Arrival
"Where exactly did you say Grandma lived, again?"
"Forks, Washington state. An awfully rainy place, from what I can remember, so I hope you packed an anorak." I groaned and pressed my cheek against the glass of the car window now misted with condensation.
"How long until we get there?" I said. We had been travelling for miles, through city and desert and now wet green forest.
"Ten minutes max, sweetie." Two hours later and the car cruised through a small town nestled in the wake of towering sequoias. The town looked dead, with a handful of shops, one café, and one school. I was struggling to think up anything I could do here, unless I suddenly developed a passion for trees. Dad pulled down a road running alongside the edge of town, and parked outside a white wooden house with a neat front garden and a dog tied to a post of a fence.
"We're here." I stepped out of the car. The very air I breathed was moist, and it clung to the back of my throat, making me feel very claustrophobic. I hoisted my suitcase onto my shoulders and made towards the house. The dog launched itself and me and began barking.
"DAD!" I screamed, trying to beat the dog off with my bag. Suddenly someone had pulled the dog away. I breathed a sigh of relief.
"This is Ralph, and he wouldn't hurt a fly." I looked up and saw an old woman with long grey hair clutching the dog by its collar. "I hate dogs," I said. I had always hated dogs – puppies, big dogs, small dogs, yapping dogs or simply ones that lazed around by an open fire. They smelt, they drooled and they were loud. I much preferred cats.
The woman laughed, a laugh that was patronising and grated my nerves. "Well, sugar-pie, you're going to have to put up with him, you're going to be living here after all."
"Cordelia, you remember your Grandma May, don't you?" said dad.
I dragged up memories of past family reunions, until six years ago when grandma hurt her hip and was too sick to travel the journey to Boston.
"Come here and say hello to your old grandma, hey, Delia? You've grown so big." I was reluctantly enveloped in my grandmother's hug that smelt of flour and butter and oatmeal cookies.
"Baby, you've been through so much. Let's take you inside and I'll give you some cookies and milk." As I was dragged inside, I bit back the remark that I was sixteen, not five, and that I greatly despised the nickname Delia.
The house was enormous, twice the size of mine, with a long kitchen and a tall entrance hall. I sat myself at the kitchen counter and nibbled my way through a plate of oatmeal cookies, gently declining the offer of milk and opting for soda instead.
Dad dumped the last of the bags upstairs and came into the kitchen. "Cordy, I'm gonna head home, now, before it gets dark. You'll give your mum and I a ring, and email everyday?" I nodded. If he was leaving me here I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a reply. Dad pecked me on the cheek. "Be good, darling, and don't screw this up. You're turning over a new leaf, use this opportunity wisely." I nodded again. Dad hovered for a moment, almost waiting for me to say something, anything, that would lessen his guilt about leaving his last remaining child in the middle of nowhere. But I stayed silent. "Love you," he whispered. I nodded. He sighed, and left the room. The front door slammed, then the car engine gave a grating growl before fading into the distance.
As the final sounds of the engine died away, and dad drove ever further away, I had never felt so lonely in my life. Then I put my head in my hands and cried.