Page 7 of Conception
Ugh. Men.
Thatman.
Another flash of lightning behind the house causes me to jump. The accompanying crescendo of thunder booms, wiping all thoughts of the mystery stranger from my mind. I’m torn between wanting to wait the storm out in the car and wanting to risk making a run for the house, where I’ll be safer. As an onslaught of rain pounds the windshield, I know it’s now or never.
After my heart stops racing as if I’ve just run a wicked-fast hundred-meter dash, I allow myself to lean forward and peer through the window up at the house I spent most of my summers as a kid. Grief-stricken tears fill my eyes, and I quickly wipe them away as the traitorous drops spill onto my cheeks.
“No more stalling, Amelia,” I mutter to myself.
With the rain still barreling down from the raging sky, I grab my overnight bag from the back seat, deciding to leave the rest of my luggage in the car until the rain lets up. I make a mad dash for the front door, grateful to find it unlocked. At the same time, considering that a stranger just followed me home—no matter how gorgeous he was—I hesitate to step inside. Then I remember that Grams told me to expect the house to be unlocked, as the weekly caretaker would be cleaning and filling the kitchen with supplies for me.
Once inside, I shrug out of my rain jacket and slip my thongs off my feet. Though the heat wave rolling across Middle America is in full force, the combination of my wet clothes and the blast of air conditioning evokes full-body chills. Standing in the foyer, I rub my hands up and down my arms. My eyes are instantly drawn to the family photos hanging on the wall. Just like I did, my father also spent his childhood summers here. It’s even where he met and married Mom.
“Yoo-hoo. Amelia, is that you?”
Mrs. Mayfield’s dulcet voice takes me out of my reverie and into a warm comfort zone I hadn’t anticipated. With the first genuine smile I’ve had since Grams all but pushed me out the door, I walk towards the kitchen, where I’m more than thrilled to see her pouring a cup of coffee that smells heavenly.
“I know it’s darn near one hundred degrees out there, but your grandmother told me to have a cup ready when you get here.”
This is when I realize I’m shivering. From the chill of the rain or the unexpected visitor in my car, I’m not sure. “Bless you, Mrs. Mayfield. Coffee is precisely what the doctor ordered.”
She turns around, her eyes crinkling at the sight of me. “Oh, Amelia,” she says sweetly. “It’s been too many summers since you’ve come to visit. Look how you’ve grown. You’re a woman now.”
I blush at her inspection, which causes her to chuckle. “I’m the same age as Sunny,” I remind her.
Sunny Mayfield’s been my best friend since before either of us could walk. The Mayfield family lives in a house across the lake, with Mrs. Mayfield having been the caretaker of my grandparents’ house since my dad was a boy. He became best friends with her son, so when Sunny and I were born just one month apart, we were destined to follow in their footsteps. She’s one of the reasons I always looked forward to spending my summers at the lake. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, we were inseparable, with tearful goodbyes in September. Pen pals throughout the year, we never seemed to skip a beat, even after nine months apart.
At least that’s how we were until the summer of my senior year. Until the accident that took both of my parents’ lives.
I haven’t been back to Crystal Cove since that day nearly four years ago. Instead, I packed up my belongings at the home I shared with my parents, moved in with Grams, and finished out my senior year. Grams wanted me to go to the lake house the summer following graduation, but I couldn’t bring myself to go there. Too many memories. Too many reminders.
This year? Grams put her foot down and said I was going. That or she wouldn’t pay tuition for my final year at the University of Tennessee, where I’ve been taking photography classes for the past three years. Since getting my undergraduate and following in Mom’s footsteps was number one on my lifegoals list, I had no other choice. Not that packing up and making the couple hours’ drive to the lake was easy, but after a year in a deteriorating relationship and subsequent breakup, I know I need this break.
While Dad was the meteorologist, my mom haled as the photographer of the family. She often accompanied Dad on his storm-chasing, something he loved to do in his spare time. Mom filled the house with albums of haunting skies, vibrant rainbows after a rainstorm, and even a few sinister tornadoes off in the distance.
After they passed, Mom’s prized 35mm camera became my own. Over the past few years, I’ve wished that I’d spent more time with her, learning the ins and outs of how she framed the perfect shot. I can recall countless times that I walked past her darkroom to see the bulb lit up outside, signaling that she was developing film. Not once did I have an interest in what she was doing. It wasn’t until Grams and I were going through the house, packing up their things, that my feelings changed.
I found an undeveloped roll of film, and it became my obsession to get them developed. Unfortunately, I had no clue what I was doing in the darkroom. No longer wanting to follow in my father’s footsteps, I decided to study photography in hopes of one day discovering what’s on the film.
I’ve developed copious amounts of film since my discovery, but not that roll. I’m not really sure why. At first I think it was too soon. Too real. It was all I had left of them, and a piece I think I could hold on to for as long as I needed. I guess I wasn’t ready. I’m still not sure I’ll ever be.
Now? I know I need to do this. I need find a way to move on, move beyond the trauma and really life my life again. First step? Find peace in Crystal Cove. Find peace with their loss. That’s why my goal this summer is to find out what the last pictures my mother took were, even if it breaks my heart to do so. I just wonder how long it’ll take me to muster up the strength to actually do it.
“Earth to Amelia,” Mrs. Mayfield singsongs.
I blink, my eyes coming into focus as she pushes the mug across the counter towards me.
“You look like you’re miles away.”
I plaster on a smile. “Just a long drive,” I assure her. “I would’ve been here sooner, but I hate driving in the rain.”
Understanding crosses her features. “Hopefully it will let up soon. Sunny wanted to be here, but she couldn’t get out of her shift at Mickey’s.”
I raise an eyebrow at the mention of Crystal Cove’s only bar. “Sunny’s working at Mickey’s now?” I ask. Gee, it really has been too long since we’ve talked.
Mrs. Mayfield eyes crinkle with a smile. “She started waitressing there after graduation, and now that she’s twenty-one, she’s behind the bar. Making darn good money, too. I don’t know why it came as a surprise. You know Sunny. There isn’t a stranger she’s ever met. She’s bartender, counselor, and best friend to anyone who walks through those doors.”
Mrs. Mayfield’s description of Sunny is spot-on, and it causes a sudden ache to squeeze my heart.
