Edge of Blackest Night

The world ended not with a bang or a whimper, but with the sound of the telephone ringing. I was trying to put my apartment into something resembling order when my cell phone started blaring. I banged my shin on the coffee table as I skidded over the hardwood to answer it and let out a stream of expletives. I snatched the offensive little device up just before it went to voicemail.

"Hello?" I said breathlessly.

"Riley?" I froze. I hadn't heard the voice on the other end for four years, but I would recognize it anywhere. "Hi, Dad," I said stiffly. "How did you get my number?"

"This may be a small town, Riley, but I'm still sheriff and I still have resources."

"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "Is that why you didn't come storming in to drag me back home on the back of your trusty steed four years ago?"

"I figured since you left without so much as a proper goodbye and never called that you didn't want to be found," Dad replied tersely. "You're a grown up now, and you can make your own decisions. Whether they're the wrong ones or not." His thick Georgia drawl, so much like my own, made the accusations all the more biting.

"Is this what you called me for?" I asked sharply. "To tell me all about my bad decisions and what a horrible daughter I am? Gee, Dad, it's sure nice to hear from you." Sarcasm was heavy in my tone, something I'm sure Dad was used to hearing from me.

"Dammit, Riley, I didn't call to argue with you."

"Well you could have fooled me."

"Riley," he said sternly. Then he sighed, and his voice softened. "Your grandma is dying, Riley."

Ice pooled in my stomach and my heart missed several beats. "Gram is dying?" I said, my voice now a strangled whisper. "No. Gram can't die."

"As fond as she is of saying so, the cancer has different ideas. It's spread, Riley. There's nothing else they can do. She's coming home and she's going to be staying here at the house. I know she would like to see you before....before the end."

I was silent for a long time, trying to process the idea that my grandma was dying. Delia Bradshaw had always been the toughest woman I knew.

"Riley?" Dad said after several minutes of silence.

"Yeah," I said, my voice cracking slightly. "I'll be there tomorrow."



After a grueling red eye flight, I rented a hot pink Challenger and gunned it. Hayesville was a good four hour drive from the Atlanta airport, and I did eighty the whole way with the radio blasting and the AC on high. I slowed when I reached the wooden sign that cheerfully read Welcome to Hayesville. I stared down the road with knots the size of fists in my stomach. I had left this place in my rearview mirror after graduation and had never looked back. Finally I shifted into first, eased my foot off the clutch, and roared into town. Everyone would know I was back within the hour anyway; no point in being stealthy. I flew up Main Street at fifteen miles over the speed limit, earning dark looks and a few curses. I kept driving until I saw the gravel drive that led to my childhood home.

It was an old Victorian style house, white with sky blue trim. It looked like Dad had recently put on a fresh coat of paint. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the gate that led to mom's garden. Just past the garden was the trail that led to the creek. The very trail where she had died. I gritted my teeth and got out of the car. I had almost forgotten how oppressive the Georgia heat was. Within seconds my thin blue tank top and white shorts were sticking to me. I lifted my braid off my neck and hurried up the porch. I lifted the heavy brass knocker and banged it against the door.

My father opened it and frowned. "Why are you knocking? What did you do to your hair?" His hazel eyes widened as he gaped at my head.

"They're called highlights, Dad," I said, shoving past him into the blessed cool of the house.

"They're purple," he said.

"Vivid Violet, technically." Last time my dad had seen me, my light blond hair had been shoulder length and carefully straightened. Now I let it hang down my back in its natural careless waves. It fell about three inches above my waist and I had recently decided to add some color; hence the dark purple streaks and my father's dumbfounded look.

"Where's Gram?" I asked.

"She's upstairs in the guest room."

I climbed the stairs, trying not to let the memories of this place reach from the walls and claw at me. When I saw Gram, lying there with an IV attached to her arm and looking so small and frail, I nearly broke down.

"How many times have I told you, Riley Mae, that it's not polite to lurk in doorways?" Gram chided, not even looking up from the book she was reading. Gone With the Wind. I smiled around the lump in my throat.

"Glad to see you still have the strength to scold, Gram." I crossed the room and hugged her, feeling all her bones.

"I'll always have strength for that, child. Now get that melancholy look off your pretty face. I'm not dead yet and I do wish people would stop acting like I am."

I perched at the edge of the bed and picked up the brush lying on the nightstand. "Would you like me to brush your hair, Gram?" She smiled at me. "Sweet girl."

I took that to mean yes. Gram's silver hair was fairly long; they had given up on the chemo a long time ago. I ran the brush through her hair gently while she asked me questions about New York.

"Your daddy was awful worried about you when you left, sweet pea," she said after a while.

"Yeah, I know. But I couldn't tell him I was leaving for New York, Gram. He would never understand. He never has, not since mama."

"He does his best, darlin'. I'm sure he'd love to know what you've been up to since you left."

Gram was the only person I had contacted after I split; the only person who knew I was applying to college in New York and the one who had helped pay my tuition. Granddaddy had owned a lot of land and used it wisely. Gram had never wanted for anything, and she was more than happy to pay for school for me. At least I knew I could count on her to understand, and it meant more to me than even she would know to know she was proud of me. Gram was the one who had been able to see through my wild child behavior when I was a teenager.

"You'd best get some rest, Gram. I'll bring you some tea later."

"Sweet girl," she said again. I left the room and returned to the car for my bags. I looked up to see Dad leaning in the doorway, watching me. "What have you been doing in New York all these years, Riley?" he asked quietly.

"I was accepted to Columbia, Dad," I said, and felt a flicker of hurt when surprise flashed in his eyes. "I'm an English major," I added.

"Like your mother," he said, watching me with a look I couldn't decipher. I nodded. "My professors have been really helpful; I had a few short stories and poems published. It's nothing major, but it helps pay the bills." I realized I was rambling and stopped. I hadn't come here seeking approval from Dad, and I knew I'd never get it anyway.

"Your sister should be here later tonight or tomorrow," he said finally.

"You should be thrilled." Remi had always been his favorite. "How is my darling twin sister anyway?"

"Riley," Dad said warily.

"Does she even know I'm here?" I asked.

"I told her I would call you." He watched me for a moment. "Can't you two just try and get along while you're here?"

"Can't make any promises."

"No, I don't suppose you can," he said, expression bitter. He disappeared into the kitchen to start dinner. I watched his retreating back with a spark of anger.

"Good to be home," I said into the silence. No one answered.