Beneath Scarlett Valley

CHAPTER TWO

HEAT RACED UP my spine as Harper pulled up to a two-story house nestled against the woods. Everything about it made me sick. From the dreadful olive shutters to the twin columns that stood like regal men to bear the sloping roof.

"What do you think?" Harper asked in a high voice. "Did I get it right?"

"Are you insane?"

"You hate it?"

"Of course, I hate it," I said. "What were you thinking?"

"Stop overreacting," Harper said. "It's just a house."

"It's not just a house. It is our house, our childhood house that dad built. How could you rebuild it without telling me?"

"Because you act like a two-year-old every time I mention Scarlett. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Not rebuild the house!" I cried.

"Look, you'll feel better once you go inside and take a shower."

"I'd rather sleep under a bus stop."

"You're impossible," Harper said.

"And you're a selfish twit," I hissed.

Harper climbed out of the car with a huff. She marched up the porch steps and into the house, slamming the door behind her.

I covered my face, tempted to scream. Coming back to Scarlett was one thing, but living in that house was another. I blinked back tears, pulled out my cellphone, and scrolled to my favorite City and Color album. The battery was only at fifteen per cent, but I pressed play, and closed my eyes.

The music was not enough. When the album ended, my head was still full of festering thoughts. I grabbed my duffle bag and climbed out of the car.

My feet shook as I climbed the porch steps and walked to the door. When I tried to open the door, my clammy fingers would not grasp the knob. I wiped my hands on my jeans and tried again. When the door swung open, it took all my strength to not race back to the car.

It was as though Harper had plucked our childhood from the past. Everything was the same on the inside too. The crisp white curtains, the brick fireplace, even the lilacs on the coffee table looked the same. I could almost see my father lounging on the chocolate-colored settee, and puffing on his pipe.

I hurried to the kitchen. The dining table looked just like the one my parents had played cards at, and although the curtains were the wrong shade of blue, they resembled the ones my mother had sewn.

"It took me three years to find that table," Harper said behind me. "I had to go all the way to Mexico to find the right carpenter. He thought I was crazy for wanting something so outdated."

"You had no right to do this without telling me."

"I won't apologize," she said. "You loved this place just as much as I did."

"Yes, but this is not our house. "This is a cheap replica of something precious."

"I'm not trying to replace your memories, Cass. I am trying to create new ones, but if you hate it so much, then go sleep under that bus stop you were bragging about."

"Or maybe I'll go back to Ashland, and let you find that stupid Source on your own."

Harper threw her car keys on the table. "Go on then, get on your merry little way."

I glared at her, hating her for mocking me, but also hating myself for not having the courage to leave.

"Well?" Harper asked.