Ghost Memory by Maer Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

soul.
Her features combined into a classic look. The light freckles
across her nose and cheeks only added to that.
    Nana’s delicate features were less
refined on me. My nose was slightly crooked from being broken in a
bike accident, and my hair was a pale golden blonde. I did have her
green eyes and freckles, though. I’m sure I had the same strained,
numb look that she had that night, too. My eyes felt as hollow as
hers looked.
    “I think we have it sorted out for
the most part,” Brown said to his partner as he handed her a
folder. She read through it. I watched her from the safety of my
grandmother’s arms. Brown watched me.
    Green looked up at Nana. “Did you
want to do this in another room?” She gave a small glance at me as
she handed the folder back to Brown. I got the impression he wasn’t
going to take it, but finally he did.
    “No,” Nana said as she shook her
head. “She might as well hear it now.”
    Brown sat back down, taking a deep
breath. His voice was firm, but quiet. “Mrs. Roberts, Fiona, there
was an accident on the freeway. The rain made the road slick. One
of the plastic barrels at an off-ramp lost enough of its weight
somehow that the wind picked it up and blew it onto the freeway.
The safety barrel got caught in one of the wheels of a gas tanker.
The driver lost control, and his rig jack-knifed across the lanes
of traffic. When a panel truck hit the trailer, it exploded, even
though it was nearly empty. The smoke and debris formed a wall that
the other cars simply couldn’t avoid.” He stopped, looking down at
the folder.
    “How many?” prompted Nana.
    Brown paused. “As near as we can
tell right now, there were twenty-seven vehicles involved.” His
horror was palpable as he set the folder on the table.
    “Oh, dear god,” breathed Nana.
    Green picked up the folder. “Your
daughter’s car was in the last wave that hit. We identified most of
the vehicles from their license plates, once we had the fire under
control. We’re still recovering the victims. It all happened very
quickly, according to our witnesses.” She paused and held Nana’s
gaze. “We are very, very sorry for your loss. Is there anything we
can do for you?”
    Nana continued to hold on tight to
me. “Is it possible to call a cab for us?”
    Green spoke up, “That won’t be
necessary, ma’am. We’ll drive you home.”
    That night, the house had lost the
feeling of home already. I had just crawled into bed when the
realization hit me, and it hit me hard: I was never going to see my
parents again. I covered my mouth with my hands to hold in the wail
that wanted to tear screaming from my throat. My door flew open,
and Nana was there.
    My body was shaking from the huge
sobs that broke as she gathered me in her arms and held me tight. I
could feel her sobs as we mourned together. I have no idea how long
it lasted, but we finally cried ourselves out.
    Nana pulled my blankets and pillows
from the bed, and we took them into the family room. She brought in
more pillows and blankets, and we made a nest on the large sofa,
sipping hot chocolate.
    I was curled up and drifting off to
sleep, when I felt a familiar touch brush my forehead and hair. Mom
had done that when I was a little kid. For a moment or two, I even
thought it was my mom. I half opened my eyes to see Nana looking
into the distance with an unreadable expression. The thought that
she had once stroked my mom’s hair, just as Mom had mine, followed
me into a deep sleep.
    The rest of that time is blurry to
me now. Bits and pieces are clear, but the mind has its own way of
coping with trauma. We had a memorial service, cremation for what
was recovered of my parents’ bodies. I remember a lot of people
were there. My parents’ clients, my teachers and friends from
school, even a few of the carnies showed up.
    Afterward, Nana had me start
packing things up. My parents had left precise instructions, true
to their little accountant hearts. Nana put the house on