They Just Don't Know You

Chapter 8

Jade's POV

Monday, September 9

As soon as I close the door behind me in Nana's hallway, I drop to my knees beside my suitcase and reach for the zipper. Inside is a jumbled mess of clothes and toiletries, but it's all so beautifully familiar that I gather as much as I can hold in my arms and hug it to my chest for a few seconds. 

Nana appears in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. "I take it everything's there?" she asks.

"Looks like it," I say, holding up my favourite hoodie like a trophy.

Nana heads upstairs without another word, and I spy a flash of red against my dark clothes: the small velvet pouch that holds my jewellery. I scatter the contents on the floor, picking a necklace out of the pile. The thin chain holds an intricate silver charm that looks like a flower until you examine it closely enough to realise it's a dagger. "For my favourite murder addict," Norma said when she gave it to me for my birthday two years ago.

I used to wish she'd ask me why I was so drawn to stuff like that, and then maybe we could have a real conversation about Amelia. But I guess it was easier just to accessorise.

I'm fastening the dagger around my neck when Nana comes down the stairs with a shopping tote dangling from one arm. "You can bring your things upstairs later. I want to make a trip to Dalton's before dinnertime." At my questioning look, she lifts the bag on her arm. "We may as well return the clothes I bought you last week. It hasn't escaped my notice that you've been borrowing from your brother instead of wearing them."

My cheeks heat as I scramble to my feet. "Oh. Well. I just hadn't gotten around to-"

"It's fine," Nana says drily, plucking her keys from a board on the wall. "I harbour no illusions about my familiarity with teen fashion. But there's no reason to let these go to waste when someone else can use them."

I peer hopefully behind her. "Is Karl coming with us?"

"He's out for a walk. Hurry up, I need to get back and make dinner."

After ten days with my grandmother, there are a few things I know. She'll drive 15 miles under the speed limit the entire way to Dalton's. We'll get home at least 40 minutes before six o'clock, because that's when we eat and Nana doesn't like to rush when she cooks. We'll have a protein, a starch, and a vegetable. And Nana expects us to be in our rooms by ten o'clock. Which we don't protest, since we have nothing better to do.

It's weird. I thought I'd chafe under the structure, but there's something almost soothing about Nana's routine. Especially in contrast to the past six months with Norma, after she found a doctor who'd keep refilling her Vicodin prescription and went from distracted and disorganised to full on erratic. I used to wander around our apartment when she stayed out late, eating microwave mac and cheese and wondering what would happen to us if she didn't come home.

And then finally one night, she didn't.

The Subaru crawls to Dalton's, giving me plenty of time to stare out the window at the slender trees lining the road, gold leaves starting to mix with the green. "I didn't know leaves changed colour this early," I say. It's September ninth, a week after we got here, and the temperature is still warm and almost summery.

"Those are green ash trees," Nana says in her teacher voice. "They change early. We're having good weather for peak foliage this year: warm days and cool nights. You'll see reds and oranges popping up in a few weeks."

Echo Ridge is by far the prettiest place I've ever lived. Nearly every house is spacious and well maintained, with interesting architecture: stately Victorians, grey-shingled Capes, historic Colonials. The lawns are freshly mowed, the flower beds neat and orderly. All the buildings in the town centre are red brick and white-windowed, with tasteful signs. There's not a chain-link fence, a dumpster, or a corner shop in sight. Even the petrol station is cute and almost retro-looking.