I give a tiny shake of my head; the simple act forces a painful groan out of me. Paige pulls me against her and lets me cry into her shirt. And then the three of us wearily stagger down a newly awakened Hollywood Boulevard without saying a word.
The car’s right where we left it in the parking garage. It still works, even after the beating it took. So there’s that. I lie in the backseat of the Sunfire, my head resting in Paige’s lap. I don’t remember the car ride, or falling asleep, or being carried up to my room, but it all must have happened, because when I blink my eyes open next, I’m in bed. The sun spills light through the windows, and Bishop is fast asleep in the wooden chair at my computer desk, his head tucked uncomfortably into his chest. I remember Mom, what happened, and my heart aches so intensely it chokes the breath out of me. I burrow back under the covers until sleep dulls the pain.
22
Bishop is gone. A block of sunlight streams through the window, warming my cheeks and lighting up the dust floating above my bed. Cicadas chirp a morning chorus. Children yell and squeal as they play in their yards, and someone nearby mows their lawn. Today’s just another day. My world came crashing down yesterday; my gut and my heart and my head hurt so profoundly I can’t imagine a worse pain. Mom is gone and is never coming back, and today’s just another day.
I want to scream. I want to scream until this hole inside me goes away.
Knuckles rap softly on my door, and Paige pokes her head inside. “Oh good, you’re up.” She steps inside, only to shift awkwardly at the entrance.
“Is she really gone?” I whisper, so quietly I’m surprised she hears me.
She climbs onto the bed and pulls me into a hug. I want to scream, but instead I cry.
We stay in bed all day.
I wake Wednesday morning to clanging in the kitchen. For a bittersweet moment I think it’s Mom, but reality rears its ugly head as I wake fully, and I remember she’s dead.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My bones creak from underuse, and when I stand, I waver for a minute before finding my balance. A film coats my teeth, and my bladder feels like it’s going to explode.
I leave Paige snoring in bed and slog across the hallway to the bathroom. Mom’s toothbrush glares at me from the holder next to the sink. I know if I pull open the shower curtain, I’ll find her special smelly soaps sitting in the rack under the showerhead. The ache inside me roars to life. Getting out of bed was a bad idea.
But I do want to know who’s in my kitchen. I walk downstairs toward the sound of pots banging and find Aunt Penny elbow-deep in pancake mix.
“I’m making pancakes,” she helpfully points out.
I try to force a smile, but it’s like those muscles don’t work anymore.
Aunt Penny angrily whisks the pancakes with a cheerful smile. It’s so bizarre to see her smiling right now that I sink into a chair at the kitchen table and just watch her. Paige walks in moments later.
“Hope you’re hungry!” Aunt Penny says.
With a flourish she places a heaping platter of crumbly pancakes on the table. Paige bravely forks one onto a plate and cuts a small bite, while Penny eagerly watches.
“Well?” she asks as Paige swallows.
“You probably should stick to acting,” Paige finally says.
Aunt Penny’s smile breaks away and she dissolves into tears that leave her gasping for breath.
“I was just joking!” Paige cries. “Oh my God, I didn’t think you’d get so upset.” She looks to me for help.
“I just don’t get it,” Aunt Penny hiccups, messy tears streaming down her face. “Why Gwen?”
I plug my ears like I’m five. I just don’t want to hear this. But of course I do anyway.
“What have the police said?” Paige asks.
“That it was a random crime,” Penny answers, shaking her head. “A mugging gone bad.”
It’s a ridiculous story, but with just one glance I know it’s the story Paige and I will run with.
Aunt Penny tears at her hair. “How could she leave me? I don’t know how to do this without her. I don’t know how to raise a kid!” She takes a deep breath and sobers up, chewing on the corners of her fingernails as she paces the kitchen. “My apartment is too small for three girls, let alone four. I’ll have to move in here. I wonder what the mortgage payments are for a place like this. Indie, do you know what the mortgage payments are? Oh God, why did I quit the Bistro? The tips weren’t that bad. I wonder if they’d take me back if I apologized about the whole plate incident.”
And then it hits me. Aunt Penny is my new guardian.