Bittersweet

Copyright © 2015 by Kimberly Loth

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced in any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Cover design by Robin Ludwig

In memory of Robert Loth

1959-2010

T
WO YEARS AGO
, my dad died. The first email arrived a week later. I thought it was someone’s idea of a sick joke and didn’t read it. But I didn’t delete it either so it just sat in my inbox. Every week, on Sunday, a new one would come. Three months later I broke down and read all twelve of them.

In the emails my dad told me how much he missed me and reminded me of things we did when I was younger. I didn’t cry because I didn’t feel much of anything. I figured it was normal to feel shut off from my emotions so soon after he died, my mind protecting itself from the grief. But I didn’t expect that nothingness to last for so long.

The emails still arrived every Sunday.

I had no idea how my dad did it. At this point, I no longer cared. I looked forward to those Sunday emails. They kept him—and his promises—alive.

The year I turned thirteen, we promised each other three things. His first was that he would call me once a week, no matter what. For three years he kept that promise. He called on Sundays. Sometimes we’d talk for just a few minutes and other times we’d talk for hours. Now his promise took the form of an email. Which meant that I was obligated to keep the promises I’d made him. Though he did sort of break promise number three. But that wasn’t his fault. It was mine.

Hiding in my room, I read this Sunday’s email just before my family ate dinner.

May 12

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Pumpkin,

You know, I had a younger brother, like you have Teddy. His name was Grant and he cried for days when I left the house at eighteen. He actually hated your mother because he felt she stole me from him. I wish I had been more careful about things then. I wish I had focused more on keeping in touch with him, but I didn’t. I was a selfish SOB. I focused on your mom and my career and nothing else mattered. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.

Ride on,

Dad

I’d barely closed the email when Mom poked her head in my room and, without looking at me, said, “Savannah, we’d like you to join us for dinner tonight.”

I thought about staying in my room, but at the last minute decided to go. Legally, she could throw me out. I was eighteen. And only a junior because I was held back in kindergarten. I’m deaf. Well, not completely, but enough that my mother didn’t realize it and the teachers thought I was intentionally ignoring them. No one knows why, but I can’t hear normal speech very well. Hearing aids correct it, but I didn’t get those until the end of kindergarten.

Honestly, I was scared of being on my own. So I listened to my mom. Plus, staying in my room would be a typical Dad play. If he were mad he’d always ignore you until he was ready to deal with it. Never on your terms, always on his. But I wasn’t my dad, so I met my mom halfway. It was the right thing to do.

Nobody said a word during dinner, except Teddy, who jabbered on about the painting he made in preschool that day. It wasn’t until after we finished eating tacos that she broke the news. My fingers were still greasy.

“Savannah, hon, we need to talk about some things.”

I wiped my fingers on an almost dry napkin and grabbed a couple of tortilla chips. My stepdad, Dave, held her hand as if he were giving her moral support or something. I thought briefly about turning off my ears, but then decided that if she needed Dave for moral support maybe I’d at least want to hear what she had to say. Just in case I needed to talk her out of something.

“I know the last couple of years have been hard for you.”

I snorted. Hard was the understatement of the century.

She paused, as if my noise distracted her rehearsed speech. She looked at Dave and he gave her a nod. I rolled my eyes. Would she just get to the point?

“You’re an adult now, even if you do have one more year of school. We can’t have you pulling any more stunts like you did with the skunk. You need to take on some responsibility.”

Like I hadn’t heard this lecture a bazillion times already.

I chomped down hard on a tortilla chip, hoping to drown out her voice. My fingers reached for my hearing aids, to flip the little switch off. Mom watched me lift my hand, so instead I just ran my hand over my head. The absence of hair was still distracting. She exhaled.

“Your Uncle Grant called last night and asked if you would be interested in heading up to Minneapolis to work with him. He just got promoted to general manager. Dave and I thought it would be a good idea for you to get out of Albert Lea and work for a while.”

My brain quickly raced through the possibilities. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what Grant did for a living. I knew he was young, only ten years older than I.

