* * *
So many people attended the funeral it might have well been declared a local holiday. I had no idea if Nastasia actually knew the hundred or so people that came to show their last respects. Or if they had come to watch our family mourn as not much went on in the small town normally, and people naturally seemed drawn to the macabre.
I could feel their eyes on me as they looked upon my face with long lingering stares. They focused on me as if my tears would be the show they were craving. As if my pain would cause them to feel better about their own lives.
When Nastasia was alive, no one had ever noticed me, but now I couldn’t get away from the attention. Even though we were identical, sharing my father’s blue eyes and raven-colored hair, no one would mistake me for my sister. We were too different. She was vivacious and exuberant while I was introverted and soft spoken. Now, it seemed, people gazed upon me with a mixture of pity and fear as if they were looking at a ghost.
I averted my eyes, staring only at the oak coffin as it was being lowered into the ground. I stubbornly refused to allow a single tear to fall, trying to appear as a pillar of strength rather than a ball of yarn that had come undone.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. I turned my head slightly to see my father. He held a white rose in his hand that he had picked off of one of the flower arrangements. Taking it from him, I stepped forward and dropped the flower into the pit, watching as it floated through the air and landed on the coffin below with a gentle thud that was barely audible. My father and stepmother followed suit. It wasn’t long before everyone passed by the grave, throwing flowers before exiting the cemetery.
“It is time to go now,” my father whispered in my ear.
“I want to watch them fill the grave,” I said, watching the men standing off to the side by an excavator truck.
He shook his head. “You know they won’t do it until we leave.”
I allowed him to lead me to the car, feeling a huge weight on my shoulders. The funeral was supposed to be the first step to healing, but I was only left with a feeling of dread. When my mother died, I was seven. I didn’t understand the concept of death. Now that I did, there was nothing but a huge void within my heart. There was a space where my sister should be.
“I am sure there will be people who will show up at the house to show their respects,” Sharee said, trying to make conversation as she entered the escalade. “I made sure to buy cheese and meat platters for the guests.”
The idea of socializing when someone you loved just died was sickening to me. I didn’t want to be in the house with strangers gawking at me and asking me questions. I just wanted to be left alone.
As I opened the backseat door, I asked, “Can you drop me off at school?”
“What for?” my father asked, surprised. “I talked to your principal. He said you can have a week off. Winter break is next week so you don’t even have to think about going back to class for two weeks.”
“I know,” I told him, climbing into the car. “I just want to clean out Nastasia’s locker.”
“You don’t have to do that today,” he argued as my stepmother watched from inside the car. “Besides, it is almost time for dismissal.”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” I told him bluntly. “But I want to do this.”
With a look of frustration, he got in the car, slamming his door shut as he looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Fine.”
Closing my door, I watched as Sharee placed a hand on his arm in a comforting gesture. “It will be good for her like... another step towards closure,” she whispered to him gently.
With a sigh, he nodded and started the engine.
School had been dismissed early to allow students to attend the funeral. As if for confirmation, my eyes drifted to the parking lot which was completely empty, except for a few cars from staff working into the evening. Other than a few teachers grading papers and janitors cleaning the halls, I would be completely alone. Normally, the idea would have been terrifying, having watched enough scary movies to know it was not a good idea to hang out in an empty school, but today it was exactly what I wanted. I wanted to pack my sister’s belongings without the burden of my classmates watching and questioning me. Or ridiculing me, because I wasn’t mourning the way they expected me to.
Standing outside the brick building, I watched as my father drove off before I let my eyes drift up to the structure. Dwindling daylight caught the windows, making them gleam like light reflecting off of black marbles. It was a daunting structure when its halls weren’t busy with the buzzing of teenagers trying to get to class on time.
Ascending the steps to the front doors, I found it locked. I realized that I hadn’t called in advance to ask that they keep the door open. However, I knew that the side door, which was nearest to the parking lot, would be left unlocked for those inside working late. So, I descended the stairs and walked around to the side entrance.
Opening the door with ease, I let myself in. Since the door was level to the sidewalk, it was between floors, and I found myself looking at a stairwell. Ascending the stairs to the first floor, I walked down the hall, making a left at the end. My sister’s locker was easy to find since candles, teddy bears, and letters had been placed around it like a shrine.
I sighed, placing my hand on my head and rubbing my temples.
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear the janitor at the end of the hall call out to me until he was standing in front of me. “You are not supposed to be here, Miss.”
Nearly jumping out of my skin, I gawked at him. “I am just here to pack my sister’s things.”
