I stared out the window absentmindedly as my father rambled on about Aunt Elinor. Honestly, I didn't want to see her. But what choice did a 12 year old have? Father couldn't raise me alone. He needed help; and the only living relative that I had was Aunt Elinor.
"Dad, what happened to mother?" It was a sudden question that I knew the answer to. I always asked him the same question so reality didn't pound me into a perfect child.
He was silent for a moment. When he finally did speak, it was quiet and numb sounding. "Meggie, you know what happened." I scratched at my itchy scarf that hung around my neck like a noose.
"But I want you to tell me again." I said, my heart tugging at the corners for that longing that I always had for a mother.
"When you were a baby, I read a book." He began. Questions were already forming in my head, the same ones that he never answered. "Same characters came out, and in return, your mother was sucked in."
"What book was it?" I asked impatiently. We were almost to Aunt Elinor's, and I knew we wouldn't –couldn't- discuss it there.
He sighed. "Meggie, I've already told you I'm not telling you which one it is. You already know that." I stomped my foot down as we screeched to a stop at Aunt Elinor's. The white house looked more like a mansion than a house, personally. "Now, behave."
I hesitated for a moment, but then opened the car door gingerly. Three large balconies stood over the front glass door, and windows that were scattered amongst the whitewash were open, the breeze blowing in like nobody's business.
"Do we have to?" I changed the subject out loud, even though my thoughts remained on my mother.
"Meggie." Father warned, opening the SUV's trunk and pulling out a couple boxes of our things.
Now, you may be thinking that my father is a strict man. But let me correct you, he isn't. Father's name is Mo, and he really loves me and books. Mo is a bookbinder, a special one at that. He can read anything you want and it comes true. We used to spend hours reading, day and night, until we got tired of reading the same book. We never read out loud, though. That's how my mother got sucked into the book, I think.
Honestly, it's an awesome thing to have. You could read people riches, shelter, rivers, just about anything you wanted. But not Dad. He thinks it's a terrible gift to have. He kicks himself harder than he needs to.
"Here, I'll help." I grabbed a tumbling box and held it in front of me. The cardboard was ice cold underneath my fingers; it was blowing around like mad.
"Can you knock on the door, Meg?" Dad heaved, piling the boxes in his hand higher and higher.
"Sure, but don't overload yourself. We can make a second trip." I called over my shoulder, reaching the front door. I raised my one hand to knock, but before I could, someone opened the door.
"And if it isn't Mortimer's daughter, Meggie!" Aunt Elinor laughed.