It Starts With Him

01

𝑷𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒚𝒏 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒈<3

I wince in pain as the top of my head hits the ceiling of my light blue rusted pickup truck as I hit yet another curb. I tighten my hands on the steering wheel and weave the car towards the left, just missing a middle-aged woman walking her dog on the sidewalk. 

"Jesus, Devyn," Lucas moans from the passenger seat, rubbing his neck with his hand. 

"Sorry," I mumble apologetically as I finally pull into our driveway. That twenty-minute drive felt more like three hours. If there's anything I hate more on this earth than hamburger helper, it's driving. 

"I hope you know the next time you get behind the wheel, it's most likely your last," my twin brother shoots, a soft chuckle escaping his parted his lips. I reach over and shove his head so it nearly hits the window.  "Don't hate me because I'm honest," he calls over his shoulder as he runs onto the porch, his lacrosse bag dragging behind him.

I smile and shake my head, and turn off the ignition. Lucas can drive me crazy, as any twin brother would to his sister, but he's also my main source of happiness at any given time. We've always been close - even when I nearly kill him every time I drive.

"Devyn, could you come to the kitchen, please?" dad's voice rings out from the house. I hop out of the truck, the drop always a bit far. 

A tall pickup truck always seems to trump a small 5'2 girl. Crazy how that works.

I grab my lanyard and start my walk inside, purposely slowing down as I pass the line of sight that shows me Camden's house. He looks about 19, working on a car again. Like always. His name isn't actually Camden. I've never talked to this neighbor of mine, but he looks like a Camden to me. My eyes linger on his strong arms, and I laugh at myself. Creepy.

I open the front door, and slip my flip flops off and drop my keys on the kitchen counter.

"What's up?" I ask dad and boost myself up to sit on the counter. I feel a nervous pang in my stomach. Is he about to ask me about my grade in calculus? Senior year finally came to a close yesterday, so it's not like I can do anything about it now. It's a low B, so it isn't even really bad. My dad's standards, though? Pretty bad.

"So there's something I've been meaning to talk to the two of you about," dad says, leaning against the counter next to me. I give Lucas a sideways glance. His spoonful of plain Nutella freezes inches from his mouth and we make confused eye contact. 

"About what?" Lucas murmurs, his mouth full. I slap him upside the head with a laugh and then turn to dad.

Dad takes a deep breath and turns to look at both of us. "We're going to South Carolina this summer," he says quickly as if he was trying to get the words out as quickly as he could. 

My jaw drops and I hear Lucas's spoon clink against the ground. 

South Carolina. There's no way.

Silence floods the spacious kitchen as we stare at dad, waiting for him to say more. He doesn't.

"Are you sure you want to, dad? After all these years?" Lucas questions, his voice much more somber than it was just a moment ago. 

After all these years is right. 8 years to be exact. 8 years since we packed up the truck and drove 15 hours to our big beach house. 8 years since I felt the sand my toes. 8 years since I cuddled with mom on the light yellow sofa binging reality TV on the rare rainy nights.

We used to go every summer. From the day Lucas and I were born to our 10th birthday in June, we never failed to miss a summer there. But after that, we stopped. No particular reason for it, either. Mom got a new job that kept her busy, and Lucas and I got older and made more commitments in the summer that required us to stay in our home town of Madison, Wisconsin.

We made plans to go, but we all knew they would fall through. And they did for 8 years straight. 

We only have a house there because of mom. She was born and raised in South Carolina, and when her parents retired and moved to Florida right before I was born, she took their house off their hands. Keeping a house where mom grew up made it easier for her to make the move to Madison with my dad.  She knew she could visit her hometown anytime she wanted.

However, even though all four of us haven't been going up every summer for the past 8 years, I can't say the same for mom. Last summer, just 9 months ago, mom decided to go up by herself for just a week. She wanted to see some high school friends since it had been so long.

On her last day there, she had been driving home when a silver Toyota Camry rammed into her door. The driver was drunk, they said. Still haven't caught the guy.

Mom didn't make it. She died on impact. 

Of course, adjusting to life without the most important person in my life has been... difficult to say the least. But I guess, it makes sense why dad wants to go now. He wants the three of us to bond as a family, and carry on mom's legacy in the house she grew up in.

She would want us to go. 

"Yes, I'm sure. I think it's a good idea, don't you?" Dad answers, and I smile brightly at him. "Yes, I do, daddy," I assure him. He smiles, the smile lines around his eyes appearing.

"We leave first thing on Sunday," he explains, picking up his keys and wallet off the table. Walking to the front door and opening it, he turns back to look at us once more. "I love you guys. Getting groceries, I'll be back," he announces, and the door closes behind him.

Lucas and I share a shocked glance for a good thirty seconds when I make my way up to my room. Sunday's only four days from now. 

I slide into bed, my clean-shaven legs rubbing softly against the sheets. My damp chocolate brown hair gives me chills as it rests on my back. I lie my head down on my pillow but look at my nightstand before I turn off the light. 

I observe the picture I have there of my family in South Carolina. Me and Lucas when we were just kids - maybe eight or nine. We're holding fishing poles, each with a small bass hanging off the hooks. My hair is tied into braids and around our shoulders is mom's arm.

I smile at the sight of her. She looks stunning. Her caramel brown straight hair waves gently in the wind, and on her shoulder is my dad's hand. The only one in the family with blonde hair. He looks so happy, the smile lines around his eyes so apparent. 

After everything, he still has those. They might be fainter, but he still has them. 

I flip off my lamplight and nestle deeper into the sheets. The first summer in South Carolina in 8 years? 

Count me in.