Rose Hill

BUTTERFLIES CRASH into every corner of my stomach as I listen to my principal drone on from backstage. This feels like that moment when a rollercoaster crests the top of the track leading into its first drop.

And it’s not just the fact that I’m about to take the stage as the valedictorian of my graduating class. It’s that my life is wide open before me. The future is at my fingertips. The world is my fucking oyster.

And it’s fucking terrifying.

Still, I school my features into a slightly bored expression, square my shoulders, and adjust the pink velvet scrunchie in my jet-black hair.

“And without further ado, I’m so pleased to accept this years valedictorian speaker, Cora Holland!”

I swallow once and force my sparkly Chuck Taylor’s that peek out from beneath my blue gown to carry me out onto the stage. The applause are loud.

But not quite as loud as Rosie and Willa’s whooping that hits me the minute I take the stage. I find them in the front row, next to my grandparents and give them my best embarrassed eye roll. But I can’t keep my lips from twitching either.

I never thought I’d be here, in a small town, graduating in front of so many family members who are just a little too excited about a high school diploma. You’d swear I got my doctorate in something smart when all I’ve done is covered the basics.

Still, it makes my heart swell and my head drop.

But not before my eyes land on my dad. He’s clapping in a completely polite and slightly unaffected way—in true Ford fashion. But it’s his eyes that are a dead giveaway. They glow green and are suspiciously watery as he traces my every movement.

The sight of him even the least bit emotional makes my nose tingle. I scrunch it, wipe a hand over the tip daintily and then offer my mom, who is sitting next to Ford, a soft smile.

Then I step up to the podium, pull the mic slightly lower and start with an awkward, “Hi.”

I swear I can almost hear the smiles from the audience even though the stage lights are too bright to see anyone past the first couple rows of the auditorium.

It’s nerve-wracking.

“I gotta say”—I start with a chuckle—“having to do this has cured me of any delusions that I might be able to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps and become some sort of rockstar.”

Laughter from the crowd emboldens me.

“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Cora Holland. Some people call me Cora Grant, and that’s just fine by me because I am incredibly proud to be associated with both last names.”

I peek at my dad, see his arms crossed and lips clamped tight. Poor dude. This is so not his scene. It almost makes me want to laugh.

Next to him, on Rosie’s lap is my little sister, Stevie. She’s waving at me excitedly like I’m the coolest shit she’s ever seen.

I grin and wave back before forcing myself to start talking again. “You see I came to Rose Hill seven years ago under somewhat unusual circumstances. I landed here during a pretty dark time in my life and I found a home where I wasn’t expecting it.”

“I feel like this is supposed to be a speech about spreading our wings, taking off and seeing the world, climbing every mountain, constantly chasing more. But I think if I’ve learned anything from the years I spent here at Rose Hill High it’s that sometimes life is an adventure you don’t choose. I think that life is a puzzle, and sometimes you don’t know where all the pieces will fit—and that’s okay. Even when it frustrates the hell out of you.”

Hums and general nodding filters back to me.

“Sometimes you lose someone you love deeply and it feels like your world is ending. And then the universe gives you someone new. Someone unexpected. Not a replacement—but another piece of the puzzle. Maybe mere hours ago you weren’t sure where that piece could possibly fit, you’re too blinded by sadness or anger or what have you. But then one day you’re staring at all the pieces of what feels like a life in shambles. And you see it. Like it’s… it’s so perfectly obvious that this one piece belongs just there. Then suddenly, with that in place you see spots for more pieces. And then piece by piece, year by year. Those pieces? They start to make sense. ”

Rosie winks at me from over my sister’s chestnut shock of hair, features positively brimming with pride. It makes my chest hurt.

“The truth is, I don’t know what the final image will be. The puzzle’s too big. I don’t want to walk out into the world thinking I know exactly what I want to do or who I need to be. I want more wonder. I want more time to mull over the pieces. I want more opportunities to be surprised by this life. I want to learn along the way. I never want to feel like I’ve got it all figured out.“

My lips clamp down and I swallow the emotion in my throat.

“Mom, thank you for being so brave. For showing me what it looks like to be so strong that you can overcome even the lowest of lows. Your resilience is an inspiration to me always. I love you and I’m forever grateful that the universe gave me you.”

My mom is crying now. Smiling and nodding. I blink away. It’s hard to watch.

“Rosie, thank you for showing me what it looks like to recreate yourself with such grace and kindness. Your heart—and humor—is an inspiration. I’ll always be your little storm cloud. I love you and I’m forever grateful that the universe gave me you.”

I see her mouth the words I love you too as one stray tear slips out.

“Stevie sister.” My little sister shrieks out a laugh. She’s three and full of personality. Where I’m like Ford… she’s a little ray of sunshine just like Rosie. “Thank you for making me a big sister. I never thought someone could look at me like I hung the moon the way you do. I hope to be the type of person who will deserve that admiration from you always. I love you and I’m forever grateful that the universe gave me you.”

