“I already booked you a ticket out in five days. You have a little time to make arrangements.”
Typical Amber. She knew she was going to convince me. Asking me was merely a pretense. “I can’t stay long.”
“Ten days.”
The thought of ten days off the farm makes me panic. “That’s a long time.”
“It’ll fly by. And you’ll love it here, I promise.” She pauses and then talks over my response. “Oh, shit, Ty’s here. I have to go. Kiss, kiss! Love you! See you soon!” And then she’s gone. Just like that, she disappears from my life again.
I hang up the phone and stare at it. I just got railroaded into spending ten days in Manhattan with my sister, who I am now totally convinced is as crazy as a soup sandwich.
I worry what this little trip is going to do to me. Will I be crazy too by the time I return? Will my life get turned upside down and inside out like Amber’s was when she went there? I don’t want anything to change. I like my world to be comfortable and predictable, and this trip represents the opposite of that.
It only took a week for that city to change Amber’s thoughts and plans for her future. I pray the effects of being in Manhattan for ten days won’t be lasting on me. When this trip is over, I want to come back to my life here—taking care of the animals, selling our products weekly at the farmers’ market, and maintaining a home that people love to visit. That’s it. I don’t need a fancy job or fat paycheck to see value in myself. No way, José. New York needs to stay in New York and leave me out of its nonsense. I resolve then and there to make sure nothing about me or my outlook on life changes as a result of my visit with Amber.
CHAPTER THREE
I can’t believe I’m actually here in New York City. Our mothers already came out for a week to help Amber move in to her apartment, so why does she need me? Surely she’s already seen the Empire State Building and all those other places that Manhattan is famous for. And she has new friends that fill up this new life of hers. Why doesn’t she just go out with them? Why did I need to leave my life behind? I can’t quite drown out the mean-girl answer that echoes faintly in my head, saying my life is the less important of the two.
Maybe I should have insisted she come to the farm instead, but our mothers were so excited when they left, I didn’t have the heart to do it. I’m never the one to raise a fuss or create conflict, so it was no surprise to anyone including myself when I got on the plane in Maine and headed to JFK, despite the fact that I have no desire to live in the Big Apple, not even temporarily. And now here I am, waiting for my sister to pick me up. My plane was early, so I’m at the curb with my bag, searching for signs that my ride has arrived.
Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn, praying it’s not a stranger asking me for directions. I wouldn’t know how to tell someone to find a bathroom, let alone anything else around here. Besides, I really don’t like talking to people I don’t know. Stranger danger.
“Surprise!” a woman shouts, throwing her arms out.
I almost don’t recognize Amber at first. Is she taller? Her hair is different . . . shorter and wavier. She’s wearing jeans with a very stylish and colorful top, and her smile is so big it’s nearly blinding.
I embrace my sister, holding her close. She even smells different. “It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you,” I mumble into her shoulder. My heart hurts.
“It has been forever. Three months forever, and you are in big trouble for not coming to see me sooner.” She squeezes me harder, taking my breath away.
She has invited me to visit a couple times before this trip, but I’ve always said no. I love my sister more than anything in the world, but I’m not a city person. I like fresh air, peace and quiet, and space. The things that she’s been describing herself doing are exciting for her, but for me they sound like anxiety-inducing catastrophes I’d rather avoid.
Case in point: she regularly buys hot dogs for a homeless stranger who asks her if she’s going to have sex with her food. Who says that kind of thing? Weirdos. And who hangs out with that kind of person? Apparently, my sister does. Like I said: soup sandwich.
“Look at you . . . fresh off the farm.” She pinches my cheeks and then squishes them together, leaning in to kiss me right on the mouth. “Gosh, I’ve missed your pretty face.”
I can’t deny that Amber’s welcome is warm and loving. Even if she is turning into a New York cuckoo bird, at least she hasn’t lost her love for her family, and for that I’m grateful. “I think somebody’s a little bit lonely in New York City.” I smile at Amber, her excitement infectious. Now I see why she wanted me here. If this is the greeting I’m getting, she must be feeling very out of her element, alone in a strange city filled with people she doesn’t understand or who don’t understand her. Maybe there’s hope that she’ll return to the farm instead of making this place her new home. I could try to work that angle with her while I’m here . . .
“Just jonesing for some of my Emmie sugar.”
“What?” Dang. She’s more than lonely . . . she may actually be going Jack-Nicholson-in-The-Shining crazy. “Do you think it’s possible you’re working too hard?” I ask. I pray that’s the explanation and not that she’s actually changing into a person who comfortably uses the terms Emmie sugar and jonesing.
She waves away my concerns. “Nah. Just go with it, Emmie baby. Where’s your stuff?” She looks around me.
“It’s right here.” I pull my wheely bag up to my side so she can see it better. It was a gift from Rose. She found it on sale at the local drugstore when she went into town for veterinary supplies.
“That can’t possibly have all your stuff in it.” She looks at me, confused and maybe a little cranky. “You know you’re staying here for longer than two days, right?”
I roll my eyes at her insult. “Yes, I know I’m here for ten days.” I shrug. “I don’t have a lot of clothes, but it doesn’t matter because it’s not like I’m going to a fancy ball or anything.”
