Why Me?

Chapter 2 Beckett's Life

Beckett

     This whole “moving” thing had gotten my dad all worked up. I was currently sitting on the couch, looking out the window, watching as my father yelled at one of the U-Haul guys outside. I smirked, thinking about what an asshole he was, then fell back into my depressed state. I didn’t want to leave this house; it meant a lot to me.

    My mom had died of cancer about four months ago and it hit me hard. But my dad on the other hand, I don’t think it even fazed him. Since my mom’s death, he has been trying to move on. She hasn’t been gone that long, but he already got rid of all her cloths and now he’s gone and sold the house. But, of course, there’s only one thing he couldn’t get rid of; me.

     My mom’s name was Annabelle and not only was she my mom but she was my best friend. I didn’t have as strong as a relationship with my father. Rick, my dad, was only dating my mother so he could “get some” but he ended up getting a little more than he bargained for. I believe that that’s why he hates me. Well, it seemed like it.

      It wasn’t like I was abused or anything by him but I never had a connection with him. Yeah he taught me to do some of the things dads were meant to teach but it felt like he was forced to. I felt like he was forced to love me and that made me hate him, just a little. But now that my mom’s gone that hate just got a little stronger.

     After my mom died, he wanted everything that she ever had to be thrown away so he wouldn’t have to be reminded of her. Unfortunately for him, I inherited a lot of her genes. I got her jet black hair, green eyes and slightly tanned skin. Rick on the other hand, he was a pale white with brown hair and brown eyes and the only thing we had in common was our height. He’s 6’4 and I wasn’t too far behind being 5’11.

     “Beckett come on. The truck’s here and we have to start loading up.” Rick yelled from the front hall. I got up from my spot on the wooden floor of the living room, picked up a couple boxes and made my way to the U-Haul truck. I watched as all the boxes made their way into the trunk. Soon, I was standing alone in the center of the once living room, just staring at the pale blue walls. My mom and I had painted this room together when I was six years old. She told me the color reminded her of the clear skies back in her hometown. I felt my eyes begin to water but resisted the urge to cry.

     “Crap.” I said when a lone tear had successfully made it down my cheek. I wiped it away with my jean jacket. I hated to cry, to me it showed weakness; men weren’t supposed to cry.

     “Beck, you ready to get going?” I hadn’t heard Rick come into the room. I quickly turned around to face him. He was dressed in a dirty old plaid shirt and torn blue jeans with a pair of pilot sunglasses. “Douchebag.” I thought to myself. “Well?”

     “Oh, yeah.” I said slowly making my way to the front door, but before the doors to my home shut, I took one last glance at what remained of my mother; a wall as blue as the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~

     Over the course of two days we traveled from Los Angeles, California to some small town named Suttonville in Texas. It had been a long drive, I mean between Rick talking about his five acre ranch, which is now our new home, and having to deal with the constant text messages from my old girlfriend.

     Around noon time on Saturday we drove down a long dirt path which led to an old southern looking house. The house seemed to be two stories, painted white, with a black roof and shutters. There had to be at least five windows at the front of the house. There were also six pillars, three on each side. All in all it was a decent place, a little feminine, but decent. I opened the door to the car and climbed out. The sun was beaming brightly, forcing me to shield my eyes and that’s when I noticed a woman standing on the porch.

     “Uh dad, do you know that lady standing on the porch?” I asked. I looked over to see if I’d get an answer. He turned to me too, but he shook his head.

     “I have no clue. Maybe one of those poor hillbillies the relator told me about.” But by the looks of her she didn’t seem poor at all. As we walked up to the house, I noticed that she was an older woman, probably in her fifty’s or sixty’s. She was wearing a light blue button up blouse and white capris with a pair of silver sandals. Her hair was blonde but seemed to be slowly fading to white. When we were finally in front of each other, I noticed her eyes. They seemed to sparkle like a sapphire diamond. Before my dad could say anything to her though, she smiled the warmest smile I had ever seen and stuck out her right hand.

     “Howdy there, ya must be the new neighbors. I’m Cecilia Summerton. I live right down the road from y’all.” She said confidently as my father shook her hand.

     “Yeah, I’m Rick Springfield and this is my son Beckett.” He said putting his arm on my shoulder. Normally I’d shrug him off but I didn’t want to be rude in front of the kind woman. She turned toward me and smiled nicely. Then she turned back to my dad and began to talk to him again.

    “Well y’all seemed ta move in right on time. See, my niece an’ her daughter just moved in with me. I was plannin’ on invitin’ some a the neighbors for a cookout tomorrow so they could get ta know ‘em an’ when I heard that you two were movin’ in, I knew I just had ta invite ya.” She finished with smile and looked at us, waiting for an answer.

     “Oh that would be wonderful but,” my dad began. I knew he was going to say no and for some strange reason I didn’t want him to. Not wanting to flat out say no, I interjected.

     “But we don’t have any food that we could bring with us.” I cut in quickly. My father looked over at me and slightly glared.

     “Oh well nonsense young man. We don’t do that ‘round here an’ with you gettin’ here today, I didn’t expect ya ta have a refrigerator full a food. Oh that reminds me,” She turned around and walked over to a porch swing, which I hadn’t even noticed was there. She bent down and pick up a dish that was sitting there.

     “I cooked ya some a my homemade lasagna.” She turned back around and placed a warm glass dish in my hands. When I looked up she was smiling brightly at me. There was something strange about her but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

     “Well thank you very much Mrs. Summerton.” My father spoke. He smiled down at the elderly woman but she frowned up at him.

     “It’s Miss. Summerton, sonny, never got married. I didn’t wanna deal with all that fuss.” Then, just like that, she was making her way down the porch. “Take a left down that road an’ I’m the yellow house on the right, bout a mile down the road. Be there, five o’clock sharp.” Before my dad could protest, she was already halfway down the driveway.

     “Well this should be interesting.” My father mumbled. As he unlocked the front door, I just stood on the porch watching Miss. Summerton walk away. When she turned left, she looked back at me and gave me a small wave. I would have returned it if it wasn’t for the lasagna dish in my hand. Then she disappeared. “Maybe moving here was a good thing.” I thought to myself as I made my way into the house, kicking the door shut behind me.