Annaka Read online

  “You can crash here tonight if you like,” Tia offered. “The sofa is all yours—my bedroom is down the hall.”

  “Thanks, but with the funeral tomorrow I think I should be home tonight. I’m def down to hang out again soon, though.”

  “That makes sense. I’ll be there tomorrow. You okay getting home?”

  “Yeah, it’s only a short walk. I got this.” I stood up and stretched, and Taz did the same. I bent down and scratched behind his ears. “See you tomorrow, Tia. And thank you for tonight. I appreciate this a lot.”

  “Any time.” She walked me to the basement door. “Oh! Also, don’t forget your phone.” She handed it to me.

  “Why’d you have my phone?”

  “So I could put my number in it, of course,” she said with a smile. “Text me when you’re safe.”

  We hugged, and then I started down her driveway.

  I took a breath of the night air and heard a car driving slowly down the dirt road. I followed the moon to my grandparents’ place and counted street lights glowing through the trees. Some Yarmouth side streets didn’t have crosswalks, so I walked as close to the side as I could; local traffic was smart enough to drive closer to the middle of the road. I could feel the alcohol make its way through my veins and I had a smile on my face from spending time with Tia. I still couldn’t believe she’d held on to that drawing. It was nice to connect with her, and it was even better to just…get away from everything else. As I got closer, I was sad knowing how broken my childhood home felt.

  But broken or not, this was our home for the next little bit.

  I found the road towards Nan’s place, and when I got close, I finally checked my phone. Two missed calls, and three texts from Mom.

  Mom: Where are you?

  Mom: Anna, you just ran off. I need you to come back.

  Mom: Call me.

  I’m usually fast at texting back, but my phone had been on silent. I hope Mom would understand.

  All the lights inside were off, so I assumed she must have already gone to bed. When I got inside, they suddenly flicked on.

  “Shit,” I muttered to myself. I saw Mom waiting for me.

  “You know, it only takes five seconds to reply to a text,” she said. “I’ve been stressing about you.”

  “Sorry. I was at Tia’s.”

  “And you couldn’t have told me that?” She crossed her arms. “It’s really not that hard to communicate, Anna.” Then she came closer and smelled my breath.

  “And you were drinking?”

  “I….”

  “Don’t lie.”

  “Yes. We had one drink.”

  Mom gave me a serious look for a moment, then it was followed by a sigh.

  “I’ll let it go. This one time. I know the last couple days have been difficult, but don’t make this a habit, Annaka.”

  I hated my full name. Mom only used it when she was upset, and this was my warning.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It won’t happen again, all right?” I said as I tried to make my way upstairs.

  “Anna, wait,” Mom called out. “We need to talk for a minute.”

  My shoulders dropped. I didn’t know what else there was to talk about.

  “What is it?” I asked, coming back down the stairs.

  “Listen, I was talking to Lillian today…. Your grandmother

  —she’s, well, she’s doing a lot worse than I thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “And I heard something happened outside earlier tonight.”

  I sighed. “Yeah.” I wanted to forget that happened, but I knew I couldn’t lie to myself. “She…didn’t know who I was. Treated me like a complete stranger.”

  It hurt. A lot. My eyes began to tear even thinking about it. Nan’s eyes didn’t light up the way they used to when she looked into mine. She didn’t ask me how my day was, or even wonder if we shared a past. I was a stranger to her, and it dug deep. More than I thought it would.

  “I’m so, so sorry, Anna.” Mom looked at me. “I know what we spoke about on the drive, but a part of me was holding hope.” She shook her head. “I wanted you to have more time with her before this happened. I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t know what to say. We had so many opportunities to return here and visit, but Mom never wanted to. Mom had Halifax as her home base when it never felt like home to me. Home was in Yarmouth, where the houses were by the shore, where a community actually felt like family, where we could rest in a field to see the stars in the sky. Yarmouth was a place of magic and nostalgia, but now it was filled with so much grief and loss. This wasn’t home anymore. I wanted to go back to Halifax, finish school, and leave the past behind, as much as it hurt.

  I shook myself back to the present. “What else did you want to talk about?”

  Mom paused, and then she sighed and said, “Listen, we’re going to have to get comfortable here.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we have to stay here for a while.”

  “What do you mean ‘a while’? I have to finish grade eleven. I was planning to get a job and save up money this summer. For university.”

  “I know, I know,” she replied, putting her hands up like she was surrendering. “But we can’t always catch the curveballs. Life isn’t always as straightforward as that.”

  “You mean not for me,” I retorted. “You always did what you wanted to do. I never had a say. I never had a say about moving to Halifax. I never had a say about leaving Grampy and Nan. I never had a say about any of it.” Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the long drive, but the idea of staying made me feel anxious. I loved the Yarmouth of my childhood, but with Grampy gone, and with Nan not even remembering who I am…I felt like I could barely process any of it.

  “Listen, Anna, I know this is a lot—”

  “It’s always a lot with you,” I growled. “It’s never anything easy.”

