The Brilliance of Fireflies Read online

  The screams from the news coverage bring me back to the present. The same pictures of huddled concertgoers and police lights flash one after another, but I continue watching well into the night.

  Chapter 3

  It’s only 8 a.m., but I’m mid-afternoon awake. My body thinks it’s still in Ohio. I toss and turn in Grandma’s tiny guest bed for another hour, but sleep isn’t happening. I throw off the handmade quilt, tie up my unruly hair, and shuffle into the kitchen. Grandma Connie’s nurse Susan is scrubbing the sink. I met her yesterday when she and Grandma picked me up at the airport.

  “Good morning,” she grunts without looking at me.

  “Hi,” I say sleepily. I freeze in the middle of the kitchen, staring at cabinets and drawers like I’ve just arrived in a foreign country.

  Susan sighs loudly. “Your grandmother and her friend are in the other room having coffee. Go get a muffin from them.” She seemed much nicer yesterday. I scurry away.

  A left turn out of the kitchen leads me to Grandma Connie and another older lady sitting around the same octagonal wood dining table I remember from her New London house.

  “Hi sweetie!” Grandma rises and engulfs me in a hug and a cloud of her signature Shalimar perfume. When she lets go, she rotates me and announces, “Rose, this is my granddaughter Emma. She’s here from Ohio. She’s Peter’s daughter.”

  Rose aims a sweet grandmotherly smile my way and welcomes me. She wears a coordinated brightly colored outfit with full makeup and perfectly styled hair.

  “Nice to meet you.” Bracelets clink and jangle as I shake her hand. She clasps a hand over mine, and the little squeeze she gives me tells me she knows about my family.

  “Sit down and join us,” my grandmother insists.

  “So tell me, Emma, what do you think of California so far?” Rose asks.

  “Well, I just got in yesterday, so I haven’t seen much of it.”

  “Oh, of course, dear,” she says, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her yellow cloth napkin.

  “But there is a lot of traffic,” I add to be polite as I pour myself a cup of coffee and dump in some milk and a bunch of sugar.

  This elicits a large exhale from both of them. “Yes, the traffic,” Grandma Connie says. “It took us forty-five minutes to get home from the airport, and it’s what, seven miles?”

  “Sounds about right. Well, you remember how long it took us to get to dinner in LA the other night,” Rose says, and this begins a big discussion about valets and dinner prices.

  I take a chocolate chip muffin from the china platter in the center of the table. The tiny pink flowers decorating it spark another trip down memory lane for me. I tear off the top of the muffin and eat it while the two ladies move on to a new subject—church and how Father O’Somebody never stopped Mass while the paramedics tended to some woman they know in the front pew.

  I finish my muffin and excuse myself. I poke my head into the kitchen. No Susan. I exhale. The rumble of the washing machine tells me she must be in the laundry room. I nose around a bit in the kitchen. Inside the cupboards it screams the 1970s, but on the outside it’s shouting Pottery Barn. The stainless-steel appliances and the reddish-brown wood cabinets seem to glow under the ceiling spotlights. The colors in the tile behind the sink even match the beige and tan in the granite countertops. I remember Mom and Dad being so angry that Grandma spent so much money on this remodel. But Grandma loves cooking, so I can see why she loves her new kitchen.

  She and Grandpa remodeled the rest of the house when they moved out here. Grandpa always talked about missing the seashore like in Corfu where he grew up. I think it was his dream to move back near the ocean, so he and Grandma moved to California when Grandpa retired. Grandpa died two years later from a heart attack, and I think Grandma Connie stayed to keep living his dream.

  I finally find the glasses and the water pitcher in the giant refrigerator. I pour myself some water and wander back into the living room where I hear Grandma Connie telling Rose a story.

  “When Peter’s sister brought her new boyfriend home to New London after her divorce, Peter greeted him and told Alexandra that he was taking her boyfriend out for the day. They drove to Sandusky and fished all afternoon.”