The man had a blue uniform on and an identification badge that read “Carlos.” He had skin the color of caramel and spoke with a deep voice that exaggerated his Spanish accent. Although he looked young, he was most likely in his thirties, having a few laugh lines around his eyes which revealed his maturity. He had wavy black hair and eyes the color of chocolate.
He nodded in understanding, looking at me with the sorrowful eyes I tried to avoid. “I know who you are,” he said softly. “I am sorry for your loss, but... I am not allowed to let people in when class is not in session. It is trespassing.”
“Carlos,” a familiar voice called from an adjacent classroom. “It’s okay.”
I looked to see, my literary teacher and director of the school paper, Mrs. Fayson. Known for her fiery red locks, Michelle Fayson was a beautiful woman, standing at about five foot ten. She had the most translucent, porcelain skin I had ever seen and was always dressed in sleek pencil skirts which showed off her modern style. Being closer to the age of her students made her more than a teacher for some. She was a confidant.
Leaning on the doorframe, her green eyes bore into me as she smiled sadly in my direction. “Why don’t you get her a box that she can carry this stuff in?” Mrs. Fayson told Carlos.
He nodded and walked towards the janitor’s closet at the end of the hall.
Turning her attention to me, Mrs. Fayson said, “I am sorry for your loss. Your sister was a wonderful girl.”
I nodded, trying not to show signs of being tense and standing as still as possible. “Thank you.”
Sensing my obvious discomfort, she changed the subject. “You know, you left your camera in the newspaper office. I kept it safe for you,” she said, motioning towards her office. “I will just get it.”
“Okay,” I said with a nod as she walked away.
Carlos returned with two large filing boxes. “This is all we had,” he said before walking off and leaving her alone.
Using one of the boxes to collect the dozens of teddy bears and letters adhered to the locker, I tried to keep my mind focused on the task, making sure to keep my gaze from catching any of the words written about my sister. When I was done, I covered the box, suddenly feeling as if I was closing the lid of a coffin. Transfixed on the painted w
ooden texture of the cardboard lid, a chill swept through me.
“Miranda,” Mrs. Fayson called, bringing me out of my thoughts abruptly and handing me my camera. “Your shots of the game were terrific. They made the front page.”
“Great,” I responded, lacking my ordinary enthusiasm.
“You are going to make a great photographer one day,” she complimented with a smile before glancing down at the box at my feet. “Do you have anyone to help you take this stuff home?”
“It is not a problem,” I assured her. “I live close by, and I can just call my dad when I am done.”
“Okay,” she said. “I have to get out of here. Take care of yourself, Miranda. See you back soon.”
I nodded, attempting a smile.
Without further delay, Mrs. Fayson turned off the lights in her classroom and collected her things, waving as she left for the day.
I waved back, watching her go with a sense of relief, feeling the tension leave my shoulders. Although Mrs. Fayson was my favorite teacher, I wasn’t ready to be around people yet. I needed to deal with my emotions on my own and at my own pace.
Eager to get out of the school, I reached for the combination lock and turned the dial, knowing my sister’s combination. Once the lock clicked open, I threw open the door, averting my eyes from the pictures that she tacked on inside. Without actually looking at anything, I threw everything into the box, except for the textbooks which belonged to the school. When there was nothing left, I threw the lid over the open mouth of the box as if scared of what I might see.
Feeling my heart pounding in my chest, I placed my hand over it, trying to will it to beat normally. Shaking, I realized I had been holding my breath and released it. Angry at almost having lost control, I slammed the locker shut. Kneeling, I rested my head and arms on the boxes to calm my nerves.
“Hey, Randy, what are you doing here?” a velvety voice asked, sounding both surprised and poised.
I recognized the owner of that voice although we were not exactly well acquainted. In an abrupt fashion, I stood up and turned on my heels, nearly falling into Caleb Mitchell.
Caleb was the most charming and extremely athletic quarterback of the school’s football team. Standing at six foot three, it was hard not to notice him. His caramel skin coupled with his slightly tapered, raven-colored hair and deep-set sapphire eyes made him irresistible to the female student population. He had a lean, muscular frame that made the girls swoon although he never took advantage of his popularity with the ladies. He was rather shy off the football field, keeping to himself as he went from class to class.
Although we were not close, we shared a few classes as kids, and I did have a rather large crush on him since elementary school which was something I would never admit to. My sister shared my crush, but took it a step further, making her move and asking him out in the middle of freshmen year. They had dated two years before the accident that claimed her life.
While she never tried to bring him to the house and establish a relationship with the family, she talked about him constantly.
I remember her saying, “Caleb doesn’t want to go to Britney’s party with me. He acts like he doesn’t even care, but this is the social event of the year!”
