“Donna,” Dad's hand was on her shoulder, goading her to consciousness. “Wake up, honey.”
The reek of rot was ripped away and she was in her parents’ house on Sunflower Street, the one she'd grown up in. Back in her childhood bedroom with the plain, colonial furniture, lavender walls, and book shelves stuffed with those romance novels high school girls love but college girls love to hate. Well, Donna hated them, anyway. And on that particular morning, she woke up doing something she'd thought she'd outgrown about a year after Sammy died - biting her fingernails.
Donna's dad loomed over her in his worn, navy blue robe, the one he'd had for as long as Donna could remember. His cheeks still wore yesterday's stubble.
“Your alarm's been going off for ten minutes. How you managed to sleep through it is beyond me, but it's time to get up if you want to make it to the first day of class on time.”
“Class…” Donna mumbled.
Dad winked. “I know this is not what you wanted honey, but I'm happy to have you back under our roof. Like everything's back to normal.”
“Yeah...normal.”
Dad smiled warmly then left. The bedroom door creaked shut behind him. It seemed like everything in that old New England house complained when asked to do its job. Donna stretched, pushed down the lavender and purple striped sheets, the ones she'd loved so much when Mom had picked them out for her seventeenth birthday. The more mature-looking, blue and gray plaid ones Donna had picked out for her bed at the college apartment, were folded neatly in a box in the garage. Also in the garage was a mint condition, cherry red, '65 convertible Mustang that was delivered yesterday. Donna's mom had promptly started it up, put down the top, and drove the car around the block. Then she pulled it in the garage, put the top back up and beamed. That's what happens when you're good at your game. You get nice stuff. Donna's mom was a lawyer, and so was her dad. Mr. and Mrs. Mike and Caroline McCormick, Esq. Donna, being their only child left, had been expected to follow in their footsteps. McCormick, McCormick, and McCormick – Attorneys at Law. It would've looked great on a shingle outside the family practice. But it wasn't going to happen. Maybe it was the freaky toes keeping Donna out of step, or maybe it was that she liked to sketch pictures of her law instructor’s balding head and severe overbite in the margins of her notebook instead of listening to his definition of “probate law.” Either way, in Donna's future, there were no classic, cherry Mustangs or fancy letters after her name. There was only the nagging question – What if Sammy had gone to law school? Would there have been a family shingle with his name on it?
Donna hopped out of bed.
“Ow,” she cringed when her left foot made contact with the floor. She propped it up and squinted at a tiny puncture.
“What in the hell...?” Something tugged at her memory - a forest? The smell of rotting flesh? She shook her head and tried to dislodge the image but just came up with darkness. So she showered, dressed, and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Mom wore crisp work attire and too much perfume. Dad's morning paper crinkled when he flipped the pages. Donna smiled. Leave it to Dad to still get the news in paper form. She saw herself in the mirror Mom had stuck to the fridge to keep herself from eating. Why did it look so distorted?
“I feel like I need a face transplant,” she announced.
Dad looked up from his paper, newsprint reflecting against the lenses of his glasses. He was clean-shaven, showered, and ready for work. “You’re beautiful. You have a clear complexion, perfect teeth, damned good genetics and big, baby-blue eyes.” He winked. “Come to think of it, perhaps what you need is an eye transplant.”
“Parents see their kids as extensions of themselves,” Donna grabbed her travel mug and felt the stab of Mom's glare when she added too much sugar to the coffee. “So they sometimes see them as perfect.”
“We don't all think our offspring are faultless.” Mom held her mug of steaming coffee and dipped biscotti in it. “I can see some room for improvement in mine.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom.” Donna pointedly added a little more sugar.
“Relax,” she grinned. “You're gorgeous enough to look at. The improvement you need is up here.” Mom tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail against her forehead. “Focus on your education.” Donna sighed. Was it really worth saving 2000.00 a month?
“I gotta go,” Donna said. The Sentra was almost out of gas and she had to pick up Mo, whose stupid car was broke down again.
“Here,” Dad tossed Donna an orange after tossing Mom a look Donna couldn't see. “Don't starve yourself.”
“And here,” Mom tossed her a key on a leather strap with an embossed, silver horse on it.
Donna chuckled. “You're letting me take your new car today?”
“Donna honey,” she smiled broadly. “You can take it every day.”
“I don't understand,” Donna shook her head.
“September 22 is still a week away,” Dad grinned. “So, consider this an early birthday present from your mother.”
“And from your father,” Mom ruffled his hair. He shot her a look and patted it back down. That was the thing about Mike and Caroline McCormick. Just when Donna thought her parents couldn't get any more annoying, they did something amazing.
“I...I don't know what to say.”
“Say thank you and be on your way before you're late,” Mom shooed Donna toward the door. Donna leaped in her mom's arms, then her dad's, and jumped up and down like a kid.
“You guys are the best parents ever! Thank you so much.”
Mom nudged her away. “You are very much welcome, dear. And I hope you remember to be extra thankful when you graduate with honors.” She blew Donna a kiss, and then turned back to her coffee. Donna left her mug on the counter, forgotten, and dashed to the garage...and her new car. She sat in the driver's seat, wrapped her hands around the chilly steering wheel and observed herself in the rear view mirror. The smell of old car made her smile and the sound of the engine made her tingle. The beige, leather seat snuggled her like an old friend. And the top went down. Donna smiled, backed out of the garage and toward the driveway, paying all kinds of attention to how she looked in the car and not enough to where she was going in it. So when a petite, strawberry-blonde teenage girl dashed out from behind the rear end of the Mustang, Donna gasped and pushed the brakes hard.
