and sobbed.
Camille didn’t want to hang out with me anymore. I was
disappointing Dad who I knew loved me dearly. If I didn’t help
Sophia I would disappoint someone who had been lost for decades. I
didn’t know what to do so I opted for Plan C. I cried myself to
sleep.
CHAPTER 7
I felt much better the next morning. I still didn’t know what I
was going to do, but I felt like everything would work out okay. I
took a quick shower and dressed by 8 o’clock. Considering that it
was the first full day of summer break, as well as the fact that it
was a Saturday, I was willing to bet that I was the only teenager
in all of Marion up at that hour. I felt so good that I even took
time to put a little makeup on and ditched my usual weekend
ponytail for an attempt at a hairstyle. Dad was reading his
newspaper, of course, in the living room that morning. He offered
to make me pancakes and I took him up on his offer. It was a rare
occurrence and I couldn’t help but question his motives.
“ Jamie, I know your break is
just starting, but I got a call this morning and I need to go to
Chicago for a conference on Tuesday. I’ll be gone for 4 or 5 days.
I’m really sorry. You know I try to keep my summer travel to a
minimum, but I have to go on this trip.”
“ Don’t worry about it. I can
find something to do to stay busy. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
I kissed him on his cheek for added emphasis.
When Dad traveled without me, he
usually notified a neighbor, but I was ultimately left on my own.
To some people the arrangement might seem odd, but Dad checked in
often and there was never a problem. Dad’s trip to Chicago was
actually a blessing in disguise. If he were out of town, I wouldn’t
have to be so cautious with Sophia in the house.
“ I’m glad you aren’t upset,
honey. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of money for you in your
household account before I leave. And no wild parties.” He
laughed.
Dad knew me well enough to know that
it would never even occur to me to throw a party while he was gone.
I really wasn’t a typical teenager.
I spent the rest of the morning
helping Dad catch up on the household to-do list. I cleaned my
bathroom, vacuumed the living room, and washed some laundry. I even
mopped the kitchen floor.
Our home was nothing fancy, but it
worked perfectly for us. We once had the American dream: a modern
three bedroom, two bathroom home on a quarter of an acre in the
same family-oriented subdivision as Camille and many of the other
students at my school. We moved out shortly after Mom left us. Our
first home was only a couple of blocks south of our new home and
was similar in square footage, but memories of Mom were in every
room and Dad couldn’t stand being there. It was as if the walls
still breathed her scent in and out, in and out. The new home was
an old two and a half story home built sometime in the 1890’s,
which meant it was well over 100 years old.
My room and its impressive ocean view
was the best part of our house. In one corner of the room a small
circular staircase that led to the attic. From the attic you could
step out through a tall window to a miniature widow’s walk. History
says that widow’s walks were built on coastal homes so women could
watch the ocean while waiting for their seafaring men to come home.
The idea of ladies in long flowing dresses pacing the floor above
me as I slept sometimes gave me the creeps. Dad wasn’t a big fan of
me going out on the roof so we rarely even went into the attic. The
staircase leading to it had become an extension of my closet and I
often threw my clothes there when I was too lazy to hang them up or
toss them into the hamper.
Previous owners had done an
amazing job of keeping the home in good condition, but when dealing
with an old home there are always little maintenance jobs to do. It
had become a project for me and Dad and we genuinely enjoyed
working on it together. Sometimes we spent his rare days off going
to antique
Camille didn’t want to hang out with me anymore. I was
disappointing Dad who I knew loved me dearly. If I didn’t help
Sophia I would disappoint someone who had been lost for decades. I
didn’t know what to do so I opted for Plan C. I cried myself to
sleep.
CHAPTER 7
I felt much better the next morning. I still didn’t know what I
was going to do, but I felt like everything would work out okay. I
took a quick shower and dressed by 8 o’clock. Considering that it
was the first full day of summer break, as well as the fact that it
was a Saturday, I was willing to bet that I was the only teenager
in all of Marion up at that hour. I felt so good that I even took
time to put a little makeup on and ditched my usual weekend
ponytail for an attempt at a hairstyle. Dad was reading his
newspaper, of course, in the living room that morning. He offered
to make me pancakes and I took him up on his offer. It was a rare
occurrence and I couldn’t help but question his motives.
“ Jamie, I know your break is
just starting, but I got a call this morning and I need to go to
Chicago for a conference on Tuesday. I’ll be gone for 4 or 5 days.
I’m really sorry. You know I try to keep my summer travel to a
minimum, but I have to go on this trip.”
“ Don’t worry about it. I can
find something to do to stay busy. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
I kissed him on his cheek for added emphasis.
When Dad traveled without me, he
usually notified a neighbor, but I was ultimately left on my own.
To some people the arrangement might seem odd, but Dad checked in
often and there was never a problem. Dad’s trip to Chicago was
actually a blessing in disguise. If he were out of town, I wouldn’t
have to be so cautious with Sophia in the house.
“ I’m glad you aren’t upset,
honey. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of money for you in your
household account before I leave. And no wild parties.” He
laughed.
Dad knew me well enough to know that
it would never even occur to me to throw a party while he was gone.
I really wasn’t a typical teenager.
I spent the rest of the morning
helping Dad catch up on the household to-do list. I cleaned my
bathroom, vacuumed the living room, and washed some laundry. I even
mopped the kitchen floor.
Our home was nothing fancy, but it
worked perfectly for us. We once had the American dream: a modern
three bedroom, two bathroom home on a quarter of an acre in the
same family-oriented subdivision as Camille and many of the other
students at my school. We moved out shortly after Mom left us. Our
first home was only a couple of blocks south of our new home and
was similar in square footage, but memories of Mom were in every
room and Dad couldn’t stand being there. It was as if the walls
still breathed her scent in and out, in and out. The new home was
an old two and a half story home built sometime in the 1890’s,
which meant it was well over 100 years old.
My room and its impressive ocean view
was the best part of our house. In one corner of the room a small
circular staircase that led to the attic. From the attic you could
step out through a tall window to a miniature widow’s walk. History
says that widow’s walks were built on coastal homes so women could
watch the ocean while waiting for their seafaring men to come home.
The idea of ladies in long flowing dresses pacing the floor above
me as I slept sometimes gave me the creeps. Dad wasn’t a big fan of
me going out on the roof so we rarely even went into the attic. The
staircase leading to it had become an extension of my closet and I
often threw my clothes there when I was too lazy to hang them up or
toss them into the hamper.
Previous owners had done an
amazing job of keeping the home in good condition, but when dealing
with an old home there are always little maintenance jobs to do. It
had become a project for me and Dad and we genuinely enjoyed
working on it together. Sometimes we spent his rare days off going
to antique
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