  I furrow my brows because I know this story well, but Grandma has it confused. It wasn’t my dad who did this. He was an only child. It was Grandpa.

  “Grandma,” I interject, “don’t you mean it was Grandpa’s sister who brought the boyfriend home to New London?”

  Grandma frowns and pulls her head back. “Why yes, dear. That’s what I said. Peter’s sister.” She turns back to Rose. “And that night, they returned, and he told Alexandra that her boyfriend could stay.” Grandma shakes her head. “And boy, if those two men didn’t become best friends.”

  “But Grandma, Peter is my dad. Don’t you mean Grandpa Emilios?” I insist.

  She reaches to reposition one of her brown curls and stares straight through me. “Isn’t that what I said?”

  “No, you said Peter.”

  She blinks hard then laughs. “Oh well, you know what I meant.” She dismisses her mistake with a wave.

  Rose winks at me. “When you get to be our age, Emma, this is what happens.” They chuckle over that. My grandma is smiling, but her eyes focus on a picture frame on a table next to the living room armchair. It’s one of my dad. A tear trickles down her face, and Rose puts a hand on her arm.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” I announce, and I give my grandma a quick hug from behind before hustling out of the room. I came to California to escape the sad head tilts and the gentle squeezes. Besides, I feel terrible for upsetting Grandma.

  Moments later, I’m grateful to feel the water washing over me, cleansing me of all the guilt and sadness.

  After my shower, I escape out the back door for a walk around my new neighborhood. I am greeted by a chilly gray fog. So much for warm southern California with its sunny blue skies. I shiver as I walk along the side of the house. It feels a little like a corn maze with the neighboring house so close. It’s weird—almost creepy—to have neighbors so close you can practically touch each other through the windows.

  Out front, I cross the small front lawn and stop to admire the rainbow of flowers that border the lawn and the rose bushes under the front windows. Grandma and Grandpa have always loved their flowers. I keep going and walk down the stone path to the sidewalk. I don’t know where I’m going, but I choose left because there’s a big hill to the right.

  It’s a quiet morning. After I pass a few houses, I realize California seems to be confused about its identity. There are palm trees, of course, but also some eucalyptus, what appear to be pine trees, and a bunch of other kinds of trees. Some of the lawns are lush green with flowers like my grandma’s, but others are nothing but sand and dirt with an assortment of cactus plants. What’s even funnier to me is the random design of the houses. My grandma’s is a tiny one-story three-bedroom house. It’s cute and well-kept—light gray with a crimson door—but it’s no mansion. It’s sandwiched, though, between two giant homes each trying to imitate some movie star’s Italian villa. I pass a few average ones, then comes some kind of clean and sterile modern architect’s house. Right across from it is an even tinier one than my grandma’s that looks like it’s haunted—peeling paint, a yard of weeds, and a broken-down rusted car in the driveway. Even the street names lack real identity. My grandma’s street is called Avenue A.

  My homesickness grows a little with each house I pass. I miss the bricks and the big lawns and wide-open spaces of Ohio. I even miss my street name: Cottontail Lane. It had character. My steps slow as the weight of this decision bears down on me. I reach the end of the street, and since I don’t know my surroundings yet, I turn around so I don’t get lost. Plus it’s more exercise than I’ve gotten in over a month.

  I decide on my way back that everything will be better once I try one of these famous In-n-Out burgers I’ve heard about and find a good shopping mall.
Malls are the same everywhere; that will help me feel more at home.

  When I get back, Grandma is in the kitchen cleaning the dishes. Rose has left, and I don’t see Susan anywhere.

  “Where’s Susan?” I ask. I pick up the blue dish towel on the counter and help dry some plates.

  “She had a family emergency. I told her to go and not to worry about me. I really don’t think I need her here all the time. I’m not an invalid. I just need someone to drive me on errands, and the doctor thought it would be good to have some help around the house.”

  “How are you doing?” I ask. I recall Aunt Kellie’s words of warning and flash to what happened earlier.