“But what about my friends?” Not that I had many of those now that Candie had betrayed me. She hadn’t even tried to contact me since that horrid morning.

“They will survive a few months without you. You’ll be back to finish your senior year.”

“What about Teddy? You need me to babysit.”

“I’ve already spoken with Candie. She’s thrilled to babysit this summer. Listen, you’ll work a lot of hours. This will be great for your college fund.”

Mom had no idea that Candie was a backstabbing bitch. If she did, she wouldn’t be so keen on having Candie babysit. But I couldn’t tell her that. It would just lead to more questions that I didn’t want to answer.

“We’ve been over this. I don’t need a college fund, Dad’s life insurance will pay for that.”

“Well then find something else to save up for.”

“I forget what Grant does.”

“Grant is the general manager of Haunted Valley. The amusement park.”

No way.

“I hate roller coasters.”

“You love them.”

“I hate them. You can’t make me go work there. You know why.”

I clenched my fists together and my stomach knotted. This was what anger felt like. I took a couple of deep breaths trying to bring back the nothingness. It was better than this. Roller coasters. No.

Mom exhaled.

“Your father has been dead for two years. You can’t keep pretending he’s going to show up one day and you can start where you left off. He would want you to do this. Besides, you don’t have a choice in this matter. Grant will come pick you up on Tuesday. You can sulk tonight, but tomorrow you’ll need to pack.”

I escaped back into my room and paced next to my bed. Roller coasters. Why would she do that to me? I must’ve really pissed her off this time. I’m not sure which stunt got me sentenced to the summer of hell, but it was either the dead skunk or my hair. I suppose it also could have been the tattoo. Mom was none too pleased when I walked into the kitchen sans watch and she spied the ink on my wrist.

“Savannah,” she had scoffed, “why would you want
that
permanently etched on your skin?”

For a second I had thought about telling her, but then remembered that she wouldn’t have understood, so I took a bite of a bright yellow apple that I hardly tasted and left the kitchen without answering her. It was never mentioned again.

Which was why I thought my punishment was more about the skunk or my hair. Probably the hair.

I sat down at my desk and checked out Grant’s Facebook profile. He hardly ever posted anything. He worked at Haunted Valley, his employees loved him (seriously, the only posts on his wall were from his employees saying things like, “You rock Grant.”), and he was single. He didn’t even have a picture of himself, just the logo for Haunted Valley. In spite of myself, I was curious as to who he was. Would he be like Dad? Or did he escape the family curse? I’d find out soon enough. I couldn’t believe I had to spend two whole months in the eighth level of hell called Haunted Valley.

I started pacing again. I looked around. I didn’t want to leave the only place where I could hide out. The wall at the foot of my bed had two bulletin boards. One was completely empty. Previously, it had contained pictures of my best friend, Candie. A week ago though, the day of the infamous hair incident, I had taken all those pictures off the board and torn them up. The shreds still littered the floor. I picked one up that had her face on it. It was from two years ago. In the background was a Ferris wheel.

She had a sad smile on her face. That day at the fair was the last one before I had to leave to spend the summer with my dad. Candie had cried on and off that whole day because she didn’t want me go. Two weeks later I unexpectedly returned, my dad dead. She didn’t leave my side for the rest of the summer. She’d sit on my floor and sing songs or jabber on about stupid things, while I lay on my bed in a grief stricken stupor. Once, she brought a book and read to me. The week before school started, I agreed to go out for ice cream with her. She was so happy she cried.

I couldn’t figure out how she could cry from happiness, when I was so depressed I couldn’t even summon a single tear. Still couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. I crumbled the picture and dropped it on the floor.

The second bulletin board was filled with pictures of Amsterdam, Brussels, Zurich, and chocolate. Lots of chocolate. In the middle of the board was a map of Europe with all the best chocolate shops marked. I took off the map, folded it carefully, and put it in my backpack. I’d put the map above my new bed at Grant’s house. It would remind me that the summer, no matter how hellish, had a purpose.