She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Ooh, you’re already giving me ideas about fun things we can do.” She loops her arm through mine and starts pulling me down the sidewalk.
I can’t tell if she’s joking or not, but just in case, I need to set her straight before her crazy mind goes any farther down that road. “Just so you know, I am not going to any ball or other fancy-schmancy event, so you can get that thought out of your head right now.” I swear if she tries to make me, I’ll lock myself in the bathroom and refuse to come out until my plane is scheduled to leave.
At this point, I wouldn’t put it past her to try and set that up. Amber has become this whole other person since moving to New York City. She’s always going out, attending events and parties, meeting important and famous people. I don’t know how she does it. Our lives up until just a few months ago were all about being on a farm and taking care of animals and the occasional lost soul. Now she’s running a business empire, second in command only to the band manager, who’s been in that job for thirty years. Two days ago, my mother showed me a magazine article that had Amber’s face next to it with the headline MOVERS AND SHAKERS IN THE MUSIC INDUSTRY. I have only one word for that: insanity.
“We’re going to do all kinds of fun things together; don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” She stops next to a limousine.
“What’s this?” I ask. I’m pretty sure she’s pulling my leg.
A man comes out of the driver’s-side door to open the trunk. Then he walks over and takes my bag without a word.
“This is your ride. And that is Mr. Blake.” Amber switches to her military commander voice that she used to adopt when imitating an angry parent. “He does not like using first names.”
I glance from my sister to the driver. I sense some sort of joke between them, but I don’t get what it is. “Okay, if you say so. Nice to meet you, Mr. Blake.”
“Likewise.” He comes over and opens the back door for us and then stares off into space.
M
y sister nudges me on the shoulder and whispers loudly, “This is the part where you get into the car.”
I lower my voice. “You brought a limo? Why on earth would you do that?” She knows I don’t like drawing attention to myself. She might as well have picked me up with neon lights wrapped around her head. She kind of did with that shirt she’s got on, now that I think about it.
I can’t ignore her pushing on my shoulder anymore, so I climb inside and slide across the smooth leather seats. It smells like a new car. I’ve only ever experienced that ambiance once before in my life, when Amber and I hitched a ride into town with someone who was visiting the farm to buy some of her honey and three dozen of my freshest eggs for his restaurant. I was worried I was going to leave sweat stains from my legs on the seats; it was really hot that day and I was wearing shorts. I would never have done it if not for Amber insisting it would be faster than walking or riding our bikes. She was always getting me into uncomfortable situations, disregarding and overriding my anxiety with her sense of adventure. It feels like it’s happening again. Right now. Ugh, I hate this. I hunt for my seat belt.
“All the other cars were being used, and taxis can be a problem sometimes if the press follows me,” she offers as explanation. “I don’t like it any more than you do. Come on, get in, get in.”
“I am in.” I reach over and tug her hair.
“Don’t start that.” She points at me. “Buckle your seat belt.”
I pause to do as she orders, mumbling my response under my breath. “Somebody got bossy while she was away.” Extra bossy, that is.
Amber lets out a long sigh and stares out the side window, all her spark disappearing instantly. It’s like watching the end of a Fourth of July fireworks show, when all the colors and light fade to black.
Guilt threatens to choke me. I’m letting my fears bleed over into frustration at her, and I shouldn’t. She’s just being Amber, which isn’t a bad thing at all. I reach over and take her hand, wiggling it a little. “Don’t be mad at me. I’m only messing with you.”
She shakes her head and looks at me as Mr. Blake gets into the driver’s seat. “No, you’re right. I am super bossy. I need to stop.”
“Don’t worry, I’m used to it; you’ve always been that way.”
She leans over and pokes me in the ribs to tickle me. I fend her off with some solid girly slaps. She’s never been able to defeat me once I get those going.
“Quit,” she hisses. “Mr. Blake will never take me seriously if he sees you slapping me.”
The man glances in his rearview mirror, rolling his eyes before he looks away. I’m not positive, but I think he likes my sister, even though he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t. But who could blame him? She’s the funnest, silliest, most exciting person I know . . . And now she’s gone from the farm, and I miss her so much it makes my heart ache.
I love my sister Rose too, of course. And even though she’s so busy with her animal clinic I hardly interact with her these days, at least I see her more often than I do Amber. Rose will never leave the farm for sure. She won’t even visit this city. Lucky for her, she has a great excuse—any number of sick and dying animals in the clinic that need her tender and expert ministrations. If I didn’t hate to see their suffering so much, I’d work there more often, and then maybe I could use it as an excuse to force Amber to come to us. It’s seriously tempting.
As we make our way around the airport traffic, I glance at my sister, older than I am by a week and more experienced in the big world by a mile. She’s busy answering someone’s text, her fingers flying over the buttons of her new phone. I’m glad to be with her, but this trip is a reminder of why I have to come all the way to New York City to do that: she’s gone for good. This is her new home. There’s no way I’ll be able to convince her to come back to the farm, and I was fooling myself to even entertain the idea. A melancholy descends on me that I have to work to keep hidden.
