Edge of Blackest Night

Georgia was too quiet. After four years of the hustle and noise of New York City, hearing nothing but crickets all night had me restless. I rose early; around six. In high school you couldn't get me out of bed before noon, but I went jogging almost every day in New York and early morning hours were the best time for it. I donned a light sweatshirt and some gray yoga pants and was out the door with my iPod in hand even before Dad was up. I jogged up the road, in the opposite direction from town. Volume on high, legs pumping, lungs screaming. No better way to start the day if you ask me. Especially since I knew that waiting for me at home were Dad and Remi. I was covered in sweat and my iPod battery was nearly dead by the time I sailed through the front door. I heard familiar voices in the kitchen and crept up the stairs. I had a strict rule about no family before a run and a long shower.

I lingered in the shower, delaying the inevitable. When I was scrubbed baby butt pink and smelled like a strawberry I finally shut off the water and padded back to my room with a towel tied around me. The room was just as I had left it; canopy bed, posters and pictures taking up every inch of wall space, and the antique furniture. I took a moment to stare at the pictures, ranging from when Remi and I were children to my high school prom and graduation.

"Nothing but memories," I muttered. I dressed quickly, slipping into a denim romper covered in little pink roses and a pair of silver Grecian style sandals. I wound my long hair up into a bun, applied some blush and eyeliner and took the stairs two at a time.

"Where were you all morning?" Dad was leaning out of the kitchen, sipping a mug of coffee.

"Jogging," I said. "I jog every morning." I hunted through the living room for my purse.

"Going somewhere?"

"Into town for a while. I need to pick up some pens and notebooks; I forgot to bring any with me."

"Your sister made breakfast. Don't you think you should have some?"

I rolled my eyes, but strode into the kitchen. Remi was sitting at the table, and she glanced up when I walked in.

"Morning sunshine," I said brightly. I snagged a piece of toast and bacon off the counter.

"Nice hair," Remi replied. Her tone was not heavy with sarcasm, but if you knew Remi, you knew her sarcasm voice.

"Thanks," I said. "I got it done right after the tattoos." I was pleased to see Remi's eyes widen and her mouth fall open slightly.

"We'll catch up later," I said, already backing out of the kitchen. I grabbed my purse and bolted past Dad and out the door. I shoved the toast in my mouth and started the engine. I kept the windows down and the warm sun felt good on my bare arms. I wrapped my hand around the simple silver cross that I wore around my neck. I had bought it when I first moved to New York. It was similar to the one my mother had always worn. I parked at the general store and walked inside, ignoring the stares and whispers. I had tunnel vision, heading right towards the school supply aisle. i knew I wasn't going to get WiFi out here if my life depended on it, so I would have to do my writing the old-fashioned way. I thought I'd write some stories and poems for Gram.

"Those are some nice tattoos, Riley." I jumped at the sound of the masculine voice, and turned around to see a tall man with pale blue eyes twinkling from a tanned face.

"Jake Lamb," I said. I had made the flippant remark to Remi about getting tattoos, but it wasn't a lie. I had an angel on the back of my neck. She was holding a rose and had delicate features. I also had a bird flying out of a cage on my left shoulder. I had never figured the quiet, steady Jake to have a tat fetish. I appraised him with interest for a moment. "Looks like you still need a haircut," I said finally.

He laughed. "Your grandmama says the same thing every time I see her." His unruly dark hair had been the discussion of many a girl back in high school. Jake had graduated the year before me.

"You working your dad's ranch?" I asked.

"Yes, ma'am. And what about you? Everyone wondered where you'd gone."

"I'm going to school in New York." He let out a low whistle. "Well look at you. Our own Riley Mae, a high class New Yorker."

It was my turn to laugh. "Not exactly, but thanks."

"We've missed 'round here."

"Well that's very nice of you to say, but you're a terrible liar," I teased. He chuckled, the sound warm and deep. Growing up suited Jake nicely. "I'll see you around," I said, tossing my notebooks and packs of pens into my basket. Jake eyed them curiously but didn't ask any questions. I decided that was something I liked about him. One of many things.

"Don't be a stranger," he said. I made my way back to the car after paying for my things. I wasn't sure I wanted to go home just yet; I still wasn't eager to see Remi and Dad. I drove aimlessly for a while, and realized with a start that I had ended up at the cemetery. My heart turned into a lead ball and dropped heavily into my stomach. Even when I still lived in Hayesville, I hadn't visited mom's grave much. Remi and Dad used to visit every Sunday, and never understood why I refused to join them. I climbed out of the car reluctantly and made my way through the headstones. It had been ten years since that grim January afternoon when we laid mom to rest, but my feet somehow remembered the way to her grave site.

I sat down facing her grave stone, reading over the simple inscription.

Alison Marie Bradshaw
June 14, 1971-January 25, 2003
Beloved wife, mother, and daughter

"Hey mama," I said quietly. The epitaph was my only answer. I felt hot tears prickle my eyes, and I blinked furiously, scrambling quickly to my feet and walking away. I drove home with the pedal pressed against the floorboard. I slammed the door when I got out, and slammed the front door of the house when I got home.

"What's with all the noise?" Remi demanded from the living room as I stomped by. "Gram is trying to sleep."

"Stop lecturing me," I snapped, already marching up the stairs.

"Still a brat I see," I heard her mutter, but I didn't care. I went into my room and sat at the desk, scribbling fast and nearly ripping the paper several times.

"Dad wants some help with dinner." I glanced up, ink staining my fingers. The world outside was cast in twilight shadows. I had completely lost track of the time. "That's what he has you for," I told Remi shortly, returning to my work.

"Typical. What could you possibly be doing in here that's so important?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Actually, I'd like to know where you've been for four years." I gritted my teeth; Remi and Dad both had the accusatory tone and disapproving look down pat.

"I've been in New York," I told her. Her eyes narrowed. Remi and I shared the same petite build, long blond hair, and heart-shaped faces. We both also had amber brown eyes, so I was essentially watching my own face stare back at me skeptically. The only difference in our features were that Remi had a ring of dark green around her pupils, while my own eyes were flecked with the same shade; and of course I had bright purple streaks in my hair. Remi seemed to be mulling over my previous statement and I stared back at her, unflinching. That was when I noticed that my perfect sister had made a few changes herself. I could see two stud earrings in each earlobe, and an industrial piercing in each ear as well. Two little hoops were stuck through her bottom lip.

"Nice hardware, Terminator." I smirked and Remi glared. "At least I don't look like a gay zebra," she fired back.

"Good for you, Remi. Glad to see you have your big girl pants on today."

"Does it ever get exhausting being such a bitch?"

"Nope." I closed my notebook and stood up.

"Where are you going?" Remi asked as I pushed past her.

"I'm going to make dinner. Otherwise you and Dad will make that terrible meatloaf of yours."

"Has Dad seen those tattoos yet?" she called after me.

"Has he seen your fish hooks? I'm sure he has some worms in his tackle box if you need bait."

"I think I'm starting to remember why I didn't miss you," Remi said scathingly when she reached the bottom of the stairs. We stared each other down for a moment.

"Feeling's mutual," I replied coolly, then turned and went into the kitchen to prepare something other than Dad's God-awful meatloaf.