Mia Luce

Sunlight

The oven screamed at me from the kitchen as I was sprawled on the floor of the living room, glancing through a book called "How to be Spiritually Successful", which I found on Vanessa’s shelf. I had grabbed it out of boredom, a few minutes after I turned off the TV. It seemed like everything on was about Leah Lawrence, from the news, to MTV, to the Weather Channel. Every program I turned to, something reminded me of what I had been trying to forget.

I sat the excruciatingly dull book down and trudged into the bright kitchen. The oven door had to be struggled with because it was so old and scarcely used, but I managed to get it open, and the sweet aroma of the lemon cake I was baking wafted throughout the room. It was for the Lawrence's; I had asked Vanessa to swing me by the grocery store as we were driving home from the hospital. It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing I could think to do. I mean, that’s what you do when someone dies, you bring the family food. (I assumed.)

I donned Vanessa’s blue flowery oven mitts and carefully pulled the pan out of the oven, sighing with relief when I didn’t burn myself. I was never one for cooking. The cake would have to cool before I could frost it, so I placed it on the counter and turned on the ceiling fan to speed up the lengthy process.

An hour or so later, Vanessa left and came back with dinner. I accepted my food without knowing what it was. She liked to try a lot of different cuisine, and there was no telling where this came from. I saw the same look of half-confusion on my dad’s face, too. Dinner was quiet. The inevitable awkwardness between two divorced parents and their eighteen-year-old daughter filled the room and rang in my ears. As I was eating, I wondered distractedly what Jack was doing. Jack. I hadn’t thought of him since… five minutes ago, which was the longest time today. It’s amazing how often he was the subject of my thoughts. I felt a bit guilty, like a stalker. He shouldn’t have that much control over me.

When I finally got back to my cake, it was seven o’clock and I was thinking about Jack again. I set the canister of vanilla frosting next to the cool pan and got to work.

As I carefully swiped the frosting over the yellow surface, trying not to completely destroy it, my mind wandered away from Jack and over to Lark and her little sister. The scene somewhat unraveled itself in my head. I could imagine Leah playing in her front yard, maybe her mom turned her back for just thirty seconds… and by then she was gone. I could see a dark stranger approaching, on foot, a stranger with glistening red eyes… pale skin...

No. I was letting myself get carried away again. I had to keep these kinds of thoughts under control. I made myself wait twenty seconds before I could think again. Jumping to conclusions wasn’t good, especially in these situations. It… couldn’t be him. Not Jack. He wasn’t that kind of… v-word.

But what if? What if he lied to me? How did I sincerely know that he had told me the whole truth? He was so charming, he could get away with anything… murder, even… and I hadn’t seen him since last night, so I couldn’t exactly say he hadn’t done it…

He told me he was dangerous. He warned me to stay away. Why wasn’t I? Why did he suddenly change his mind about me?

Oh please God, not Jack! He couldn’t have done it!

Stop! I screamed at myself inside my own head. You’re supposed to be making sure this cake’s edible, that’s all! Not investigating a crime!

By the time the cake was fully frosted, I was fully irritable. I frowned at the thing in disgust. Why were cakes so cheerful? Why was I giving a cheerful cake to a grieving family? The question was so illogical that I laughed aloud. I wondered what cakes would look like if they had feelings too. Instead of being all mellow and yellow all the time, once in a while they would be glutinous gray blobs. That’s how I felt. Like a glutinous gray blob. Ugh. I hated blobs. They’re so… messy.

After deliberating whether or not to throw the non-blob in the trash, I decided to confine it to the refrigerator. Maybe that would give it some time to adjust its attitude. And it was probably too early for the family to be getting sympathy, anyway.

My sleep that night was fitful and interrupted. I had several dreams, none of which I could recall in the morning. They were at the edge of my memory, like they were teasing me. Sometime during the night my pillows disappeared off the side of my bed and I was too tired to reach for them. When the earliest signs of dawn began to appear, I awoke, tangled in my covers. I fought against them helplessly until I rolled suddenly off my bed and onto the floor. My whole body hit the wood hard, and I groaned and cursed under my breath.

A happy, tweety little bird was chirping somewhere close to my window. Stupid bird. The bright sun filtered through the curtains and made my room a pool of golden light. Stupid sun. I was blinded when I stumbled toward the door. This was odd weather. It was never sunny here. That was… a rule, almost.

I headed robotically for the shower, vaguely recalling that the date was February twenty-sixth. Spring break would be here in just a few weeks. What would I do? Stare at the wall, probably. I thought about Jack as the scalding hot water ran over me. I welcomed the heat, too tired to reach for the soap, and stood like that until I was clean enough. I dried off and dressed.

My dad was lounged on the couch watching ESPN when I entered the living room, my hair wet and a toothbrush in my mouth. He sat up lazily, his hair comically messed up and his expression aloof.

“Morning,” he murmured over the sports announcer on TV who was raving about some touchdown or home run or something. “Sleep well?”

“No,” I said truthfully. I glanced at the clock in the mantelpiece. It read ten forty-five. What was with my sleep pattern lately?

“I’m going over to the Lawrence’s house later to bring them that cake,” I said randomly.

“Fine with me. I won’t hold you back.” He gazed at me strangely and then opened the newspaper that had been sitting on the coffee table. I stared at the carpet for a few seconds before stomping back up the stairs to finish brushing my teeth.

When I came back down, Vanessa’s voice called me into the kitchen.

“Good morning, honey,” she simpered, rifling through a stack of bills and such on the kitchen counter.

“Hey,” I muttered back, a lame greeting. I wasn’t feeling all that enthusiastic. Maybe there was something wrong with me. Aren’t normal people happier on weekends? Not me. And I knew the exact reason why.

I only got to see Jack when I was at school.