The drive from the airport into the city slowly helps me to forget my problems, though. I’ve seen pictures of Manhattan before, but photographs cannot do this place justice. The buildings are so high, it’s impossible to see the top of them from inside the car. We’re surrounded by myriad sounds, smells, and hard surfaces. So far I’ve seen nothing cheerful or soft about New York besides my sister, but because I wasn’t expecting anything different, it doesn’t bother me. Like Amber said, this place is electric.
At home, if I were to see a limousine driving by, I would stop and stare at it, trying to figure out who was inside. They must be pretty commonplace around here, though, because nobody is looking at us as we make our way through the city or stop for traffic. The windows are tinted black, so for all they know, I could be the president of the United States, or Oprah, for God’s sake. But they don’t care.
I think everybody is too busy minding their own very important business to worry about somebody else’s. Everyone looks like they’re on a mission to get somewhere fast. Several women are wearing running shoes with their office clothing. They look a little silly—all-business from the ankles up and all-athlete from the ankles down—but they’re probably more comfortable than they would be running in stilettos.
I glance at my sister’s feet. She has heeled boots on. They’re not as high as some of the shoes she’s told me she’s been wearing, but they’re more fashionable than any I ever saw her in on the farm. Her outward appearance has changed so much; I wonder how much of her insides have changed.
I look down at my casual slip-on shoes, wondering how I’m ever going to fit in here. Are these even legal? The fashion police are going to arrest me if they see me in these well-worn, scuffed flats. It doesn’t really matter that I’m not wearing the latest styles, because I’m only visiting, but still . . . it would be nice to not stick out like a sore thumb. I promised to stay for ten days, and I will do that because I love my sister and I want to support her while her boyfriend and our mothers are out of town, but if she thinks she’s going to bring me to a party, she’d better think again . . .
“The first thing I’m going to do is take you to Gray’s Papaya for a hot dog. You’re gonna love it.”
A trickle of worry leaks into my heart. “Isn’t that where that guy is? The one who says all those perverted things to you?”
“Ray?” She laughs. “Yeah. He’ll be there. I bought him a present. I can’t wait to give it to him.”
“What did you buy him?” I can’t even imagine what she’d buy a person like that.
She pats me on the leg. “Just wait and see. It’s silly.”
I shake my head as I look out the window. My sister is full of surprises. And to be honest, I’m not so sure that I am going to be able to appreciate the gift she bought for this man Ray. She said it’s silly. What could that mean? Silly as in it’ll make me laugh or make me cringe? I’m afraid it’s the latter. It’s clear I don’t know Amber that well anymore, and I don’t think she knows me either. It’s more than depressing.
As we wind through traffic, I have to fight back tears that I can’t really explain. Am I crying because I miss the girl she used to be or because she’s left me behind? Regardless, it either makes me a whiner baby or a selfish brat, and neither is any good at all. I spend the rest of the ride to her apartment scolding myself for being a boob and forcing myself to cheer the heck up.
CHAPTER FOUR
The chauffeur takes us around the back side of my sister’s huge apartment building and drives into a parking garage with a big metal gate that closes automatically behind us. After carefully negotiating twists and turns that put us several levels belowground, he drops us off at a door that has a digital code-reader box on the wall next to it. He takes my suitcase from the trunk and sets it down beside me.
“Thank you.” I feel like we should tip him or something, but my sister doesn’t make a move toward her purse.
He leaves with a nod, getting into the limo and driving out of the garage.
I feel like such a rube. Of course you don
’t tip a personal driver. Duh. I haven’t been out in the world much, but I have seen the movie Pretty Woman, and there was never any tipping of Darryl the limo driver.
My sister digs into her bag and comes out with a small black key fob. When she touches it to the code-reader box that has a red light on it, the indicator turns green and the door clicks open.
“This place is like a prison,” I say, wondering if the key to her apartment will be as big as a jail keeper’s.
“That’s right. We keep all the bad guys out, though.” She pulls the door open and leads us into a small antechamber in front of some elevator doors. It smells like damp concrete and paint in here. My suitcase bangs over the threshold, and the noise of it echoes out behind me into the garage.
“Is all this security really necessary?” I know there are some strange people in New York City, but it seems like my sister is being a little overly paranoid.
She presses the call button for the elevator. “You probably won’t have the opportunity to see Ty or any of the rest of the band on this trip, but when you come back another time, you’ll see why it’s necessary. If you see them in public, anyway.”
I’m getting the distinct impression that my sister hasn’t been giving us the whole story about her life here. “That sounds pretty scary, actually.”
The elevator arrives, and she holds the door open so I can get through with my bag.
“Not really. You get used to it.”
I’m not sure I could ever do that. My sister is tougher than I am, though, so it’s not surprising to me that she’s adapting so easily. She single-handedly managed the beehives at our farm from the age of twelve, something I could never do, even at twenty-five. Being stung by a bee once as a kid was all I needed to know about honey harvesting—it’s definitely not my thing. But Amber doesn’t let what she considers minor setbacks to keep her from meeting her goals. Once she decides to do something, it’s done. Take me visiting her in Manhattan, for example. Like most people, I’m powerless when standing in the face of her determination.