Four years isn't a long time, not to anyone who lives an ordinary life with no loss. Not to anyone who lives in Mystic Falls. It's just another set number of silly traditions, happy holiday's and town events, replaying over and over and over again...
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SEPTEMBER 14, 2030.
"I NEED YOUR HELP."
Through the phone, Hope tunes into the sound of a sizzling pan. She can almost smell the bacon cooking and see her uncle standing above the stove, towel over his shoulder, dainty spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose. Elijah laughs.
"It's hardly been a week," he hums. "What seems to have troubled you already?"
The stove ticks, the gas coming to a stop. Hope tries to imagine every movement her uncle makes as she curls her knees to her chest and looks out into the backyard. In New Orleans, her backyard was a distant view of a lively city. This morning, she would've seen a familiar group of women in their mid-twenties, early thirties, speed-walking to their yoga class, water bottles already half-empty. Now, her view is dead autumn leaves, a fenced in yard, and an abandoned play ground with a swirly yellow slide that was the length of Hope's leg.
"I had a problem with my car—" she starts.
Elijah laughs again. "Of course."
"—and I don't really understand what's wrong with it. They said something about the engine but, it's a lot of money and I... I don't have enough."
It's silent for a moment. He's looking out the kitchen window, she just knows it, and the AM sun is breaking onto his face. Though Uncle Elijah didn't look much like her father, Hope always found comfort in his features. They were a gentle reminder of her dad's. She wishes she was there with him right now. She'd come rushing down the steps and make a home for herself on one of the barstools. He'd slide her a plate and put down three strips of bacon because he never had to ask how many she wanted. And then, he'd probably give her some random history lesson about whatever day it was, and she'd listen.
"I've been begging you to get rid of that old thing for ages now, Hope," he huffs. "We knew this would happen eventually."
Hope nods, though he can't see her. "I know, I know, but..." her voice gets caught in her throat. Tears flood her eyes. When she blinks, they fall, and she wipes them away with her sleeve. Hugging herself closer, she inhales, exhales. "I..It was dad's, so..." her voice trembles.
"Say no more," Elijah meets her whisper. When Klaus died, Hope had lost her father. Elijah had lost his little brother, his best friend. They'd been so close and sometimes, Hope thinks that Uncle Elijah is the only person who can come close to understanding the pain of losing him. "I'll send you some money but Hope," he warns. "This can't become a thing."
"It won't," Hope promises. "I'll get a job. I'll pay you back. I just can't lose that car. I love that car."
"I loved that car, too," Elijah whispers.
Hope knows they aren't talking about the car.
"We miss you here, Hope."
She pulls the phone away from her ear. A sob she didn't except comes out of her like a raging roar, and for a moment, she hides her face between her knees and she can feel her shoulders shake.