  I stormed up the steps and made my way to the room at the end of the hallway. I opened the door to see fading yellow walls, blue blankets on the bed, and the familiar curve of the ceiling. It was the first bedroom that I ever called mine. Most nights Grampy would read to me until I fell asleep. It dawned upon me that tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights. It would be a sleepless one. I noticed a black dress lying across my bed beside my suitcase. I wish Mom didn’t feel like she had to micromanage me.

  I moved my suitcase towards the closet. When I pulled open the door, I could see my name on the wall in Grampy’s handwriting. Beside my name were measurements with their corresponding years: 2007, 2008, 2009, and 2010. My frown faded when I saw it; they never erased it, never painted over it. They kept it all there. I remember Grampy was always so excited every few months to see how much I’d grown. I always wanted to be as tall as him, but I seemed to stop growing a few inches shorter than Mom. Seeing that took me away from my anger, and put a smile on my face.

  I moved my suitcase into the closet and as I got further inside, I saw even more measurements.

  “Wait a sec, these aren’t mine,” I said out loud.

  It was my childish printing instead of Grampy’s neat script. Above the measurements I read his name in my messy writing: Clay.

  Could he still be here? I wondered. As soon as I did, I tried to bury that thought. There was already so much going on, and I couldn’t carry that question on top of everything else.

  I tried lying in bed but sleep was the last thing I could focus on. I couldn’t come to terms with the fact that Grampy was gone. I couldn’t admit that this house was missing a loud voice. Moonlight splashed on my bedsheets through the window and I could hear crickets chirping. It was almost the same feeling I had ten years ago. I want to say that it felt like home, but everything was different. It took coming back to know what emptiness felt like. As angry as I was, I was starti
ng to catch my breath as cool spring air made its way into my room. I sat up and looked at the lake outside my window. How bittersweet that view was. I shouldn’t have taken everything out on Mom the way I had. I knew she was trying her hardest, and that was probably the last thing she needed to hear from me.

  As the anger left, I could feel regret taking its place. As messy as this entire situation was, it was a surprise to all of us. I had never seen Mom cry until that night; there was a world of vulnerability inside of her that I never got the chance to see.

  It didn’t take long for the cool air to become chilly, but I liked the cold. I tried closing my eyes again. Then I heard a creak above my head. It sounded like it came from the attic.

  I was pretty sure Mom was asleep, and I doubted Nan would be up there this time of night. So I ignored it. But it didn’t take long for it to happen again, and this time a bit of dust fell down on my forehead.

  “Ugh.” I sat up and could hear more creaking. “Mom, is that you?” I called.

  There was no response.

  A piece of me was curious; it had been forever since I was up there. Birds would sometimes get stuck up there when I was younger, and Nan would have to go up and open the window so they could fly out. I didn’t want a little bird to stay trapped.

  I made my way up the steps and at the top, the first thing I noticed was the smell: lemons and cigarette smoke. Grampy was a smoker but tried to hide it most of the time; the attic wasn’t the smartest idea. He would use lemon-scented air fresheners to hide the odour. We all knew what he was doing anyway. He thought he was being sneaky, but men always think they’re one step ahead when they’re full of shit.

  It was cold up there but everything still looked more or less the same. Just with more dust and a few extra spiderwebs. But there was no bird up there that I could see. The cigarette smell was still strong—Grampy must have been smoking up here just a few days before. A part of me held hope this was just a bad magic trick, but it wasn’t.

  When I walked on the floor it creaked beneath my feet, and I knew there was no way a bird was heavy enough to make that sound. My curiosity piqued when I saw an old trunk at the other end of the attic. Something told me to go for it, so I did. I popped it open and found old blankets, folded-up curtains, and I could feel a few things at the bottom. I pulled up an old photo album. My heart almost leaped out of my chest as I sat down and opened it.

  The first photo was of Grampy and Nan kissing outside of the house with a “Sold” sign in front of them. They both looked so young and happy. It must have been when Grampy started teaching. I flipped a few pages and found a baby photo of Mom that made me smile. I had never seen her baby photos before. I moved farther along to see her first day of school. She was wearing overalls and her hair was in braids just like me. It made my heart melt. Mom usually wore her hair in a natural Afro these days, but it was cute to see her rocking my iconic look. I continued until I saw me. I looked real young, about four or five. Mom, Grampy, Nana, and I all stood in front of the house—and I could see it was the family that made this place a home. I really needed that. I kept flipping, close to the other end. I found what looked like a photo from ages ago; it showed a young woman, a teenager. I had never seen her before. She was a little bigger, and had long dark hair and skin. She was sitting, smiling, in a rocking chair.

  “Who are you?” I asked aloud. After a moment, I put the album away and kept digging.

  I eventually felt another book. I pulled it up to see it full of dust, but recognized it as the dark grey journal Grampy had given me on my first day of school years ago.

  “Woah, there you are,” I said with a smile.

  It wasn’t in the best shape—the pages were wrinkled and looked water damaged. They felt real stiff but I flipped through it anyway. I opened up to the first few pages and found a drawing of what I thought looked like me. Not to brag, but most kids’ drawings were pretty bad. In my case, it didn’t take too long for me to learn a thing or two from Mom. I flipped through a few more pages to see the small grey boy I had drawn when I was a child. Clay.