“Are you feeling better?” Vanessa continued, casually tossing a letter over her shoulder.

“I wasn’t feeling bad in the first place, Mom,” I reasoned. My eyes watched the envelope flutter to the floor. It was addressed to “Misses Vanessa Waters and Campbell Harris, 441 Elm Street, Oakridge, Maine.” I picked it up.

“Did you see this?” I asked her. She acted like she hadn’t heard me. I made a weirded-out face and ripped open the envelope. Inside was a frilly little piece of paper. I pulled it out and grimaced. It was an invitation.

“You are cordially invited to the birthday party of Mrs. Kate Tanner on Friday, the second of March, at six in the evening, held in the banquet room of City Hall. This event is catered by Olive Garden and Central Square coffee company. Entertainment provided by the Karovski String Quartet. Formal dress required.”

I snickered. "Oh yeah. I forgot about this," I mumbled, recalling vaguely Vanessa babbling about some mayor's wife's birthday party a few days ago.

“Won’t it be fun?” she chimed.

“Mmm,” I mumbled, tossing the invitation on the counter. I guess it’s official, I thought. I have to go embarrass myself in front of the most important people in the city.

I pulled a loaf of bread from the pantry and stuck two pieces in the toaster oven, waiting patiently as they gradually turned brown. I buttered them hurriedly and escaped to my room.

As I nibbled on the toast, I sat on the floor and stared out the window in a complete trance. It was sickeningly sunny. Oh no. I was becoming a sun hater, like the other residents of Oakridge. My bedroom was situated so that the sunrise was always in perfect view (if it wasn’t obscured by clouds). The backyard stretched out below me, a smooth green plane of grassiness. Its border was the thick woods that seemed to enclose everything, giving the whole town a claustrophobic feeling. Here, trees were everywhere, towering oaks, scented pines, furs, hemlocks, spruces, and much more I couldn’t name. Needles and pine cones littered the grass. The leaves were all jade green, and sparkled in the rare sunlight. There were only a handful of lonely clouds in the cobalt blue sky. I was surprised to find that once my eyes got used to the unusual brightness, the sun wasn't really that bad. It brought out things you wouldn't see on an overcast day. It was all too beautiful for my current mood.

I left the remnants of my toast and my plate on the bed and picked up my car keys from the dresser. I turned them over in my hands and remembered, as I held them, how Jack had brought my car to me the day I had fainted. The metal keychain was cold, like his skin.

I said a quick, “see you later,” to my parents and found my old car in the driveway, as it should be.

I had already found Lark’s address in the phone book. She lived in Crescent Park, a neighborhood just across the street from Oakridge’s Elementary school. I glanced repeatedly, protectively, at the cake in the passenger’s seat as I drove.

I pulled up to a rather large brown cobblestone house. It had the appearance of a castle, with tiny, sharp turrets on the roof, a swerving sidewalk, and neatly manicured lawn. The porch was wide and stained a perfect white, and in front of it were multiple beds of peonies and roses. A few cars belonging to relatives, I presumed, were parked in the long driveway. I carried the lemon cake carefully up the porch steps. A small wooden sign stuck in the grass drew my eyes. It had names carved into it- “The Lawrences: Steve, Linda, Mason, Lark, Leah, Adriana.” My throat swelled up. I knocked meekly on the large, intimidating door when I reached it.

A woman with strait brown hair answered. She had deep laugh lines and crows feet. Her eyes were a sad green, set deeply in her worn face. My mood dropped significantly just at the sight of her obvious depression.

“Umm…” I began, searching for words. She looked down at the cake I was holding. “I’m a friend of Lark’s…”

“I’ll go get her, honey,” the woman said. She turned around.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-”

But it was too late. Lark was already at the door. Her normally shining eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She tried to smile, but melted before me. I stared, horrified. I was not good with crying people.

“I’m… so sorry,” I said, my voice shaky. “I, umm, brought a cake?” It sounded like a question. She and I both looked down at the pan. I blushed. The icing looked haphazard and rushed. But Lark just nodded and accepted it when I held it out. I shuffled my feet on the welcome mat.

“Will you… will you come to the f-funeral on Monday?” she asked in a squeaky voice. “It’s at ten o’clock, but if you want to go to school, that’s okay.”

“No, no, I’ll be there,” I said, taken aback by her request. I tried to pat her shoulder but just ended up looking like an idiot for swishing my hand in midair.

“It’s at the United Methodist church,” Lark muttered, rubbing her tired eyes. “On 81st.”

“Okay.” I didn’t know what to say after that, so I just waved glumly. She gave me a sad returning wave and closed the door. I tiptoed back to my car and stared at the wooden sign for a few seconds.

While I drove down the street, Jack’s perfect face kept intruding into my mind. I shook it away every time, trying to concentrate on the road and not hit any trees. There were few cars out today, even with the nice weather.

When I got home, I raided Vanessa’s closet to find something to wear to the funeral. I didn’t have much black in my wardrobe, and I didn’t have enough money to go out and buy something. Funerals weren’t on my mind when I packed my clothes for Oakridge. Fortunately, Vanessa and I were almost the exact same size, she was just a few inches taller. After a few seconds of quiet searching, I came across a short, sleeveless black dress. It had little ruffles on the bottom.

“Mom?” I called down the hallway, emerging into her office. Vanessa was bent over her desk, typing furiously on the keyboard. She jumped at my voice and
whirled around. “I don’t have anything to wear to the funeral, so can I borrow this?"

She mumbled something that sounding like a “yes” and I walked off, confused. She seemed paranoid. I hurried up the stairs to try it on. I pushed open the door, tossed the dress and shrug on my bed, and was halfway through pulling my shirt off when I finally realized that something was wrong. I pulled my shirt back down and my head turned slowly, deliberately.

Someone was sitting on my bed.