  “Oh, I’m fine. I’m a little forgetful sometimes, but that’s my age.”

  It’s true. She never once got confused or seemed forgetful during the week she spent with us before the funeral. She didn’t even have the nurse with her. She was probably the strongest of all of us. That’s why I decided to come here.

  “Well, that’s the last of it,” she says as she puts the cream and sugar set back on the antique tea cart in the corner. “And I’m exhausted. I always take a nap on Sundays since church is so early.”

  “Yeah, 7 a.m. is pretty early.”

  She winks. “Don’t you worry. I won’t make you go with us.”

  “Well, maybe not every week, but I would like to see where you go to church.” I want to know more about my grandma. She’s the only connection I have left to my dad.

  “Of course. We’d love to have you anytime.”

  She takes my dish towel, folds it, and hangs it on the oven handle, then she gives me another hug. “I’m so happy you’re here, Emma. I know this is tough for you. But you don’t know how good it is to see you.” I hug her a little tighter. I knew staying with Grandma was a good decision. For both of us, it seems.

  Grandma lets go and says, “Okay, well, I’m going to go lie down. Do you need anything?”

  I pause then ask, “Could I borrow the car?”

  She gives me a quizzical look. “You never have to ask, sweetheart. But where are you going to go? I thought I’d have Susan take us around and show you where everything is.”

  “I kind of just wanted to explore. I’ve got my phone.” I pull it out of my back shorts pocket. “I was going to Google some places, and I can use the GPS.”

  “You’re going to do what, sweetheart?” Grandma’s eyes narrow.

  A burst of laughter escapes. “I’m going to look up places on the internet and use the map on my phone to find them.”

  “You kids and those devices. Some of the ladies at church bought me one of those iPad tablet things when I turned seventy. I still haven’t used it.” She throws up her hands in the air.

  “I’ll help you with it.” My eyes brighten.

  Grandma gives my arm a squeeze. “Okay, dear. Later, though. I’m going to take a nap now. The car keys are hanging by the front door. I’m not sure how much gas is in it, though. Susan usually takes care of that.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll figure it out.” Uncle Jim sent me here with so much cash he might as well have put it in a canvas bag with a dollar sign on it.

  “Be careful,” she tells me. She gives me a kiss before turning down the hallway.

  “I will,” I say, and I get ready to set off on my little adventure.

  After dinner, I convince Grandma to let me do the dishes, and I’m drying the last pan when she yells out from the living room, “Damn it!”

  I race into the room with the pan still in my hand. Grandma has the TV remote held to her ear.

  “Is everything okay?” I walk slowly toward the tan armchair where she sits.

  She’s muttering and lowers the TV remote. She squints through her glasses and starts punching at the buttons. She lifts it to her ear but purses her lips. “I can’t get a dial tone on this phone. The phone has stopped working, and I need to call your father.”

  I freeze in my tracks with the pan half-raised. I say slowly, “Grandma? That’s not the phone; that’s the TV remote. And you know you can’t call Dad, right?” My voice tiptoes around each word.

  She stares blankly at me above the wire-rimmed glasses resting on her nose. “What do you mean this isn’t the phone? Of course it is. It’s what I use every day to call my friends.” She starts jabbing again at the buttons.

  I don’t know what to do. I wish Susan were here; my words aren’t getting through to her. Her eyes are wild and her hands are shaking. I take a deep breath and lower the pan. I walk over to her and sit at the farthest edge of the ottoman at her feet. “Grandma, it’s okay. If you give it to me, maybe I can try to get it to work.” I open my free hand in front of her. She narrows her eyes but passes the remote to me. I get up slowly and walk back to the kitchen. I put the remote and the pan down and retrieve the phone from the counter.

  I return to the living room and press the “on” button. “Here you go. I got it to work.”

  She takes the phone and holds it up to her ear. Her jaw unclenches, but she gradually lowers her hand.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t remember who I was supposed to call,” she says softly.