  “Miss ya, buddy.” I smiled and put a hand on the page. I moved past the drawings and found the entries I made each night. Beside one entry was a drawing of Grampy giving me a piggyback by the lighthouse that said “Cape Forchu” above it. It was a bittersweet feeling. I think the hardest thing about seeing it, was realizing I’d never get a piggyback up that hill again. I didn’t want to think about it, so I closed the journal.

  I had never said it out loud until tonight, but deep down I’d always resented how Mom took me away from Yarmouth. I hated how she never wanted to come visit. I hated how I was always an afterthought in her story. I never got to see Grampy or Nan before everything changed. I had so much deep-rooted anger towards her because of it. The only family I ever had was either gone or was slipping away. I thought about the what ifs, and what life could have been like if I had stayed—I could have spent more time with Grampy, I could have made more memories with Nan. I remember asking Mom when we might return, and it was the same old script:

  “This summer isn’t likely,” she would say after I asked eagerly.

  “You say that every summer,” I’d reply, annoyed.

  “I promise, we will visit soon.”

  But we never did. And that was the hardest part about being back now—everything that ever meant anything to me was gone. I dropped the journal on the ground, tears landing beside it.

  My life could have been totally different. I could have had a family—more than just me and Mom. I could have even met my dad. As it was, the only father figure I ever had known was going to be buried in the morning.

  I reached for the journal, but before I could touch it, I heard rustling from the other side of the room. It startled me so bad that I stumbled back, landing on the floor.

  “Who’s there?” I called out.

  There was no reply.

  It was probably a raccoon, and those things were terrifying—my absolute least favourite animal. When I reached for the journal again, I noticed its spine was damaged. Once I touched it I felt resistance, like someone was pulling it.

  “What the hell?” I was beginning to scare myself. I got to my feet and pulled, but was met with an equal amount of resistance. Then suddenly, I was pulled so hard I fell forward onto the ground.

  The journal hit the floor too. I scrambled to grab it, only to see it had fallen open to a page with a drawing of Clay and me sitting on the front porch of the house. The last journal entry I wrote before we left. God, that had been such a bittersweet day; bitter to be leaving, but with sweet thoughts of coming back.

  I looked up to see who was there, but everything was gone. I found myself surrounded by a pitch-black darkness. The walls, the floor below me, the ceiling, they were all gone. Only the journal was lying in front of me.

  “What the hell is going on?!” I looked around in a panic.

  The darkness formed into new shapes around me. My surroundings shifted, transformed, and faded into existence. Suddenly, I felt the rocky path outside of my grandparents’ house beneath my knees, and the smell of warm summer air touch my face; crickets chirped in the distance, and I watched as wet grass started to sprout around me.

  How was this happening?

  Then I heard a voice that made me freeze. Someone from my past. An innocent, shy, playful voice.

  “How long are you going to be gone?”

  It was…Clay.

  My heart sank to my stomach. I looked down the path that formed beneath me and could see the two of us sitting on the porch of my grandparents’ house. Clay was wearing one of my old T-shirts—we used to share clothes—and I wore a dress that Nan had given me for my birthday one year. I was only a kid.

  “Not forever, silly,” I heard my younger voice answer. “We’ll be back soon. But I want you to stay here; it’s safer. The city can be a scary place.
” I heard my own voice echo in my ears.

  “I don’t wanna stay. I wanna go with you. I don’t wanna be alone.” His plead echoed too. This was the morning I told Clay Mom and I were leaving.

  “I know, Clay,” I soothed. “But Mom said we’ll be back before you know it. She said the apartment we’re moving into could be small. I don’t know if you’d be comfortable there.”

  I was the only one he ever wanted to reveal himself to. He was afraid bad things would happen if he showed himself to Grampy or Nan. And maybe he was right. But I knew if I brought him along, there would be a greater chance of him being seen.

  “You promise you’ll be back soon?” he asked with teary brown eyes.

  “I do.” I raised a pinky finger, and he wrapped his grey one around mine, followed by a hug. That was the last memory I had with Clay before we left….

  I sat there with those bottled feelings as everything around me disappeared again. I closed my eyes, placing my head in my hands.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the attic like nothing had happened. I touched the wooden floor to make sure it was real.

  “Okay, okay,” I said aloud. “What the hell was that? What just happened here?!”

  “I really didn’t expect to see you today.”

  I heard that voice again, and it caused a shiver to go down my spine. His voice wasn’t as playful, shy, or innocent. It was deeper, more mature, and…sad. I looked up to see a familiar face. It was still soft and grey, but older.

  “What the hell.” I moved back and couldn’t say anything. My heart began pumping. Why was he still there?

  “Cl-Clay?”

  “You remember me,” he said with a surprised, but not happy, face.

  He was so much bigger than the last time I had seen him. He was wearing a light brown V-neck that was a bit baggy on him, and black dress pants where the legs touched the ground before his feet. Were those my grandfather’s clothes?