Twelve Years Waiting for a House Key

"What are you standing there for?"

My older brother, Samuel Stroud, waved a hand in front of my face.

"Put the key somewhere safe. We're leaving first thing tomorrow morning. If you lose it, you won't be able to get back into the house."

My younger sister, Isabelle Stroud, came out of her room carrying an armful of dresses.

"Mom, should I take this blue one? Will it make me look darker in photos?"

Mom walked over and took the dress from her.

"No. Blue looks best on you. Take the white one too. It'll look great in pictures by the beach."

"But it'll get dirty easily."

"Then I'll wash it for you," Mom said. "What's there to worry about?"

She said it so naturally, as though washing her daughter's dirty clothes was simply what a mother was supposed to do.

I looked down at the key in my hand, and suddenly I was reminded of something that had happened years ago.

I'd gotten dirt on the sleeve of my school uniform once. I was afraid Grandma would be too tired to wash it, so I knelt beside the washbasin and scrubbed it myself.

The water was painfully cold that winter. My fingertips went numb within minutes, but I didn't dare stop.

I needed the uniform again the next day.

Eventually, I developed chilblains on my hands. They would crack, heal, and crack again. Even now, faint marks remained on the backs of my hands.

Dad was still going over the travel itinerary on his phone.

"We'll leave at 6:30 tomorrow morning and get to the airport by 7:30. Our flight's at ten. Once we get there, we'll drop our luggage at the hotel first. Then we'll go to the beach in the afternoon and have seafood for dinner."

Samuel leaned over to look at the screen.

"Don't order too much seafood. Izzie's already eaten enough to put on weight."

"Mom, look at him!" Isabelle immediately protested. "He's making fun of me again."

Mom laughed and tried to smooth things over.

"We'll just leave him locked outside the hotel."

They continued excitedly planning their trip, talking about the beach, the sunset, and the restaurants they'd visit.

No one asked if I wanted to go. No one seemed to think I should.

I stood there quietly, like a piece of luggage that nobody had remembered to put away.

After some time, Mom finally remembered I was there and turned to me.

"Oh, right. Nat, what do you want to eat while you're here? There are vegetables in the fridge, and we've got frozen pizzas too. If you don't feel like cooking, just order takeout."

"Anything's fine," I said.

She seemed relieved.

"That's good. You grew up with your grandparents, so you should know how to take care of yourself."

I nodded.

That was true. I was very good at taking care of myself.

When I had a fever as a child, I knew how to put a wet towel on my own forehead. When it rained and no one came to pick me up, I would hold my schoolbag over my head and run home.

The year Grandma's legs started hurting, I learned how to cook, do the laundry, and pay the utility bills.

I'd always been good at taking care of myself, and that was why they never worried about me.

They were so confident I'd be fine that they forgot I was only 18 and had just finished my college entrance exam.

Dad glanced at the time.

"It's getting late. Nat, go take a shower first. Your mom will get your pajamas for you later."

"No need," I said. "I brought my own."

My luggage was still by the entrance.

I had a black canvas bag with a zipper that had broken once. Grandma had sewn it back together with black thread.

I took my change of clothes and headed into the bathroom.