  I sit back down and put my hand on her leg. “Well, you said you were trying to call my dad.”

  She tilts her head. “But your father is...”

  I bite my lip then say, “I know.”

  Her eyes blink and recognition flashes in them. Her shoulders slump, and I say to her, “It’s okay.”

  “I think I’m just tired. All that gardening this afternoon then cooking that big meal for us was too much. I think I’d just like to go to bed.”

  “Of course,” I say. I help her out of the chair and lead her back to the bedroom. I help her find pajamas and wait as she washes her face and brushes her teeth. When she’s in bed, I kiss her goodnight and turn out the light. Just like she’s a little kid.

  I go straight to my room and close the door. I lean against it, slide all the way to the floor, and bury my head in my hands. What have I done? My grandmother just thought she could call my dead dad on the TV remote.

  Aunt Kellie was right. This is too much for me. My heart races. I’ve made a huge mistake. I shouldn’t be here.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  No, I shouldn’t. I should have been with Connor and my mom and dad. I should have gone to that game. If I had, maybe...

  My eyes burn with tears that I refuse to let fall, so I jump to my feet and throw open my suitcases. I stuff pile after pile of my clothes into the empty dresser drawers and hang a bunch of shirts in the closet. Once that’s done, I unwrap all the special belongings I’ve taken with me.

  First, it’s one of Mom’s half-marathon medals. She planned to run fifty half-marathons by the time she turned fifty. In order to do it, she was going to have to run four more this year before her birthday in June. We all knew she’d meet her goal. Even though I didn’t understand her love of running, I thought it was pretty cool to be doing fifty of something. But I never told her that. And now it’s too late.

  I quickly place the medal on the dresser and unwrap a childhood picture of my dad on vacation with Grandpa in Corfu. He had been so excited to take the whole family there this summer. He’d started this geeky spreadsheet of things he wanted to show us and kept reciting family history facts. I think I told him to stop it at least twenty times, but I’m not sure I ever once said I was excited to go or offered up five minutes to look at the spreadsheet with him. He’ll never know that right now I’d give anything to be checking things off on an annoying family vacation.

  I place the picture next to the medal and take out Connor’s Ohio State football. All he talked about was The Ohio State University. I purposely bought and wore a Michigan shirt just to bother him. Why? Why couldn’t I have just spent one Saturday cheering with him for his team? It seems so stupid now to be annoyed by his excitement because in this moment I’d trade my life for just one Saturday to hear him recite Ohio State football facts during
a game.

  I set the football against the wall at the back of the dresser, and then I fall back on the bed.

  My family had dreams, real dreams. Cheerleading, NYU, gossiping with my friends—all that seems pointless now. Their dreams mattered. They were passionate about things, and they should still be here, feeling that joy pulse through their veins. I squeeze my eyes shut, somehow hoping that if I try hard enough, I can will them back. I pinch my whole face then open my eyes.

  I’m still here. Alone. All the way in California with nothing but sterile blood pulsing through my veins.

  I turn my head and stare at the medal, picture, and football. It’s not fair. I don’t deserve to be here. They should be here making their dreams come true.

  Make their dreams come true.

  And that’s it. A light turns on in my brain, and it becomes instantly clear: I know what I have to do.

  I walk over to the dresser. I touch each one of these beautiful reminders and nod once. I can’t change the fact that I’m still here, but I can make their lives mean something. I need to finish what they started. I owe them that.

  And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  Chapter 4

  I bolt out of bed at 7:00 a.m., still buzzing about my plan. From the hallway, I can hear Grandma humming in the kitchen. I peek around the corner, and she’s fully dressed and fixing a bowl of cereal.

  “Hi Grandma.” I take a slow step into the kitchen, unsure if I should mention last night.

  “Good morning, sweetheart. Aren’t you up early?” Her eyes sparkle, no trace of last night’s foggy confusion. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “I’m still on Ohio time,” I say and step fully into the kitchen. I decide not to bombard her with my plan so early in the morning.