1| Time To Make It Right
Eight and Nine
“Graham!” The little girl shouted. “Graham, come see what I found!”
The air was thick with summer’s heat. Cicadas chirped loudly nearby, while the two children ran through the overgrown sweet grass that grew between their houses. Hidden beneath the shade of aspens and oak trees sat an old car—one that Emilia had never seen before. The two of them were exploring further than they had before, getting closer to the river that separated their homes from the rest of the town.
Graham came running after her, but when he saw what had drawn her attention, he scoffed. “It’s just an old car,” he huffed.
Emilia ignored him. He’d been less agreeable this year. She didn’t know why, but she refused to let it bother her too much. With a town as small as theirs, they were some of the only kids around. Options for friends were limited and they had been together, side by side, since they were babies.
She pressed her face against the glass. “Do you think somebody died in here?”
Graham jumped up on the hood. “Nah, it’s my grandpa’s old car. They just never moved it.”
“Why not?” She questioned.
He shrugged his shoulders, swinging a stick at the sweet grass below, already yellow from summer’s heat.
“I wanna go inside,” she said, suddenly, before turning around to search the ground. The little girl had straight, raven black hair that hung around her face. It reached down past her collarbone, brushing over lightly tanned skin, and skipping over the smattering of freckles across her nose. Her eyes were a striking blue—a gift from her mother—and she often wore, as she did today, a pair of overall shorts that matched them perfectly. “My cousin showed me how to open cars when you don’t have keys. You just need something long and skinny. Give me your stick,” she demanded, with her hands open, having failed to find anything in her brief search.
Graham looked at her exasperatedly. “You can’t open a car with a stick! You’re so dumb,” he finished, under his breath.
“I am not!” She glared at him. “I watched him do it!”
Graham looked at her curiously, but knew there was no way a stick would work. Jumping down, he walked around to the hatchback and pulled the handle. It lifted easily, opening the definitely-not-locked car. Emilia forgot her irritation with him instantly and walked around the corner to see the inside. Two back rows faced opposite directions, air stale with the smell of old leather and dust wafted past her. While it was clear that no one had been in here in a long time, it was relatively clean.
“There’s not much room to play in here,” she commented. With that, Graham climbed in for the handle and, finding it, collapsed the first row of back seats. Then, climbing in all the way, collapsed the second row until they had a flat surface they could sit on. She climbed in after him and sat down.
Graham played with his shoelaces, one arm slung over the tops of his knees where he rested his chin. His curly ginger hair hung over his forehead, a little longer than his mom usually let it get. Because his hair was so thick, she typically kept it about two inches long at all times. Graham hated going to the barber—and that happened a lot. His mom said his hair grew fast.
“We could make this our clubhouse,” Emilia commented.
Graham looked at her like she was deranged. “We don’t need a clubhouse. This is just an old car.”
“Why are you being such a jerk?” She snarled at him, laying on her stomach.
He was quiet. “My dad yelled at me. He thinks I moved his tools—but I didn’t.”
Emilia was quiet in turn. “Who moved them?”
He head sank lower, hiding his mouth against his forearm. “My mom. She hid one of his tools so he couldn’t work on the car. She said she doesn’t ever get to see him.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
Graham shrugged his shoulders again. Silence filled the car, tinged with the ambient call of cicadas nearby.
“I think you should tell him,” she said, suddenly. “You shouldn’t lie to a grown-up.”
“They’re lying to each other.” He threw something out of the car. “And I get in trouble for it. Why should I help them?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do?” She replied, simply.
“You’re such a baby,” he muttered. “When are you going to grow up?”
She sat up, indignant. “You think you’re so much older than me! You’re only two months older than I am. Stop trying to pretend you’re a grown up!”
Graham rolled his eyes. “I am older than you! You act like such a baby. Grownups don’t care about the truth!”
“That’s not true!” But she didn’t have anything to counter his claim. Her own parents certainly never seemed to care about anything she had to say.
“It is true.” His tone softened.
A moment passed. She glanced at his face, wanting him to be happy. “I’m sorry you got yelled at.”
He looked at her, sadly, knowing she had far worse to deal with than he did. “It’s okay.”
“Are you coming to my birthday party next week?” As if he’d ever missed a single birthday of hers.
Graham rolled his eyes. “Duh, you only have like two friends,” he replied, indelicately.
Emilia huffed and got out of the car. Graham started to follow, but then hung back as she walked off towards her home. After she’d walked some distance, he followed her footsteps to just under the oak tree. There she was, sitting in the grass still a good distance from her house, her dog Samson planted firmly in front of her. The wind pulled her hair back, the grass swaying to nature’s rhythm. He watched her a while before turning back to his own home, shutting the hatchback along the way. They would hang out again, he was sure. He would have time to make it right.