More happy squeals, clapping, and a sugary sweet, “Love you Cora sister!”

“Ford.” My eyes land on him. My dad. Biologically to start, and in every way that counts now. “Dad. Bonus dad. Ford Grant Junior.” That crack gets me a chorus of laughter from the front row. Rosie, Gemma, and Senior find it to be especially amusing. My dad rolls his eyes and crosses his legs. But I don’t miss the pulse of his cheek, like he’s trying not to smile.

I clear my throat and forge ahead. Emotion wells in my chest. “Thank you for being that puzzle piece that showed me a way forward. Not only am I the luckiest girl in the world to have had an incredible man raise me until I was eleven. But then I got you?”

My voice cracks and I cover with a breathy laugh and a few blinks.

“I must have been a fucking saint in a prior life to get this lucky.”

I glance at my principal who is shaking his head at me for swearing. But whatever, I’m pretty much done here anyway.

Ford’s jaw pops, and I know this kind of attention makes him uncomfortable. I know praise makes him squirmy. But I hope he’s ready to squirm, because I’m not done. He and I have become two peas in a pod over the past seven years and I want him to know—really know— what he means to me.

“Thank you. Thank you for loving me before you knew me. Thank you for rearranging your puzzle to fit my pieces in. Thank you for fighting for me. And thank you for”—I stop to thump a fist against my chest—“and thank you for continuing what my dad started in showing me every single day what a really good man looks like. My standards going forward will be outrageously high.”

There is laughter, but I don’t miss the stray tear my dad wipes off his cheekbone back toward his temple where his hair is now showing the odd streak of silver.

“Doug would approve,” I finish tearfully.

Then Ford nods at me, eyes swimming with tears.

And I nod back.

Then I turn my attention back to the audience. “All that is to say that, in my time here at Rose Hill High I have learned a lot about different academic subjects, but I think the most important lesson I’ve learned that the world works in mysterious ways. I plan to savor the mystery. And I wish the same for the rest my graduating class as they start this next phase of their lives. In closing, I’d like to share some wise words from the great Zack de la Rocha”—I toss my dad a wink now—“and those are: the classroom's the last room to get the truth.”

I end it there. Stepping away from the mic and seeing my principal heave a beleaguered sigh. I hear Ford’s laugh over the applause and my eyes go back to him immediately. He’s standing. And clapping. And has given up on swiping away the tears of pride that sit below his lashes.

It’s his raw pride that drives me to the edge of the stage where I gesture him forward to me. With three ground covering strides he’s there, grinning a tight grin up at me. My eyes sting as I crouch to meet his eye.

I barely get the words out, but I look my dad right in the eye when I do. “I love you big storm cloud and I’m forever grateful that the universe gave me you.”

He hugs me hard, right there at the edge of the stage while whispering roughly in my ear. “I love you too, little storm cloud.”

Then the next phase of my life begins. And who knows where it will take me.

That’s half the fun after all.

A high-pitched siren sounds from what was originally designed as a breakfast nook. Now it’s simply my security headquarters, home to the world-class alarm system I have set up. The incessant noise draws my attention up from where I’m stirring a venison stew on the stove top.

My eyes scan the many screens I have set up over several levels of shelves. Each one connected to a security camera showing me several different angles of my property. They’re hidden all over my property.

Just in case.

The one secured to the fencepost at the front gate in triggered first. Which means that I know who is on their way up to my front door before I can even hear the crunching of tires on the driveway outside.

Bash’s familiar truck slips past on the screen in high-definition video.

I watch as he moves forward only a few feet before jumping back out of the driver’s side door to lock the gate once again.

“Good boy,” I mumble, before taking a slurp of the dark brown broth and letting my eyes flutter shut. “Damn, that’s good.”

But not perfect. I reach for the pepper grinder. Adding a several turns to the burbling stew.

From the corner of my eye, I watch as they make their way up the driveway. A glance at the old grandfather clock—the ones set right next to the mine and Maya’s wedding picture—tells me that he’s five minutes early.

Like always.

I grumble, irritated by Bash’s neurotic punctuality. Because I haven’t even finished preparing my note yet.

Stomping over to the dining table, I swipe the piece of white paper off the dining table. My eyes scan it once more. I’m busy making sure it’s reading exactly how I want it to when the doorbell rings.

I ignore them. If they’re going to be this early, they can just hold their goddamn horses. I reach for the envelope that I had laid out and ready only to hear Gwen’s voice.

“Do you think he’s okay?”

“Of course he’s okay.” Bash grumbles. “That motherfucker is practically immortal.”

“Daddy! Language!” My favourite voice of them all scolds. Then I hear mistimed knocking followed by, “Grandpa? Are you there?”

And while I’d make Bash wait out there for the full five, I’m a goner where little Lily Rousseau--a dead ringer for her mom—is concerned.