Caleb Mitchell never talked to anyone about his feelings about my sister. I would watch as he would quietly pick her up from class and stroll down the hall like it was an obligation rather than a pleasure.
Nastasia would say, “I don’t know what is wrong with him... it is like I have to force him to be seen with me. He doesn’t even want to hold my hand when we walk around the hall. He feels like we are putting on a show.”
“Are you?” I recalled asking once, standing in her room while she was getting ready for another party.
“Maybe,” she said, smiling as she gazed at herself in the mirror. “If you snagged the cutest and richest guy at school, wouldn’t you?”
Caleb Mitchell was not interested in cliques and popularity contests. He seemed different from other guys that went to my school. He appeared serious which probably stemmed from his parent’s separation last year. Caleb’s father, Bryce, was a high powered attorney who picked up one day and left his wife for his secretary. Mr. Mitchell sent support payments and birthday cards occasionally, but Caleb didn’t have the relationship he once had with his father.
His whole life had changed since then. Caleb’s mother, Nicole, was a single woman in need of a regular paycheck. In the blink of an eye, Caleb and his mother were struggling as the support payments only covered the basic bills. His mother was lucky enough to have been great friends with my father who gave her a job in the billing department of his auto body shop. To help his mother, Caleb gave up football and began to work part time at the shop.
Needless to say, Nastasia wasn’t happy with the changes. She told my father that Caleb stood to gain a college scholarship playing football, and it was not fair that he had to work. My father agreed and increased Nicole’s pay so Caleb could play. Nastasia was happy, but Caleb didn’t like feeling like he was a charity case. It put more of a strain on their relationship.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, shocked to see anyone else in the abandoned halls.
As if amused by my reaction, he smiled although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Practice was cancelled,” he said, motioning towards the doors that led to the football field. “But I had to pick up a book for an English literature project that is due at the end of the break.”
“Oh, I just didn’t expect to see anyone,” I said uncomfortably, shifting my weight from foot to foot.
“Yeah, you seemed out of it this morning at the funeral,” he said, his voice cracking. “You didn’t even notice when I greeted you.”
“No, I didn’t,” I said, struggling to recall.
“I went to shake your father’s hand and offer my condolences. I said ‘hi’ but you didn’t hear me,” he said, his blue eyes clouded over by apparent sadness. “I am sorry I scared you just now. I don’t remember you being so... fidgety.”
I managed a humorless smile which didn’t quite reach my somber heart. “Yeah, well, a lot has happened.”
A look flashed in his eyes that could only be interpreted as sympathy. “Do you need a ride home?” he asked, glancing down at the boxes at my feet.
I shook my head. “No, I can manage.”
“It is just like you not to ask for help. Your sister always talked about how stubborn you were.”
“Did she?” I asked, believing that was something she would say.
He nodded, appearing to weigh the situation. Then he put his textbook on one of the boxes and lifted it up. “I have to insist,” he said, starting to walk down the hall towards the parking lot doors. “It is starting to snow, and I can’t leave you to struggle with a nor’easter on the way.”
Both surprised but grateful, I picked up the other box and followed him out to the parking lot.
The ride home with Caleb was quiet. Looking out of the window awkwardly, I avoided conversation. I didn’t know exactly what to say. I didn’t really want someone else telling me how sorry they were for my loss, knowing that those were just words and no one could really understand the gravity of what I felt. However, the loss was Caleb’s as well.
Glancing at him, he seemed comfortable with the silence between us, appearing somewhat content as he gazed out of the windshield with his eyes transfixed on the road ahead.
I did appreciate the fact that Caleb didn’t feel the need to pretend. He didn’t act like I was someone who needed his pity or to be coddled. In our uneasiness, he didn’t bring up my sister. He didn’t tell me that with time life will be easier to bear, and the pain would decrease until I just felt numb.
“I like driving,” he said, breaking the silence. “It helps me clear my mind.”
“I am sure you have had a lot on your mind with your parents and my sister’s... accident,” I said, instantly regrettin
g that I had brought it up.
“Yeah,” he confirmed solemnly.
When he pulled up to my house, I unbuckled my seatbelt hastily, eager to spend some time in my own company. When I was by myself, I was the most comfortable since I was out of the eyesight of others, and their expectations weren’t suffocating me. I needed that peace which could only be found in solitude.
The daylight had almost all gone, making the sky look like it was colored a light indigo. Flurries fell from the heavens, sailing lazily through the air and forming a white film on the ground. As a cold wind blew, the trees swayed, casting gloomy shadows on the ground below.
