Original Work: You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home, Chapter 1, Parts 5 & 6
Part 5
I went out the back screen door, heading across the backyard toward the barn, which didn’t hold horses but instead a car that my father had been tinkering on here and there for the past few years. I wasn’t entirely sure if he actually wanted to finish the car, or if he just enjoyed working on the vehicle, because he’d had ample time to do so.
Just as I figured, Dad was toying under the hood, his head and upper torso obscured by metal. I rapped on the cracked wooden door to let him know I was there, so my sudden presence wouldn’t cause him to bang his head on the hood like he’d done so many times before. “Hey kiddo.” He said without even glancing in my direction. I was the only one who still feigned an interest in what he was doing and I was definitely the only one who seemed to understand the meaning of the word ‘silent.’ Luke never went anywhere without announcing his presence yards in advance and Zach seemed to have two left feet, which had seemed to rule out a career in spots, despite his constant attempts to try out for the school soccer team.
“Hi Dad.” I perched on the edge of his wooden work table, after carefully nudging aside a few tools, oil and greased soaked rags and a plate or two. “Do you think I’m boring?”
My dad looked up from over the hood, a slightly concerned expression on his face. “Boring? No, of course not.” He assured me. “Who said that?”
I shrugged. “No one. I was just thinking.”
Slamming the hood shut, Dad walked over in my direction, shaking his head. “No, of course not.” I handed up a dirty rag, just in case he thought about giving me a fatherly, supportive hug. “No daughter of mine is boring.”
I rolled my eyes. “You can say that again.” I mumbled. “Emilia is never dull.”
I hadn’t meant for him to hear me, but it seemed as though my intentions weren’t exactly fulfilled. Dad raised an eyebrow, frowning slightly. “What’s this about Emilia?” Sometimes I think that my dad honestly forget about her, though I didn’t think that made him a bad father, I just think he was a little absent-minded and completely dedicated to raising the daughter he did have. I didn’t doubt that if Emilia had been left with my dad, she wouldn’t be making headlines for a possible drug and alcohol addiction, or for breaking multi-million dollar camera equipment.
I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer his question, because I was unsure when being good, polite and grounded had become bad things. “It’s nothing.” I muttered, shrugging my shoulders. “Do you ever wish things were different? Like you had decided to go with Mom after all?” My father had told me as soon as I’d asked the story of why he and my mother were no longer together, though the story of Emilia hadn’t come until later, when he’d been unable to keep me away from the magazine cover announcing her raise to fame.
Dad shook his head, putting his arm around my shoulder. “Sure, things might be a little easier,” I knew that he was talking about money and our family’s continual lack of it but decided not to say anything, “but I wouldn’t trade my life here for anything. I love Beverly and your brothers. And I love you.” I smiled. “Just because you’re not on the cover of every magazine doesn’t mean that you’re boring, kiddo.”
I knew that he was right; after all, fame and fortune was something that was an exception to every day life, not a rule. Most people would be just like me, watching the lives of the rich and infamous unfold from afar and be perfectly happy doing it. And I had good friends, even if they were still convinced that I knew more about Emilia than I let on, true friends that hadn’t run to the press with the story of my existence. I doubted that Emilia could say as much.
Part 6
The following school day passed without incident. Jordan had left the magazines at home and I was only asked if I’d ever dumped water on someone twice, which was both strange and a good thing. Apparently Jordan wasn’t the only one who suspected a Twin ESP link.
However, the boring days abruptly came to an end when I arrived home that day, bouncing down the driveway on my newly acquired stick shift, which I was trying my hardest to learn. Because of my moderate progress, Zach and Luke opted for the bus, though it seemed that I’d beaten them for the first time, despite my constant stall-outs, because Luke wasn’t tearing around the yard with our Border Collie Blackjack. Beverly usually instructed him to work off his energy before he started on homework, something Luke never complained about because what kid didn’t love permission to put off homework?
But there was another car in the driveway, one that was never there and that I had never seen before. I parked in the grass, relieved that the daily ride was over and glad that I could hold my early arrival over my brothers’ heads. But I was more intrigued about our visitor to think about gloating for the time being. As I’d said before, Independence is a pretty small town, the type where everyone knows everyone and everyone’s business. That includes knowing and recognizing almost every car and knowing who that car belongs to. This car I had never seen before anywhere around town and it didn’t look like the type of vehicle that belonged in Little Paris; it was too clean, too polished, too expensive, which only increased my interest.
I dropped bag and purse by the door and moved toward the kitchen, where I heard voices, including one unfamiliar one.
I’d always thought I looked like my dad until I found myself looking at my mother. I’d seen my reflection (and Emilia’s for that matter) so many times that I was able to easily recognize my eyes, jaw line and lips in the woman sitting at our kitchen table across from my dad and Beverly. She was tall and slender, or maybe it just looked that way because of the sharp, tailored suit that she was wearing. Her hair, the same deep black as my own, was done up in a tight bun, pinned to the top of her head in a way I had never thought to wear my own hair. It was strange to see yet another person in the world I looked so similar to. I stopped in the foyer, staring.
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