Harpies

Chapter 1

It’s been a year today since my dad died. He was 34 years old. And I couldn’t even help him. I’ve thought about it a lot these last few weeks, with the one-year anniversary being today. I relive that day in my mind at least once everyday. 

Mom was meeting with a new buyer for her art gallery and was staying late at her office in Kingston. I had stayed home to babysit my little brother, James, until my dad got off of work for a big law firm. When he did get home, he brought Chinese take-out, our current favorite.  

I must have laughed aloud when I thought of that, because Mom gave me a weird look from the driver's seat of the car and asked me what was funny.

"Nothing," I muttered. She just sighed and turned her attention back to the road, thankfully. My mom is kind of scatter-brained sometimes and it can be scary when she's driving.

We sat on the old couch in the living room watching TV while we ate. Daddy was talking about his newest case, some drunk suing his favorite bar for hospital costs. Apparently he got hurt when their security guards threw him out for fighting in the bar;Daddy was defending the owner of the bar. He was rambling on the phone with one of his partners that the guy would  probably just drop the charges the next time he wanted a drink. 

I used to ask him why he became a lawyer in the first place and he always said that it was to help the people who needed it and to get as many bad people off of the streets as he could. It's things like that, my mom would say, that made everyone love him. 

James started playing his PSP and I was writing a new song to play on the piano. Mom called to say she was on the way home, that she would be here in an hour and a half. 

Seeing as we lived in Manhattan, she only went into the office once a week, doing most of her work at home in her studio that my dad built for her when they first got married. 

Daddy sent me and James to do the dishes- I washed and he dried and eventually we both put them up. Daddy went into his office by the front door and turned on his desk light and computer. There was a loud crash at the door and a couple of voices outside. Daddy yelled for us to grab the phone and hide while he picked up a baseball bat and waited by the door. I did what he said and shoved James into the hall closet, where I could still watch to see what was going on. Three men all dressed in jeans, t-shirts, and leather jackets burst through the door. They staggered around like they were drunk, yelling at my dad to back the fuck off and give them everything he had. 

He had done everything right. I start crying when I think about this part especially. I mean, he did everything they said! They told him to sit, he sat. He gave them money, bank account information, even the keys to his car! And they just… they just killed him anyways. And I watched. Helpless. 

I snap back to reality, still thinking about my father’s cold lifeless eyes staring back at me while his blood pooled around his head where they shot him.

I curl up in my seat, pull my knees to my chest, and turn my head so my mom doesn't see me start to cry. She’s had a hard time since he died. I think that’s part of the reason we’re moving to North Carolina to live with my great-aunt. Mom says that she's getting old, doesn’t remember things anymore, and that we’re moving to help take care of her. But I think it’s because mom doesn’t want to live in our house when my dad isn't there anymore, which is understandable. We were all miserable for months and months on end. James wouldn’t speak to me or mom or anyone else for nearly six months. Mom cried herself to sleep most nights and I had nightmares, reliving every horrible second of my father’s death, often waking up screaming. Eventually James spoke, mom still cries sometimes, even though she thinks that we don’t see her, and for me, the nightmares don’t come as often and I hardly ever scream when they do. It's like I've become numb, in a way. But honestly, I think I’ll be glad to be out of there, to have some form of change in my life. I never really got close to anyone at school, so there will be no friends to miss. Both of my parents were the only children in their families, so no relatives to miss, except for Nana. I practically hated living in the city anyway; it was always so loud and busy. Everything changed after my dad died; I came out of my wonderful, protective little bubble and started noticing all the crime that really went on there. Rape, robberies, and murder-all things that happened every day in the city. It should be nice to live out in the country. 

I wonder what she's like, Nana, that is. All I know of her is from a name is a story.

Mom called her Nana instead of aunt, seeing as her own grandmother died before she was born. Mom used to tell us all about living with her as a child. She loved it there; Nana had practically raised her. She’d start off saying that her parents died when she was young, so young, in fact, that she didn’t remember much about them. She was so scared that first day when Nana came to get her. She would cry all the time and didn’t want to leave her room. Finally, one day Nana got her to open up, read her a story, her favorite of course, and let her walk through the gardens - she even got to pet a duck that day. She would tell us, that day was the first day of the best time of her life. She told us that every day that summer she helped Nana cook breakfast, tend the gardens, and go on little adventures in the woods.  Sometimes they would go into the city to eat out for lunch, but most of the time they just had a picnic in the gardens. She tells us that they’re the most beautiful gardens in the whole world, that they surround Nana's whole house. 

Well sometimes mom exaggerates things so we'll see if everything lives up to the stories she told.

Just as I thought this, we pulled off of the highway and onto some bumpy dirt road with trees on both sides, shadowing the road like a blanket from the sun. I looked over to mom and saw her face slowly light up more and more as we traveled further down the road. Finally, we came to a beautiful iron gate with the family crest in the center and two lion heads on either side of it. 

"Mom..." I started, but couldn't finish. As we pulled into the driveway the view took my breath away. This was no house we were moving into, this was a mansion! Everything you set your eyes on was absolutely gorgeous. There were gardens on either side of the stone driveway, flowers of different shapes, sizes, and colors as far as the eye could see. The house itself was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen! It was huge, with ten wide steps leading up to the porch, where there were six tall pillars holding up the ceiling and the balcony of the second floor; the whole house was pristine white, like it was constantly cleaned, and probably bleached too. 

"We're here." And with those words, <om's face broke into the biggest smile and she looked as if she was imagining her childhood, reliving all the memories she made here when she was growing up. James looked up and said something, but I wasn't paying attention. Mom parked the car and we all got out and grabbed our bags. I looked around in awe, seeing everything closer now.

I stood there staring for a minute, taking in all the plants hanging from the top of the porch; green ivy flowed over their pots, almost touching the ground. There were little white and yellowe flowers that had managed to weave themselves through several of the ivy plants, some hanging almost as low. On the porch there is a porcelain white patio table with a big white umbrella and four old-southern style chairs with white cushions. On the edge of the porch, there is an old swing that hangs from the top of the porch; it's back is arched just a little bit, with a very detailed framework and tiny silver threads and pearl beads woven into the seat and back cushion. 

I grabbed my bags and started walking up the steps, toward the huge double doors that lead into the house. The porch itself looks like pure white marble and is extremely clean, which seems nearly impossible considering we're out in the middle of the woods. 

It was like I was in a daze and time had slowed down. James ran past me and Mom yelled after him but I couldn't understand anything. I stood frozen at the door and watched Mom walk in, set her bags down and call out for Nana. The two of them walked around the front room and I finally heard a voice break through the haze I was in.

"Takes your breath away doesn't it? The house, the gardens, the woods. All of it seems .... just magical," I heard a light, feminine voice with a slight southern accent say. 

I came out of my daydream and turned to see an old, thin woman on the steps behind me. She had a long Bohemian dress on, a dirty apron on over it, bare feet and a basket full of flowers in her hand. She smiled and I could definitely see the resemblance between her and my mom. I had to guess that this was Nana. 

She walked up the steps, brushing past me, and opened the door; turning to me, she said, "Come on in."