Only a few clothes remained in her dresser and closet. The furniture was al stil in place. But now that the room was stripped of most of her possessions, it felt more like an impersonal hotel room than the cozy haven of her childhood.
So much had happened here. Elena could remember cuddling up with her father on the window seat to read together when she was a little girl. She and Bonnie and Meredith—and Caroline, who had been her good friend, too, once—had spent at least a hundred nights here tel ing secrets, studying, dressing for dances, and just hanging out. Stefan had kissed her here, early in the morning, and disappeared quickly when Aunt Judith came to wake her.
Elena remembered Damon’s cruel, triumphant smile as she invited him in that first time, what felt like a mil ion years ago. And, not so long ago, her joy when he had appeared here one dark night, after they al thought he was dead.
There was a quiet knock at the door, and it swung open.
Stefan stood in the doorway, watching her.
“About ready?” he said. “Your aunt is a little worried.
She thinks you’re not going to have time to unpack before orientation if we don’t get going.”
Elena stood and went over to wrap her arms around him. He smel ed clean and woodsy, and she nestled her head against his shoulder. “I’m coming,” she said. “It’s just hard to say good-bye, you know? Everything’s changing.” Stefan turned toward her and caught her mouth softly in a kiss. “I know,” he said when the kiss ended, and ran his finger gently along the curve of her bottom lip. “I’l take these boxes down and give you one more minute. Aunt Judith wil feel better if she sees the truck getting packed up.”
“Okay. I’l be right down.”
Stefan left the room with the boxes, and Elena sighed, looking around again. The blue flowered curtains her mother had made for her when Elena was nine stil hung over the windows. Elena remembered her mother hugging her, her eyes a little teary, when her baby girl told her she was too big for Winnie the Pooh curtains.
Elena’s own eyes fil ed with tears, and she tucked her hair behind her ears, mirroring the gesture her mother had used when she was thinking hard. Elena was so young when her parents died. Maybe if they’d lived, she and her mother would be friends now, would know each other as equals, not just as mother and daughter.
Her parents had gone to Dalcrest Col ege, too. That’s where they’d met, in fact. Downstairs on top of the piano sat a picture of them in their graduation robes on the sun-fil ed lawn in front of the Dalcrest library, laughing, impossibly young.
Maybe going to Dalcrest would bring Elena closer to them. Maybe she’d learn more about the people they’d been, not just the mom and dad she’d known when she was little, and find her lost family among the neoclassical buildings and the sweeping green lawns of the col ege.
She wasn’t leaving, not real y. She was moving forward.
Elena set her jaw firmly and headed out of her room, clicking off the light as she went.
Downstairs, Aunt Judith, her husband, Robert, and Elena’s five-year-old sister, Margaret, were gathered in the hal , waiting, watching Elena as she came down the stairs.
Aunt Judith was fussing, of course. She couldn’t keep stil ; her hands were twisting together, smoothing her hair, or fiddling with her earrings. “Elena,” she said, “are you sure you’ve packed everything you need? There’s so much to remember.” She frowned.
Her aunt’s obvious anxiety made it easier for Elena to smile reassuringly and hug her. Aunt Judith held her tight, relaxing for a moment, and sniffed. “I’m going to miss you, sweetheart.”
“I’l miss you, too,” Elena said, and squeezed Aunt Judith closer, feeling her own lips tremble. She gave a shaky laugh. “But I’l be back. If I forgot anything, or if I get homesick, I’l run right back for a weekend. I don’t have to wait for Thanksgiving.”
Next to them, Robert shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. Elena let go of Aunt Judith and turned to him.
“Now, I know col ege students have a lot of expenses,” he said. “And we don’t want you to have to worry about money, so you’ve got an account at the student store, but…” He opened his wal et and handed Elena a fistful of bil s. “Just in case.”
“Oh,” said Elena, touched and a little flustered. “Thank you so much, Robert, but you real y don’t have to.” He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “We want you to have everything you need,” he said firmly. Elena smiled at him grateful y, folded the money, and put it in her pocket.
Next to Robert, Margaret glared down obstinately at her shoes. Elena knelt before her and took her little sister’s hands. “Margaret?” she prompted.
Large blue eyes stared into her own. Margaret frowned and shook her head, her mouth a tight line.
“I’m going to miss you so much, Meggie,” Elena said, pul ing her close, her eyes fil ing with tears again. Her little sister’s dandelion-soft hair brushed against Elena’s cheek.
“But I’l be back for Thanksgiving, and maybe you can come visit me on campus. I’d love to show off my little sister to al my new friends.”
Margaret swal owed. “I don’t want you to go,” she said in a smal miserable voice. “You’re always leaving.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Elena said helplessly, cuddling her sister closer. “I always come back, don’t I?” Elena shivered. Once again, she wondered how much Margaret remembered of what had really happened in Fel ’s Church over the last year. The Guardians had promised to change everyone’s memories of those dark months when vampires, werewolves, and kitsune had nearly destroyed the town—and when Elena herself had died and risen again—but there seemed to be exceptions.
Caleb Smal wood remembered, and sometimes Margaret’s innocent face looked strangely knowing.
“Elena,” Aunt Judith said again, her voice thick and weepy, “you’d better get going.”
Elena hugged her sister one more time before letting her go. “Okay,” she said, standing and picking up her
