached out, but
it sucks when people don’t know how to deal with your loss. I needed my friends
to be there for me, to get me out of the house and remind me life goes on, but
they didn’t. People are terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing when
you’re grieving, when all you really want is to just have someone be there for
you.

I debate
on throwing the photos away, but decide against it and toss the photos in a
desk drawer, piling more items on top.

I do stick
other Polaroid’s and photos on my walls. Photos of my parents, Luna, vacation
beach trips, and even a funny one of Will and I when I was holding him in the
air and he sneezed on me. My face is priceless. I touch the tips of my fingers
to one of my favorite pictures. It’s Luna and I when we’re little, dressed in
Disney Princess costumes—I’m Ariel and she’s Aurora—and our faces are lit with
happiness. The photo was taken at the exact moment my parents told us we were
going to Disney World. Luna’s small fists are clasped under her chin, her eyes
alight with happiness, and the binky that was in her mouth is forever suspended
in mid-air.

Tears burn
my eyes and I dam them back.

I’m not
sure I can ever forgive myself for not seeing the pain and sadness in my
sister’s eyes in those final months leading up to her suicide. Luna and I were
always close, but that year we’d drifted apart. We still spoke and hung out
some, but not like we used to. I was too focused on my friends, boys, parties,
and cheer.

Now she’s
gone and I can’t rewind time to make it right.

I close my
eyes, remembering her last text message to me.

It’s not your fault.

I’d been
confused when I received the text message, wondering what wasn’t my fault.

I got my
answer when I arrived home an hour later to an ambulance, my mom wailing as my
dad held her, and a body bag being wheeled out of the house.

Chapter Three

Sleep
evades me as I toss and turn in my bed, thinking if I find just the right spot
sleep will magically take me.

Picking up
my phone the time flashes back at me.

It’s
barely three in the morning and I’ve slept maybe five minutes.

I shove
the blankets off and tiptoe over to the window. The windows are brand new and
don’t make a sound as I unlock and raise one so I can step out onto the roof.

I sit
down, drawing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.

Tilting my
head back I take in the night sky above.

Stars wink
back at me and I look until I find the brightest one in the heavens.

Luna,
I think to myself. Ever since she passed I make a point to find the brightest
star every chance I can, because she shined more than anyone I know and it
makes me feel closer to her.

“I failed
you, Moon.” It was my nickname for my little sister.

I failed
her, but I also failed myself. I became obsessed with popularity and being with
the in crowd. So much so that I forgot what’s really important.

I’ll never
make that mistake again.

I hear a
noise and look down, searching.

I spot
movement on the neighbor’s patio and look down to see a dark head bent over a
large telescope, one that looks like something a professional would use. 

I watch
the person, curious what it is that draws them to the stars like me.

As if
sensing me, the person looks up and my lips part as the boy finds me. Floppy
brown hair tumbles over his forehead and black-rimmed glasses slip down his
nose. When his eyes find mine in the dark they quickly dart away.

He looks
to be my age, but since it’s dark I can’t be quite sure.

He focuses
on the telescope, but his shoulders are tight now, not relaxed like before.
After a moment, he shakes his head, and without looking my way again he heads
into his house.

With one
last look at the sky, I decide I should do the same. I slip inside, closing and
locking the window.

When I
turn, I look out the window beside my bed and a light blinks on in the house
next door as the boy enters his room.

Even
though my room is dark, it’s like he can sense me as he looks through the
window. His gaze drops and he reaches for the blinds, rolling them down.

My mouth
downturns, wondering what his problem is, but I have other things to worry
about than my new un-named neighbor.

Knowing I
won’t be getting any sleep tonight, I sneak from my room and get a head start
on more unpacking.

At least
it’s something my parents won’t have to do come morning.

***

“You did
all this?”

I jolt
upright from the spot I passed out, on the floor of the family room.

“Y-Yeah,”
I stutter, rubbing sleep from my eyes. The sun has completely risen and I smell
coffee coming from the kitchen. My mom stands at the entrance to the room with
her robe wrapped around her slender body. Her eyes shift around the room,
taking in the décor items added to the built in shelves, her beloved fake
plants I tell her only gathers dust, among other odds and ends. This isn’t the
only room that saw my touch during the early hours. I’m surprisingly productive
when I’m running on adrenaline.

“Did you
sleep?” Her eyes narrow on me and I know she doesn’t need me to answer. “You
need to rest, Vi.”

“I’m fine,
Mom.” I stand up from the floor, placing my palms on the couch to give me
leverage. “Can I have some of that coffee?”

She tosses
her arm over her shoulder. “Go to bed.”

“It’s
morning,” I argue.

She
pinches the bridge of her nose. “You have to sleep.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“I’ll
sleep when I’m dead.”

She
flinches and my mouth parts in horror, realizing what I’ve said. In my
tiredness my ill-placed joke slipped out of my mouth.

“Mom, I
didn’t mean—”

She holds
up a hand, her silent command for me to shut up. She walks away without a word
and I know I’ve hurt her. It was unintentional but that doesn’t fix the
mistake.

Wringing
my worn pajama shirt in my hands I bite my lip in an effort to hold back tears.
I can’t do anything right anymore.

As quietly
as I can, I slip upstairs to my bedroom and then the attached bath. I get into
the shower, not even marveling over the shiny pearlescent looking tiles. When I
finish I blow-dry my hair hastily, braiding it sloppily down my right shoulder.
Dressing in a simple pair of jean shorts and a striped tank top I grab my
purse, sliding it across my body before slipping my feet into a pair of
flip-flops.

“Where are
you going?” My dad questions as I pass him in the hall on the way to the
stairs.

“Thought
I’d go explore.”

He tilts
his head. “I thought I could make my world famous French toast for breakfast. I
have a few days before I start work. I wanted to make the most of it.”

“Thanks,
Dad. I’ll have some when I get back.”

His face
falls and he reaches for my arm when I start to walk away. I pause, my eyes
reluctantly meeting his.

“I love
you, you know that, right?”

“Of
course, Dad. I love you, too.”

His lips
are downturned and his light hold on my arm doesn’t lessen. A war rages in his
eyes and finally he murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

I flinch
and he lets me go, hastily turning away but not before I see the pain on his
face.

The pain
we all keep hiding, pushing down into the deepest pits of our souls, until one
day it’s bound to turn into a black hole and swallow all of us alive.

I reach
the bottom of the stairs and feel like I’m suffocating.

“I’ll be
back in an hour,” I yell out, and don’t wait for a response as I make a break
for the garage. Inside I find my yellow bike with wicker basket tucked beside
the wall amid boxes. I fish it out and one of the boxes falls. I hear a crash,
but I don’t stop to see what’s broken.

Pressing
the button on the garage door I make my escape.

I wanted
to leave anyway, but now I have to.

Hopping on
my bike I pedal as fast as I can away from the house and neighborhood of cookie
cutter perfect homes.

It doesn’t matter how many feet, and eventually miles, I put behind me. I can’t escape what I’m running from, because it’s the memories and they live inside me.

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