Aunt Amy was cleaning up in the kitchen and I went downstairs to help her. She talked to Dad as if they’d been friends for a lifetime, and I guess they had been. I never saw it that way before—how adults have lives on top of lives on top of lives. Layers. Maybe that was why Ed Heffner told me I shouldn’t have regrets now. Maybe there were too many regrets to come. Or maybe now was the time to stop having them so there weren’t too many later. Or something.
“You looked like you had a good time,” Aunt Amy said.
“It was great. Thank you so much.” I said this and realized I wanted to send at least one thank-you note… to her.
“How about we sit and open those cards now?” She dried her hands on a tea towel and cracked open one of Dad’s beers. He cracked one open too, and then went out to the patio to blow out the citronella candles and tidy up. I grabbed another root beer.
Nearly every card had a gift card in it. Some were bookstore gift cards. Some were clothing store gift cards. Online store gift cards. Restaurant gift cards. Home furnishing gift cards.
Aunt Amy counted the cash value. I’m not sure why. Maybe that’s what normal people do.
“Three hundred and seventy-five dollars,” she said. “That’ll buy a heck of a lot of books.” She handed me an unopened envelope. “From me and my family,” she said, as if I wasn’t aware of her husband and fragile-necked children.
The card was pink and it had a cartoon of a graduate on the front—a female graduate with high heels on. And jewelry. Lots of jewelry.
The inside was blank, and Aunt Amy had written in it. I could only read what she wrote when I moved the hundred-dollar check out of the way.
My sister was the only sibling I had. When I lost her, I felt like I lost everything. But then, there was you.
I wanted to come around more and see you but my own family grew. Your dad would keep me updated as you went from little girl to big girl to teenager, and all the while, I prayed that you would grow into the type of woman Darla was.
You have.
You are creative, resourceful, intelligent, strong, funny and beautiful.
I don’t want to make you sad on such a special day, but I want you to know how proud Darla is of you today. She loved you so much and I can’t imagine how much you must miss her.
Keep in touch, Glory. Let me know if you need anything. Let me know if you want to talk. Maybe I can fill a tiny piece of the hole she left, the way you fill a piece of the hole she left in me.
I love you. Congratulations.
Dad came in then, which was probably bad timing. If I could have, I would have sat and talked to Aunt Amy about my mother for the rest of the night. Darla’s darkroom didn’t have the answers. Why People Take Pictures didn’t have the answers. Dad didn’t really have the answers. No one would have all the answers except Darla. That’s how suicide goes. No one has all the answers except the person you can’t ask anymore.
But Aunt Amy would be able to talk about so much because she lost a sister to suicide and that couldn’t have been easy either. But now Dad was there, jovial and a little tipsy and asking if we wanted to play Scrabble.
“Or poker if you want. Amy was always a shark at poker.” I had to dry my eyes quietly on my sleeve and Amy did, too. On her sleeve, not mine. Dad noticed. “Or… I can go back to the porch and mind my own business if you want.”
“No,” Aunt Amy said. “It’s fine. Stay here. I’d love to kick your ass in poker, Roy, but only if we play for real money.”
“You two finish talking and come out when you’re ready. I’ve been practicing, Amy. Don’t be too cocky.” He walked out of the room.
Aunt Amy called after him, “Playing a computer isn’t real practice, you know!”
Then we looked at each other.
Transmission from Aunt Amy: Her grandson will run a safe house for orphans and will find them new homes, all under the radar of the new laws and New American Army. The safe house looks very familiar. It will be Ellie’s barn. The one across the road.
“I want to talk about a lot of things,” I said. “But not tonight.”
“Let’s make time this summer. I have time.”
I had beginner’s luck and beat Dad and Aunt Amy on my first hand of poker. Apparently I had a full house, which doesn’t look like much, but it beat Dad’s pair of queens and Aunt Amy’s three of a kind.
After that, Amy wiped the floor with us and Dad had to pay her sixty bucks.
When she left, I went upstairs and piled my gift cards and graduation cards on my dresser and I changed into my pajamas. I felt like a snack, so I went back downstairs.
Dad motioned for me to sit down.
“About that law,” he said. “I looked it up.”
I nodded.
“I think your mom would want me to get it back.”
I nodded again, but my insides twisted because now it all seemed wrong. Now everything was different. Maybe because of the party. Maybe because of the bat. Maybe because of graduating from high school. Maybe because—just because.
“I could die anytime and I wouldn’t want to leave you with that mess. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Nah. You won’t die until you’re old,” I said. “Trust me.”
He gave me a look. “I guess I should have talked to you about everything before this week. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “The details were… awkward. I get it.”
I had an urge to talk him out of taking the land back, but I knew he was right. We did have to get it back. I knew Darla had given it as a gift, but it was always going to be temporary. You can’t have a free place to stay for nineteen years and not think the end is coming.
It’s a little like being a kid and graduating high school and moving on.