The Book of Essie by Meghan MacLean Weir

Author:Meghan MacLean Weir
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2018-06-12T04:00:00+00:00

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I take the long way home and barely register the route as I turn from one street onto another. At one point I realize that I’ve missed a turn and drive aimlessly through a cluster of cul-de-sacs I’ve never been down before, a new development, until I find my way back to a street I recognize and at long last pull up in front of my house. Blake’s truck, which he bought used off of Ryan Keane when Ryan’s dad upgraded him to an Audi, is parked out front. It still looks new, unlike my sorry excuse for transportation. I glance into the cab, but it’s empty. Blake must be inside.

I find him sitting on the couch with Mom, leafing through my baby book. She pulled out all our boxes of photographs from the attic while I was away and has been going through them, looking for the perfect snapshots to give Celia for the rehearsal dinner slideshow.

Blake doesn’t look up as I step into the room. Instead he shakes his head and says, “Dude, you had some rolls on you when you were a baby.”

“They were for my protection. Mom dropped me a lot when I was little.”

My mother swipes a hand in my direction as if to swat me, but I’m too far away to reach. “Stop that. I did nothing of the sort.”

“You ready?” Blake asks.

I have no idea what he’s asking. “Ready for what?” I say.

“I’m kidnapping you. The guys are meeting us at the lake. Unless of course you’d like to stay here and let me see more of these pictures. Did you even wear clothes before age three?”

He holds up a Polaroid in which I’m wearing a striped T-shirt but am inexplicably without underwear or pants. He waves it in the air.

“I can’t. I have an interview and I just found out about this other thing.”

“Are either of them tomorrow? Because your mom told me you were free tomorrow. She even packed your bag.”

Blake gestures to my camping pack, which is leaning against the post at the bottom of the stairs. My sleeping bag sits beside it, along with a water bottle and a baseball cap.

“They’re the day after.”

“Good,” Blake says and moves to stand. “So you are free. We should make good use of that freedom, since you have so little of it left.”

He slaps me on the shoulder and moves around the couch to lift my backpack.

“I’ll throw this in the truck while you go change into something a little less Six for Hicks,” he tells me, gesturing to my button-down shirt and beige pants. “Thanks for the cookies, Mrs. Richards. We’ll have him back in time for bed tomorrow. I know he gets cranky when he doesn’t get enough sleep.”

Blake retrieves my pack without waiting for my approval and throws open the front door.

“Mom?”

She stands, her fingers curling and uncurling nervously at her side.

“Go,” she says. “Have fun.”

I wait for her to arrange her face into a reassuring smile and then I bound up the stairs.

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