Our old place was a lot nicer than the dump we lived in now. We didn’t even live in a house. It was a trailer, or a mobile home some called it, on a semi-grassy patch of land with a leaky roof and a hole in the brown linoleum floor in the kitchen. It had three bedrooms. So, Mom, Sam, and I each had our own rooms. My room was the smallest. About half the size of my previous bedroom. It wasn’t that bad, I guessed. Except when it was windy. I hated the rattling against the metal walls of the trailer. If the wind was too strong, the place even shook. I felt like I was in a soda can ready to burst open.
Who was I kidding? The place was a dump. We were trailer trash now, and every one of us knew it. Sam and I knew it by our clothes from the thrift store and the end of going to the movies every Saturday. Mom knew by repairing her pantyhose with clear nail polish to get more wear out of them. And we all knew when Mom made a pot of spaghetti on Sunday what we’d be eating every night for dinner that week.
Not that we were ever rich. But Dad worked and Mom worked, so we had some extra money. When Dad got sick the money dwindled. He couldn’t work. Mom always seemed to be on the phone arguing about hospital bills that should have been paid by insurance. Then he’d died. On a hot July day, July 12th to be exact, at 7:37 in the morning. He had been in his hospital bed, set up in our living room, where he’d taken up residence the last two months. He lay quietly on the adjustable bed when I walked downstairs. Usually, the TV was on by this time, but the screen was dark.
Mom stood beside him, tears running down her solemn face. She turned to me and said, “He’s gone, Emily.”
Anger consumed me because I hadn’t said goodbye at the end. I wasn’t there in the final moments, but instead I’d peacefully slept upstairs under my pink Hello Kitty comforter. I had said goodbye weeks earlier. I could still hear his voice telling me he loved me and how he didn’t want to leave us. I snuggled next to him on his hospital bed, inhaling his scent of Old Spice and peppermint shampoo. The hospice nurse had come that morning to help him wash and shave. He’d held my hand, much weaker each day, and somehow I’d known this would be the last time I spoke to my father. The real him. I was right. The strong medications he was on altered his mind those final few weeks. Sometimes he didn’t even know us.
The sweet smell of spring broke into my thoughts as I continued to travel on the track. I sniffed, recognizing the scent. Honeysuckle. I looked ahead, scanning each side for the plant. I was surprised to see where I was standing. I didn’t realize I’d walked that far, much farther than I’ve ever gone on the tracks. I spun around, the row of scraggly woods behind our trailer now a substantial distance away. And when I turned back, I saw him.
That was the day I met Tommy.
Chapter Two
He was perched on the left-side track, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. He had dirty-blond hair, which hung shaggily to the nape of his neck. His dark-blue eyes directed at me.
A feeling of uneasiness shot through me. It seemed as if he’d appeared out of nowhere. I met his gaze. “Where did you come from?”
He laughed. A nice-sounding, easy laugh which put me at ease. Somewhat.
“There are many answers to that question,” he said. “I could even ask you the same thing.”
“I mean,” I said with a hint of attitude, “where did you come from right now? I turned my back and you suddenly appeared.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “I’ve been watching you walk along the tracks for the last half an hour. Just thought I should introduce myself.”
“Instead of being a creepy stalker?” I grimaced. “That’s admirable of you.”
“Not a stalker. Just curious.” He stood and walked toward me.
“About me?”
“About anyone who’s interested in the tracks as much as I am.”
“You’ve watched me before?” That uneasy feeling resurfaced.
“Relax. I’m not dangerous,” he said. “My name is Tommy.”
“Uh…I’m Emily.” I was still undecided about this tall boy, who I estimated to be around my brother’s age and admitted to watching me on numerous occasions. If he was a pervert, I wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Emily. That’s a nice name,” Tommy said. “So, why do you hang out here so much, Emily?”
“Why do you?”
Tommy sighed. “It’s peaceful here. A good thinking place.”
“Yeah, it is. You live around here?”
“Not too far.”
“I’ve never seen you in school. How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Oh.” I looked at him. “Can’t believe I’ve never seen you before. I come down here a lot.”
“I’m usually around at night,” Tommy said. “Days are pretty busy for me.”
“School and stuff?”
“Stuff, and I like to get out of the house at night. I’ve never seen you here after dark.”
I shook my head. “You won’t. I don’t like to go out at night.”
“Scared of the dark?”
“Something like that,” I said, glancing at my watch. “I should head back. It’s getting late.”
“Okay, see you around.”
I hurried down the track toward home. The sky transitioned into the early
