Be the Girl(5)

I note the girl’s slightly stilted and slower dialogue.

My mom grins and calls back, “Hi, Cassie! It’s good to see you again!”

Heather begins walking this way.

“Wait!” Cassie suddenly sounds frantic. “The you-know-whats!”

“They’re on the back seat. Get them and then come over. You can do it.” Heather continues walking toward us. Meanwhile, Cassie rushes into the back seat, reappearing with a brown bag a moment later. She gallops more than runs after her mother, gripping the bag in both hands in front of her, as if it contains something of great value.

“Debra! It’s so good to see you again.” Heather takes my mom’s hand in both of hers, a friendly gesture between two people who aren’t acquainted enough to hug yet, her eyes crinkling with a smile. “Merv’s been talking nonstop about you two moving here for the past month.”

My mom chuckles. “Good things, I hope?”

“I haven’t seen him this happy in a while.”

“Hi. I’m Cassie,” the girl next to her blurts out, thrusting the bag toward me. “We bought you cookies. The double chocolate are the best.”

Heather gestures to her. “This is my daughter, Cassie. And you must be Aria?” She regards me with soft gray eyes. She is a pretty lady, and around my mother’s age, though I note more fine lines marking her forehead.

“I am.” I smile politely, sizing up the large cat graphic on Cassie’s T-shirt. “Hi.”

“You’re going to my school!” Cassie announces, adjusting her red-rimmed glasses as she peers first at me, then at my mom, then at her mom. Her gaze doesn’t seem to hold on anyone for too long. “Yeah, you’re in grade eleven and I’m in grade ten. Emmett’s in grade twelve. Do you know Emmett?”

“Uh … no.”

“Aria has never been to Eastmonte before. Remember we talked about that?” Heather reminds her daughter in a slow, articulate voice.

“Oh, yeah.” Cassie grins sheepishly. “Emmett is my brother. You’ll like him. He has a lot of friends.”

“Cassie has been waiting anxiously for you. I think she’s asked me every day for the past three weeks what day you’d be here,” Heather says with a smile and a look of forced patience.

“Shh! Mom!” Cassie giggles, then turns to my mom. “I met you at Aunt Connie’s funeral.”

“You’re right, you did.”

“She’s not really my aunt. We’re not related. She’s a friend-aunt,” Cassie says, as if Connie is still alive and well.

My mom smiles. “A friend-aunt. I like that.”

“Yeah. I miss her. I wish she didn’t die.” Cassie’s grin is at odds with her words.

Mom frowns deeply. “I miss her, too.”

“Yeah, do you want to come see my room, Aria?” Cassie asks me in her next breath.

“Uh …” I look to my mom, feeling overwhelmed by the swirl of conversation.

“Maybe another day, Cassie. Aria is busy unpacking,” Heather says evenly, as if she can read my hesitation.

“Okay.” Cassie nods. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Heather answers for me, then turns to my mom. “Do you still have a lot to unload? Because we can help.”

“Actually, I think we’re done unloading for now. I have to make room in the house first. But we have a few heavier boxes—books, mainly—that we might need strong arms for.”

“If you can wait until Sunday, Emmett and Mark will be back. They left this morning to visit a college campus in Minnesota.”

“Wow! College in the US!” my mom exclaims, and I can practically hear what she’s thinking because I’ve heard her say it before. Poor parents who have to pay that tuition!

Heather’s eyes widen with understanding. “I know.”

“My brother plays hockey. He’s so good,” Cassie blurts out. “He has a scholarship.”

“If he keeps his grades up,” Heather says. “Okay. Well, we’ll let you get back to it. And we want to have the three of you over for dinner, once you’ve settled.”

“We would love that.” My mom beams, sounding genuinely interested in the prospect of dinner with our new neighbors. I can’t remember the last time she made a friend.

“It’s nice to meet you, Aria.” Heather hooks an arm through Cassie’s. “Let’s go.”

“See you tomorrow.” Cassie’s eyes veer to the paper bag in my hand. “Those are really good cookies. They’re fresh.”

“Yeah?” I hold them up to my nose to inhale the chocolate scent. “Good, because I love cookies.”

“Me too.” She giggles. “Maybe I can have one?”

“You’ve already had two.” Heather smiles apologetically to us and begins leading her daughter away, whispering, “Those are a gift for them.”

“Okay.”

“You can’t give a gift and then ask to eat it!”

“Okay. I know!” Cassie’s voice turns petulant.

I catch Heather’s heavy sigh as they walk away.

“What other flavors are there?” Mom yanks the bag from my grip and eyes its contents, finally pulling out an oatmeal raisin. She takes a bite. “Mmm … She was right. These are good.”