The rest of the weekend is a rollercoaster of sunshine and hikes, swimming and generally goofing off. I don’t want to be clichéd and say it flies by, but honestly, it simultaneously feels like the longest and shortest weekend of my life.

For the first time in a long time, I feel comfortable and carefree. I’m not sure I’ve felt this way since long before Ruby died.

In the back of my mind, I know my worries are still there. This doesn’t change anything. I know that, but for the moment, I can almost… not quite forget, but they aren’t at the forefront of my mind.

They’re like a light in fog—fuzzy but piercing. But right now, the fog is greater than that light.

The last day, we get rained on. Instead of holing up in the tents and waiting for it to subside, somehow, we all get pulled into a mud battle. I’m pretty certain G started it.

Even Meka and Sarge join in until everyone is covered in mud and practically unrecognizable. I find myself laughing so much, I’m not even upset when someone throws a wad of mud and some accidentally lands in my mouth.

When things die down, we all lay in the rain, letting it rinse off what it can.

The twins both try to make angels in the mud, and we all take turns, comparing who makes the best mud angel.

***

The car ride with Gage is quiet until we reach the road to my house.

“Thank you for coming with us,” Gage says.

“I think I should be the one thanking all of you.”

“Any time, Violet.”

The way he says my full name, it makes goosebumps rise on my arms, and a part of me really wants him to say it again. I don’t think I’ve heard much of anyone, but teachers, say my name in I don’t know how long. Everyone else on the camping trip called me Vi.

When we get home, I see Daddy’s car in the driveway, and my energy amps up. I can’t remember the last time I came home and saw his car here. I feel a bubble of anticipation that I try to quell, so I won’t be disappointed.

Gage offers to help me to carry my things inside, but I wave him off.

He offers to pick me up for school in the morning too, and I accept. I stand on the porch and watch as he drives off down the road as I steel my nerves.

I take a deep breath and slowly make my way into the house, leaving my things by the stairway as I look for Daddy.

Butters doesn’t greet me at the door as he usually does, but I assume he’s probably waiting for me in my room. He’s probably irritated that he hasn’t seen me in so long. I hope Mom remembered to feed him.

Daddy’s at the dining room table, holding his head in his hands, a piece of paper in front of him. He lets out a long sigh and I can feel the despair wafting off of him.

I almost turn to go to my room instead. A part of me doesn’t want to disturb his sadness, like I’m intruding on a side of him that I was never meant to see.

The Daddy I know is always calm, stoic, even at Ruby’s funeral he kept a straight face. Daddy gave the eulogy without shedding a tear. But now he looks… heartbroken.

“Hey Daddy,” I say, and I watch as a mask is slipped on. One moment his eyes are glistening, his posture slumped, the lines on his face making him look more tired; the next, he’s sitting perfectly straight, and he has this dead stare.

“Hey there, Plum.”

He hasn’t called me Plum since I turned twelve, but I don’t comment on the reemergence of my childhood nickname.

We all had one. Ruby was Strawberry, Jasper was Mango. I’m not sure if it had to do with the fruits being similar to the colors of our names or because those were our favorite fruits, and none of us ever asked.

I want to tell him about my trip, but the look I saw before stops me.

“Where’s Mom?” I ask. He shrugs, which tells me they probably got into an argument again or he doesn’t care.

“I think she went out with Aunt Haley. She’ll probably be back later.”

“Are you staying for dinner?” It takes everything in me to force the words out, at least, that’s how it feels.

“Sorry, not tonight. I have a presentation early in the morning, so I’m going to spend the night in the office.”

Owning his own company, Daddy is constantly working, but before Ruby died, he was at least always home for dinner. I try not to let how the news deflates me show on my face.

I feel a wave of something that seems to travel all the way down to my toes, as if suddenly my feet are made of brick.

I want to ask him why he never wants to come home anymore. I want to ask him if he thinks it’s my fault. I want to ask which child he’s the most disappointed in. I want to ask him a lot of things, but same as with Jasper, I can’t find the energy to form the words. Like with Mom, I think it’s better not to say anything.

“How about this: I’ll make you some cocoa before I go?” Daddy must’ve seen the hurt I was trying to hide—he was always pretty good at that.

“I’d like that.”

I watch as he moves to the kitchen to retrieve ingredients. I sneak a look at the paper but feel cold when I see Ruby’s name. I quickly turn away and watch as Daddy pulls milk from the fridge and then sees the date and takes a sniff of it.

“When was the last time we went grocery shopping?” He takes a look at the remnants of old casseroles brought over after Ruby died.

To be honest, I haven’t even looked inside the fridge in a long time. He doesn’t wait for me to answer him, instead tugging his wallet from his pocket, he hands me a hundred-dollar bill.

“Here, Plum. You can use it to order pizza or something until I get a chance to go shopping.”

He moves to the cabinets and starts searching through them.

“We’ll have to go the simple way for cocoa. We should have a box of the instant somewhere.” After a few minutes of searching and coming up empty, he lets out a hard laugh.

“Looks like we’re out of that as well.”

“It’s okay.”

It isn’t, it really isn’t.

“I’ll pick some stuff up later,” his voice is laden with disappointment, “I’m sorry, Plum.”

I move to give him a hug.

“It’s okay. It’s the offer that counts, right?”

He gives me a kiss on my forehead. “That’s my sweet girl.”

He stays long enough to gather some things, and with another hug and kiss on my forehead, he leaves. He doesn’t tell me how long he’ll be gone and I’m afraid to ask.

