The Ground Below

Chapter Nine

“Your mom is going away for a while,” Grammy says as she holds me. My body wracks with sobs, and I know that something is wrong. Most mothers don’t leave their children, especially their eight year old daughter.

“No! Mommy, don’t go,” I plead with her. She looks vacant, but then her eyes turn on me as if seeing me for the first time. Chandler is standing in the doorway holding some bags—Mommy’s bags—watching our exchange. He looks worried. I’m worried too.

Mommy kneels down to me, and looks into my eyes. “Baby, Mommy is sick. I’m not strong enough to take care of you right now. Your Grammy is going to look after you.”

“I can take care of you, Mommy. Don’t go.”

“Baby, I have to.” She takes a large gulp of air, and I hear her hard swallow. “Whatever happens, remember that I love you so much—you and your brother. When I get better, I’ll come back.”

The sun is just starting to rise, and I wake with my stomach howling. I haven’t eaten since before I boarded the plane. Also, I notice a hollow feeling in my stomach as if something is missing. My family is missing.

It hurts to think about them. I need to call Chandler. I didn’t plan on missing them this much, and I don’t know how I can stay here with this ache in my chest. And the fact that I lost my guardian for my younger years almost two weeks ago doesn’t cease the homesickness I’m feeling.

“Parker?” Chandler answer groggily, sounded slightly confused.

“Sorry to call this early, but I woke up missing you.”

I hear him sigh. I hate to worry him, and I know that is exactly what he’s doing. “It’s nice here. I like it so far,” I say trying to relax him.

“I’m glad to hear that, baby girl. It’s kind of early for you to be up, don’t you think?”

“Well I hit the hay kind of early last night. Yesterday was exhausting. I’m also very hungry so I’m about to raid the fridge.”

He chuckles, “you and your food.” I love hearing him laugh. Sometimes it’s a rare occurrence, around me anyway. That’s Chandler, always worrying. That’s me, always worrying him. I feel guilty, as if he’s aged a million years because of me. Deep down, I know it wasn’t just me, but I can’t help feeling this way.

“I love food,” I say sullenly. He hears it too.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is laced with concern.

“I’m just worried about you. I hate being a burden on you.”

“You were never a burden, and I’m glad to be here when you need me. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now go eat, and discover your new home, and town.”

As he tells me to go eat, my stomach growls again. We exchange our goodbyes, and share our love for each other before hanging up. I feel better after talking to Chandler—aside from my annoying hunger.

The house is still dark as the sun has barely risen, and most of the curtains are drawn. I hate the dark, because it usually involves stubbing a toe or bumping a shin into a table. I ran into a corner strip once, and had a pump knot the size of a quarter. Not fun.

The kitchen is so much different than mine in New York. The smell of leftover baked goods wasn’t present here. In fact, it smells like lemon scented cleaning products. I open the fridge to find some eggs, and bacon. Before long, the wonderful smell of bacon overpowers everything else. It wafts through the air, and I hear a door open.

Karter follows the smell to the kitchen, and flicks on the light. He’s wearing a light gray t-shirt with a darker shade of gray sweatpants. His eyes are barely open, and I woke him up.

“You’re cooking with the light off?”

“I opened a curtain. I see fine.”

He smirks as his eyes rake over me, and I realize what I’m wearing is only a t-shirt and panties. How could I forget to put on clothes? But to my defense, until he walked in here, I forgot that I wasn’t alone in this house.

He crosses around the Island to where I’m cooking. My back is against the counter as he puts his hands on my hips. He glances at what I’m wearing again, and licks his lips. I’ve never felt more uncomfortable. “So what are you doing here? You Dallas’ new whore?”

Okay, that hurt. It couldn’t be any further from the truth, but being accused of being a whore is never pleasant.

“No, I’m Kaylie’s new piano teacher,” I respond with a gulp.

“Oh, a teacher, huh?” At this point, I’m a mix between frightened, and pissed off, wanting to punch that smug look off of his face. But then his face grows serious. “Teach?”

“What?” I say sharply.

He nods his head in the direction of the stove. “Your bacon’s on fire.”

“Damn it.” He loosens his grip, and I push him away. I grab a lid and throw it on the skillet, then turn off the stove. Never throw water on a grease fire. I learned that by walking around without any eyebrows until they finally grew back.

“Pay attention, teach.” He snarls before walking back to his room. I never thought I could hate someone without knowing them, but I think I hate him.

Well, the bacon was a bust, and the scrambled eggs were a little too crispy. Not how I prefer them. I throw away the wasted food and poor a bowl of cereal. Not the kind of breakfast I was hoping for, but it’ll do.

I lay down on the couch, not knowing how long it’ll be before the family wakes up. There is nothing on the television this early in the morning, so I waste it watching infomercials.

Two hours later, Karter walks out of his bedroom freshly showered and dressed.

“See ya, teach.” I wave but the door shuts as soon as my arm is in the air.