Chapter One
Dawn
I stared at the ceiling, still feeling strangely detached from the world. Is this even my world? It feels like someone else's. My world has either a one-story California Style home or a comfortable two-story old fashioned farmhouse. Not an un-homey, massive brick mansion in Aberfeldy Crest, Stoneybrook.
My world has a lot of other things, too. Like a best friend named Mary Anne. Like another best friend named Sunny Winslow. Like a group of friends who will be behind you no matter what.
Like a father.
Carol could hardly look at us for weeks after the accident. She was a wreck. Jeff was the worst for her, I think. That face, those eyes staring up at her, a living, breathing reminder of what she'd had and what she'd lost. And the baby. Lucy would cry and cry and Carol would just sit there, doing nothing, acting like she couldn't hear. Maybe she really couldn't. But eventually Lucy stopped crying. She lay in the crib, looking frightened and scared. No matter what Jeff or I did, she'd just lie there gazing. And last week I came home and there was an ambulance at the front door. Mrs Bruan, the housekeeper, sprinted out faster then I'd ever seen her move and told me she'd found Lucy in her crib, not breathing.
I think that was when I really lost it. Mrs Bruan told I sank to the ground and just sat there. Shock, I think. All I know is I didn't register anything except that the baby was dead. I sat for what seemed like hours, until Jeff walked out carrying a little bundle in his arms, moving towards me. I pushed him away. No, I didn't want to see the body, no more bodies for me, not ever, not ever, not ever-
"Dawn, she's okay, she's crying, look!" Jeff screamed. "She's crying!" And I grabbed her and held her, this tiny, eight-month old body crying in my arms. And I came back. I saw everything clearer and I could smell the California car exhaust and I told Jeff we were going home.
So we went home. Packed our bags and flew out three days later. Lucy is going to stay with Carol's sister, Elizabeth, while Carol's going to a rehab place in Palm Springs. She needs some medical attention and we spent most of Dad's life insurance making sure she got it. We do love her, despite how much we despised her at first. And it's not like we needed it. We wouldn't need money in Stoneybrook.
My step-father, Richard, used to be a lawyer, but since he won the lottery a year ago, he's retired(at 46) and become a 'gentleman of leisure'. To be honest, he's awful at it- way to uptight and conservative to relax all day. My mom, on the other hand- she's enjoying spending her days shopping and lounging around and never having to clean or cook.
And my step-sister Mary Anne. I'm not sure exactly if it was the money that changed her or High School. Or maybe something else. But she's different now. Not good different. Not exactly bad either. Just different.
Actually, I've barely spoken to her since I got here. She hadn't met us at the airport, just mom and Richard, which was disappointing because, ever since Sunny dropped out of Vista to go to beauty school, I hadn't had much of a best friend. So I was glad to see her when we got home. Really glad. She looked a bit more grown-up...well, a lot more grownup actually. Her hair was in a chin-length, sleek bob with blonde highlights, and she was definatly wearing more make-up I'd ever seen her wear. Plus she was tall. Really tall actually. An inch taller than me, and I'm no midget.
But she was still Mary Anne. She hugged me and whispered, "I'm so sorry about your dad." She'd hugged Jeff, too. Then she'd left. Something about a party at some chick's house whose name I didn't recognize and can't remember.
I can't wait till she gets back. I can't wait to hug her again, and talk about all my old friends and all her new ones. Talk about stupid stuff like the time in eigth-grade we had a baby sitting club with those same old friends, and the time I'd visited in ninth grade and Claudia Kishi had let me die her hair pink, and the time when her cat got stolen by her then-boyfriend's little sister.
Maybe talk about my dad. How much I miss him. I haven't talked about him with anyone, not even Jeff, who's watching a movie with mom at this very moment. He's such a good kid. It's his twelth birthday in a week's time. Maybe Mary Anne can help me think of a present for him. When she gets back.
Until then, I stare at the ceiling.
