Without Me

Chapter Two: Emerson

"Bea! I swear, if you're not down here in one minute, we're leaving without you!"

It's 8:30 in the morning, and I still have to take the girls to camp before I go to work.

I'm freaking out because the women I spoke to over the phone never gave me a dress code, and I'm not sure what I should wear. I walk into our warm little kitchen wearing black spandex pants and a Columbia University t-shirt. 

Annie sits at our wide farmhouse table in one of the six mismatched chairs. Not mismatched because they're a different style, but mismatched because each one is  hand painted differently. Her long brown hair is braided down her back and she's dressed and ready in a tie-dyed, summer camp shirt.

"Do you think this is ok?" I ask her with my arms out.

A spoonful of cereal pauses halfway to her mouth and she shrugs her slender shoulders. "Looks fine to me. You should probably wear tennis shoes instead of sandals though."

She's right. I kiss her on the head and go to find another pair of shoes in closet by the front door. I can't wear the ones from the bar; they reek like restaurant.

"Bea!"

"I'm right here. Geez."

I jump, tangling my ponytail in a hanger. "You gotta be kidding me!" I try unwrapping it, but it only seems to get worse.

Bea doubles over in laughter and I swear, it's the first time I've seen her smile in weeks. 

"Seriously Bea, help a sister out."

"Sure... after I get a photo." She grabs my phone off the bench and takes a burst of photos. I'm so happy that she's out of her funk, even for just a few minutes, that I start laughing too.

Annie walks out of the kitchen, "what's going -?" She sees us, turns around and goes right back in.

I finally tug myself free, only losing a small handful of hair, and grab Bea pulling her into me for a huge hug. "I love you kid." I really do. Her and Annie may be identical in looks, but the complete opposite in spirit. Whenever things get hard, Annie throws herself into the role of caretaker, while Bea pushes people away to hide her pain.

"Yeah, yeah." She doesn't return the hug, but she doesn't pull away either. Progress.

"You better grab something to eat before we go, you don't eat lunch for three hours and you don't want your blood sugar to drop."

Thankfully, Annie comes out of the kitchen at that moment carrying two towels, two lunch bags and a bottle of sunscreen. She shoves a granola bar in Bea's hand and walks out the door.

...

Most of the homes on Michigan Ave are large, but this one is enormous.

The women I spoke to on the phone last week told me the house had been in their family for generations, and was designed by a distant relative from Georgia who had aptly named the home "Southern Comfort."

I've seen this house a thousand times in my life, but never truly looked at it.

Before the girls were born, Mom and Dad took me on a vacation to New Orleans. Mom was an artist and was fascinated by the street vendors around the park, but my favorite part was a bike ride around the garden district looking at the stately homes with their covered porches.

I can picture this home there, surrounded by live oaks and dripping Spanish moss that hovers in the warm breeze. Here, it's surrounded by maples, and centered in the front yard is a single magnolia tree dropping soft white petals that float to the ground like snow.