My mom chose this town because it reminded her of the town in Michigan where her parents had a summer home. My grandparents are gone now, but before they died, my mom and I would go visit them for a week every summer. That was when it was just her and me and we lived in Ohio. When I was nine, she met Greg. They got married when I was twelve, then we moved to a suburb of Chicago. A few years later, my mom had Ben.
The first summer we lived here was right after I graduated from high school. I remember being mad that I had to live here instead of Chicago where all my friends were, but my friends ended up coming down and visiting that year so it turned out to be okay. The next summer, fewer friends visited. They'd moved on with their lives, which is what happens as time passes and everyone goes their separate ways. I'd finished my first year at Northwestern and hadn't kept in touch with them, except for Trina, my best friend from high school. But I never saw her. We just talked on the phone. She goes to fashion school in New York and had an internship there that summer.
The accident happened last May, soon after we'd moved here for what would have been our third summer. My mom, Greg, and Ben were on their way to the Wisconsin Dells, a town that has water slides, amusement parks, mini golf, and other stuff for kids. It gets super crowded during the summer so they went in May hoping to avoid all the people. I was going to go with them but then decided to stay here. I'd just finished a week of finals and wanted to veg out in front of the TV for a few days.
But now I wish I'd gone with them. If I had, I wouldn't still be here. I know that sounds morbid, but it's how I feel. I shouldn't be here. I should be with the rest of my family. They were all I had. I don't have grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. Not even on my dad's side. My dad died when I was a baby. He went biking one afternoon and got hit by a car. He was an only child and his parents passed away a few years ago.
So now I'm left with no one. Feeling lost. Alone. Unable to move forward. I feel like I'm frozen in time, even though the days and months keep going by. Every day I do the exact same thing. Get up at seven. Have breakfast. Shower. Check the mail. Watch TV. Go to work. Get back from work. Eat dinner. Watch TV. Go to bed at ten. It's the same every day. And on Saturdays, I clean the house, do the laundry, mow the grass, and go to the grocery store. I have a schedule and I never veer from it. The schedule provides order, and I need order to get through the chaos in my head.
"I need to get to work," I say to Lou, focusing on my cookies.
He sighs, shaking his head as he walks away. He's frustrated with me. Or maybe he thinks I'm crazy.
I hope I'm not crazy. When I do these obsessive behaviors, like the counting, I tell myself it's because I'm grieving, and everyone grieves their own way.
The counting started after the police showed up at my door, telling me my family was dead. When I was little, my mom used to make me count to ten when I was upset in order to calm myself down. It always worked, except I'd usually have to count to twenty.
As I got older, I no longer used the counting trick, which is probably why I fought with my mom so much during my teen years. I'd get angry about something and take it out on my mom. She put up with my behavior, saying it was just a phase I was going through as I exerted my independence. She taught high school so she was used to dealing with teens. But looking back, I regret how I acted back then. Getting drunk. Breaking curfew. Dating guys she didn't approve of. But at least I managed to keep my grades up and graduated near the top of my class.
My mom was always proud of me no matter what, but I know I was a challenge to live with during those years. When she had Ben, I thought he was my replacement. Her re-do kid because the first one was messed up. So I didn't like him at first, but that quickly changed. He was freaking adorable, with his chubby cheeks, those dimples, that mop of brown hair, and that sweet smile. He smiled all the time. And laughed. He had the cutest laugh.
When Ben was around two, I noticed how much he watched everything I did and that's when I started straightening up my act. I was his big sister and he looked up to me and I wanted him to be proud of me. And he was. To him, I was like a super hero. He was only three when I went off to college, and even though I was only a half hour away, he was so sad when I moved into the dorms. But he'd get so excited when I'd come home. He'd follow me around the house and climb all over me when I tried to watch TV. I called him my little monkey man because his little arms and legs would cling to me like a monkey. One day, he was out shopping with my mom and spotted a stuffed monkey and asked Mom to buy it for me so I wouldn't forget him when I was at college. So she did.
I still have that stuffed monkey. Ben set it on my lap after he hugged and kissed me goodbye before they left that day. He said the monkey would take care of me until he got back. He begged me to go on the trip with them, but I told him I was too tired from school and promised him we'd have fun when he got back. We'd go swimming at the lake and the pool and whatever else he wanted to do.