“Oh my God!” Donna shoved the car in park and whirled around to face the girl. “I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention.”
The girl giggled and it reminded Donna of bubbles popping. “It's okay, I wasn't paying attention either.” She skipped up the driveway and stopped by the driver's side door. “I'm Samee Franklin.” She extended her hand.
Samee…
Donna took it with her own, which still shook from almost running the bubbly girl over.
“Samee?” The color drained from Donna’s face.
“Uh-huh,” Samee bubbled.
"H – hi Samee. Again, I'm sorry. It's no excuse, but I was thinking about too much stuff. My new car, my first day, my friend whose car broke down so she needs a ride to school, and then she'll need a ride to work, and then she will certainly need a ride when we go to The Dark Side tonight,” Donna rambled nervously.
Samee tilted her head. “The Dark Side?”
“It's a teen Goth club.”
“Ooooo,” her eyes lit up. “That sounds like fun!”
Donna noted Samee's age. Perfect for The Dark Side. “I guess it's fun enough,” she shrugged, “but I'm going to be twenty-one next week.”
“So why are you going to a teen club?”
“That's a good question,” Donna admitted. “I guess it's because I have a crazy best friend who thinks it'll be fun to reminisce one last time before I turn legal.” Samee giggled, Donna checked the time.
“I don't mean to be rude Samee, but I'm running late and -”
“I understand. And I love your new car, Donna.” Samee skipped back down the driveway.
“Thanks.” Donna watched until the path was clear and then backed on to the street. It wasn't until she was halfway to Mo's house that it occurred to her. She didn't remember telling Samee her name.
Donna's last college roommate, Rochelle Davis, had said that if boring had a middle name, then West Windington was it. So even though all Donna really wanted to do was drive slow and show off in her new car that morning, the pathetic truth was that nobody in her hometown would notice. A tornado could rip right through and people might look out their window and go, “Huh.” Or they might not bother to get even that excited.
There was a rundown place at the end of town on a dead end road called Autumn Lane. The house really should have been condemned, but instead it was for sale. Mo insisted the ghosts in that house chase away potential buyers, because new people and old ghosts don't live well together. That pretty much explained the whole town of West Windington.
Donna parked her Mustang in the driveway of the house Mo shared with her mom. She slid out from behind the steering wheel, beaming. Mo stood on the porch, holding a root beer can, glaring at the Mustang like it was a disease. Mo planned to get a degree in Journalism. She worked part time at “The West Windington Watering Hole,” the local town newspaper, the one Donna's dad read in print form. Donna thought Mo's job was just this side of glamorous because she got to make coffee for important people like the mayor and sometimes drive around town in a bright yellow Prius that had “WWWH” written on it, but Mo insisted there was nothing glamorous about being a glorified grunt for a corporate puppet-master. In fact, if somebody handed Mo a million dollars on a silver platter, she'd eyeball the stack for hidden agendas. That's why Mo would someday make a great reporter. She didn't have it in her to be content with the simple, the ordinary.
Nobody knew whatever happened to Mo's dad, not even Mo's mom. But Mo hadn't moved back home because she couldn't make it on her own, like Donna had. She'd stayed home because her mom couldn't make it on her own. When Jill's real estate business tanked, Mo hung around to help out so Jill wouldn't lose the house.
“What is that thing doing in my yard?” she grumbled.
“My parents gave me this for my birthday.” Donna leaned against the hood. Mo's hair color that day was crimson, so when she shook her head, the spiky tips of her cropped hair shuddered like a basket full of bloody rattlesnake tails. Her fingernail color matched the hair, and so did the shirt with “Even the Devil Thinks I am too Hot to Handle” across it. That was one thing about Mo; she always matched, even if the shades made no sense to anybody but her. Mo swallowed about half the can of root beer.
“You do know that car's a bribe, don't you?”
Leave it to Mo not to sugar-coat it. “It's still a nice car,” Donna replied.
Mo rolled her eyes. “It would be a whole lot nicer if there wasn't a law degree guilt-grenade launched at it.” Mo belched, loud. It smelled like root beer. A couple of elementary kids at the bus stop turned and stared. So did a guy in a blue car parked across the street. Mo tilted her head back and laughed. That's when Donna noticed the new shiny red stud poking through her left nostril.
“When did you get your nose pierced?”
“Last night, on a whim.” She turned so Donna could get a better view. “We're spontaneous here in West Windington. See all the fun you miss by living in the big city?”
“I moved twelve miles away.”
She shrugged. “It might as well of been twelve million.”
Donna examined the nose stud. “It's not like you needed any more holes in your head.”
Mo rolled her coal-colored eyes. “It's not like you needed a new car when your old one is already better than mine.”
“When my Mustang needs an oil change I won't come crying to you. And when your nostril develops an infection and your nose falls off, you don't come crying to me.”
“And when your mom hassles you about law school -”
Donna shook her head and grinned. The friendly bickering between her and Mo was standard since childhood, and had even come to partially define their friendship. “Come on. I don't want to be late.” Donna pointed to the root beer can. “And leave that here, please.”
“Kill joy,” Mo wrinkled her nose, sucked down the remaining contents. She belched again, this time so loud it echoed off the front of her house. The kids at the bus stop turned to look again. The blue car zoomed away.