Hurrying now, I fold the paper up and shove it into the small envelope before tucking it into the napkin holder and reminding myself to come back to it later.

Then I stomp toward the front, calling back, “I’m coming, I’m coming. You’re early, you know?”

When I swing the door open, I see all three of the Rousseau’s standing before me. Bash scowling. Gwen beaming. And Lily midway through launching herself at me.

Small arms wrap around me so suddenly and tightly that I can’t help but expel a loud oof.

“Easy kiddo,” Bash chides. “You hit him too hard and you’ll injure a kidney. And I’m not giving him another one.”

Gwen just slaps his shoulder and rolls her eyes, the opposite palm resting on her round belly protectively before lifting to pull me in for a hug.

I don’t hesitate. Rugrat tucked against my hip, Gwen squeezes me and I squeeze her back. Bash gives my back a firm pat which is about as much affection as I usually get from the guy.

Still, I smile into Gwen’s blonde locks. “Happy birthday, Gwennie.”

She pulls back only far enough to grin at me before pressing a firm kiss to my cheek.

These three? They’ve become the family I never got to have.

My Maya was it for me. I’ve tried dating and it sucks. No one can hold a candle to her or what we had.

Figured I’d never fall in love again. And I think I’d made peace with that meaning I’d never get to have children of my own.

Never mind grandkids.

Until I met a miserable middle-aged man at bowling. And ray of sunshine in human form at a yoga class I only took to be a meddling son of-a-bitch.

I step back, grinning at their little family from beneath the brim of my hat.

My family.

The ones I wouldn’t trade for anything in the whole, wide world. Even though they’re kind of annoying and stupid sometimes. It’s part of their charm. Plus, they have me to set them straight—like when they were taking so long to finally get together when it was obvious they should be.

Stupid.

“You guys can go now,” Lily announces, reaching for my hand and pulling me back into the house. “Grandpa promised me we’d shoot with his bow and arrow.”

Bash shoots me a disbelieving look.

“What? She’s five! Not two. Survival skills are important. She should know how to hunt or shoot a boy if he crosses her. Let me share some of my wisdom before I forget it all. I’m not getting any younger you know.”

Lily nods her agreement solemnly. Little old soul that she is.

But Bash groans, scrubbing a hand over his face while Gwen’s lips flatten in an attempt to hold back her laughter.

I lift my hands, rubbing each of their shoulders. “You guys go. Scram. Get outta here. There’s a little purple plane waiting for your annual birthday ride. And a dinner reservation you don’t want to miss.”

Gwen peeks over at her husband, quirking a brow.

Like I said, these two are plain stupid if they think no one is picking up on their plane ride bone-sessions. And it’s annoying that they assume we’re all oblivious.

They glance at each other, something unspoken passing between them, before they nod in unison. “You two have fun,” Gwen says, hugging her daughter before stepping back.

Bash does the same, but he shoots me a deadly glare. “Be good.”

I grin back at him. “I always am.”

It garners me an irritated eye roll, but they do eventually depart.

They leave Lily and I to our day. We shoot the bow and arrows. We play hide and seek. We feed the squirrels. We dig into the stew I made. Then I read her one of Maya’s favorite books until she peacefully drifts off to sleep. Feet on my lap, head at the opposite end of the couch.

It’s only when her breathing evens out completely that I gently lift her scrawny limbs and leave the living room to make my way back to the dining table. The corner of the white envelope visible against the red checked napkins.

I pull it out, removed the note and read it over carefully. Smiling through misty eyes as I read through all the mushy stuff and then laughing quietly to myself when I get to the bottom.

Bash is going to blow a fucking gasket. It almost makes me wish I was going to be alive to see it. But this is going straight into my will—to be saved for a day that I’m not.

I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t send you all on an adventure even from beyond the grave. So here it goes.

I’ve left everything I own and all my savings to you. But I don’t trust the global banking system (bunch of fucking crooks), so I’ve buried five million dollars in cash on my property. I’ve hidden twelve clues that will ultimately lead you to the coordinates where you can dig it up.

Your first clue is:

I know you were playing strip poker that night. I was like a fly beneath the table—or however that saying goes. And I wasn’t really thirsty, I was just fucking with you.

The next clue is tucked up beneath the table, folded and wedged into a seam beneath one of the cross bars. I placed it last time I was over.

I hope like hell they aren’t too stupid to find it.

Chuckling at the mental image of them crawling around on the kitchen floor looking for it brings me great joy. And I savour it. Because I know I won’t be here forever, but I take solace in knowing this will set them up for life when I’m gone.

And with that comfort in mind, I lick the envelope and seal it. Address it to the Rousseau Family and set it aside to drop off with my lawyer in the morning.

Then I make myself a cup of tea and head back to the living room to watch over my grandbaby and wait for my kids to get back.