With Daddy gone, Mom not home, and Jasper who knows where, I’m alone again, and the house feels quiet. I can hear the click on the wall clock, the whoosh of the A/C, and the sound of my neighbors shutting their car door, the beep of the alarm as they arrive home. I can’t find Butters anywhere, so he must still be hiding. His food bowl is still full from where Mom must’ve fed him.

I pull out my phone and I think about texting V or Gage, but we parted ways not too long ago, and I don’t want to seem like a clingy friend.

I text Brie, but she doesn’t respond. Is she mad because I haven’t talked to her in nearly a week?

I pace around my room, the hall, and the living room. I order pizza. Mom doesn’t answer the phone when I call her. Neither does Jasper or Harvey.

I know I got back from basically being outside for two days, but I feel like I need fresh air, I need to be outside. The house is too quiet, too closed in, and I can’t seem to calm down. I can’t find Butters to bother either, so I’m as alone as I can possibly be.

There’s a fluttering in my stomach. My throat keeps constricting. I can feel my heart in my hands. I don’t know the name for what I’m feeling, but I don’t like it.

Alone.

Completely, alone.

Being alone never bothered me before Ruby died.

Outside, it’s still pouring rain and my phone alerts me that there’s a severe thunderstorm for my area.

I finally get a text from Mom telling me that she’s staying with Aunt Haley due to the storm and that she hopes I had fun on my trip.

I feel that same heavy feeling I had earlier. I am made of stone, a statue rooted to the ground. I swallow words again. I text her back something simple.

Yes, I had fun, love you.

I turn my phone off before she can respond to anything.

Somehow, I find myself inside of Ruby’s room, as if some unseen force is pulling me here. I’m not sure what brings me to open the door that’s been closed for over a month now, but it’s like stepping into a time capsule, though really, it hasn’t been that long.

How many days has it been now? Forty something? Are we to fifty now?

When did I stop counting the days?

The most striking thing about Ruby’s room is the walls. When she turned fifteen, she begged our parents to let her paint them. Three of them are a dark gray, almost black, and one is burnt orange that somehow doesn’t make me think of Halloween.

There’s a gray throw carpet adorning the floor, with three black floor pillows over it.

I can remember the weekend Jasper and I helped her paint the walls, each of us taking a different wall and then finishing the last together.

Ruby tried to start a paint fight. There were handprints everywhere that had to be repainted. There’s still a small orange stain on her desk, and we all left a handprint on one side of her bookshelf. Ruby said it added character.

The sense of accomplishment when we’d finished and Dad had brought us cookies, was one of the best feelings ever.

Her sunset-colored blanket is still haphazardly pulled to the side, as if someone recently threw it off to jump out of the bed. Ruby never thought it made sense to make your bed if you would be using it again later.

There’s a cup of dusty water on her nightstand that we must not have noticed before. A few clothes are strewn about the floor. There’s still laundry in her hamper.

Something about seeing her things, the bits and pieces that she held on to, all the little projects from childhood, the shelf of souvenirs from trips she’d gone on, the half-finished sewing projects, a globe with writing all over it, burns the back of my throat.

They all feel… worthless.

Ruby wasn’t that materialistic, so her room is filled with only the things that meant something to her, most of them gifts. But even then, even if she had a lot of things, I don’t think that worthless feeling would change.

These things, they aren’t her. She might have valued them, but she couldn’t take any of it with her.

Looking at the accumulation of my sister’s life leaves me with that heavy feeling again.

I am stone.

I bite my hand as I take in the pictures on the walls. Pictures of Ruby, Jasper, Harvey, and me as kids, back when Jasper was still pretty chubby, and Ruby had fake red streaks in her hair. Harvey hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet and was shorter than Ruby. A picture of the whole family at the beach. A few pics of Brie, Harvey, Samson, Kenneth, and the rest.

One photo, in particular, of Ruby with her hair cut short and dyed bright red next to her motorcycle the day she finally got it running, makes my eyes sting. I cross to the picture and pull it off the wall, laying it flat on her desk, so I don’t have to look at it.

Ruby’s bookshelf doesn’t have a lot of books, but there’s a few, all of them technical things, things like how to fix something, about motorcycles and cars, about sewing, language, the kind of books that help you learn something.

I would fall asleep reading them but those were the things Ruby loved. Beneath the books are more pictures and Ruby’s CDs. She’s got a decent selection of indie CDs. Beside them is a little black box labeled travel funds in gold, the thick messy letters, Ruby’s handwriting.

I take a moment and press my hand to her handprint on the side of the bookshelf, aligning my hand with hers. Memories of her laughing and covered in paint make my eyes swim.

Ruby’s favorite perfume is sitting on her desk, and I find myself reaching for it and spraying it before I even think it through.

I’m hit with Ruby’s scent. I always thought Ruby would prefer the heavy, musky scents, something similar to jasmine or amber, but this is fruity and flowery, light and sweet. Oranges and lilacs.

If I close my eyes, I can pretend she’s in the room with me. I’ll open them and she’ll still be there, she’ll laugh and insist on playing her new favorite song for me. She’ll complain because Jasper doesn’t want to hear it. Brie’s already heard it for twenty times. Kenneth only likes the heavy music. And Samson will only listen if she watches him practice his newest magic trick.

Of course, when I open my eyes, I’m still standing in her empty room.

Alone.

So alone.