The four-square, which I had grown up in, was painted a dark shade of brown which added to its eeriness. The house appeared somber as it sat upon its lot, lacking any sign of life on the outside. If it weren’t for a few lights illuminating the windows, the house would have appeared abandoned.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, turning to Caleb for a moment. “I appreciate it.”
“Wait!” he said, nearly shouting. “I mean... I wanted to speak to you about something.”
Nodding in understanding, I turned towards him, waiting for him to speak.
“I know that we haven’t said more than a few words to each other since... well... I can remember,” he said, appearing uncomfortable. “But I would like us to be friends.”
“Of course,” I said with a curt nod, wondering why he chose to be friends now and not when my sister was alive.
With a sigh of relief, he smiled at me, his sapphire eyes meeting mine for a moment. “Let me help you carry that stuff to the door,” he said, getting out of the car before I could object.
We collected the boxes and climbed the front porch.
Before I could put the box down on the floorboards, my father opened the front door as if he had been expecting us. “Oh, Dad,” I cried out, surprised. Feeling as if I had been caught doing something inappropriate, I thought I should explain Caleb’s presence. “I ran into Caleb at the school, and he helped me bring this stuff home.”
A smile formed on my father’s lips. “Hey, Caleb,” he greeted as if seeing an old friend. “How is your mom?”
“She’s good,” Caleb responded with slow a nod. “Thanks for all your help, Mr. Moralez. My family is grateful.”
“No problem. Let me know if there is anything else I can do,” my father said, reaching for the box that Caleb held. “Let me take that from you.”
My father moved out of the doorway, placing the box along the wall of the front hall. “Would you like to come in?”
Caleb’s eyes drifted towards me and back at my father. “No, I have to get home. Thanks again, Mr. Moralez. See you at school, Miranda,” he said as he waved awkwardly and walked back to his car.
“Bye, Caleb.”
“He is a good kid,” my father told me as he moved out of the doorway so I could enter the house. “It is a shame Tasia never wanted him to come over. It was like she wanted to keep him all to herself.”
“I thought he never wanted to come over.”
“No,” my father said, watching Caleb drive off. “Tasia refused to let me invite him to dinner. She said he had enough on his plate without the pressures of getting to know us. I think she was afraid I would grill him, but I have known his family for years. He’s a good kid.”
I nodded in agreement, putting down the box in the front hall and removing my coat. “What did he mean when he thanked you for your help?”
My father hesitated. “Ever since his father left, his mother has had a hard time,” he told me, placing the box he held on top of the other one. “She has been drinking more lately and neglecting her responsibilities. This thing has ruined his whole family. Anyway, Caleb has stepped up, doing her job in his spare time until she gets back on her feet.”
“Wow, I didn’t even know,” I told him.
“No one did. Not even your sister,” he said. “I paid Nicole as if she was doing the job and slipped in a few dollars under the table for his own use.”
Sensing warmth seep into my heart, I nodded in understanding. I stepped forward and hugged my father, feeling proud of him. “That is the nicest thing ever.”
He sighed sadly. “I know what it is like for someone you love to be sick,” he responded, holding me tightly. “Well, we both do, don’t we? It is not easy, especially when you are living paycheck to paycheck.”
Suddenly, the telephone rang. Its ring pierced through the air like an urgent cry, breaking up the moment of bonding.
Pulling away, my father walked into the living room and picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he said, pausing to listen to the voice on the other line. “Hello, Det. Conner.”
My ears perked up at the mention of Det. Conner. Although I had never met her, my father told me that Det. Lindsay Conner was the officer assigned to my sister’s accident. She had questioned him about my sister’s late night drive, wanting to know why she had been out so late. She also wanted to know about who my sister was with that night. Questions that seemed odd to ask about a car accident which involved icy roads and a tired driver. Apparently, detectives are assigned to all accident cases just in case of foul play, and she was just confirming the plausibility of an accident.
“What do you mean?” my father asked shrilly, suddenly appearing distraught. “How could that be?”
I stepped forward, concerned. “Dad, what is it?”
Signaling for me to be quiet, he collapsed on the couch as if drained of all his energy. “Of course,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “She will be here all day. Thank you. Goodbye.”
Replacing the receiver, he placed his head in his hands.
“What happened?” I asked, suddenly very worried as I watched him.
“That was Det. Conner,” he said, looking up at me momentarily.
“Yeah?” I urged him to speak, feeling my heart pounding within my chest cavity in anticipation of what I might hear.
“She wants to ask you a few questions tomorrow.” Running his hands through his dark hair, he shook his head in apparent disbelief. “She said your sister was... murdered.”