The sudden passing of eighteen-year-old Lily Hamill's grandmother causes Lily to return to her Nana's bizarre hometown of Willowbrook after a ten-year absence. There she meets a strange boy named Marcel, who offers her a mysterious parting gift inte...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was four heart-shattering traumas that had torn my life apart. First there was the fall on the kitchen table, which cost me two of my baby teeth.
Then I lost my beloved goldfish Claudette, who I'd overfed. Then came puberty and all its awkwardness, where I was mercilessly teased.
But the fourth trauma was the worst yet; when my beloved grandmother passed away suddenly, it shifted my entire world like an earthquake, leaving me broken beyond repair.
In the past, I'd tried to cope with my struggles by becoming the captain of the girls soccer team, learning how to dance gracefully, and falling for Alex—the boy who owned my heart—but now everything felt almost pointless without Nana here.
My grandmother had always gone to visit my parents and I in San Jose. I hadn't seen my grandmother's hometown of Willowbrook, Washington since I was eight. I could barely remember anything about the visits. My memory felt like it was in fragmented pieces from my time there.
Now at eighteen, it'd been ten years since my last visit.
Black dresses, black suits and black veils surrounded my parents and I, as we stood over the shiny surface of a coffin slowly being lowered into a grave.
Tall firs and pine trees enclosed the tiny cemetery into the woods with a gray ambiance. Dark clouds loomed overhead and rain fell no heavier than sprinkles. The heavyset preacher Thomas held up his bible and delivered a monotone eulogy that blended into the soundscapes around us.
I lifted my tear-filled eyes to stare out at the faces that chose to come and bid their farewells to Nana.
Mrs. Montgomery gently tossed a handful of dirt onto the coffin with broken composure. Mrs. Montgomery was Nana's hairdresser and closest friend. I could remember many stories that involved Mrs. Montgomery and my Nana over the years.
Mr. Walter Goodman was next, a man in his 70's who was Nana's lawyer and first love. They had just started back dating again for the first time in over 50-years until Nana's heart attack.
The next person who approached Nana's casket was someone I had never seen or even heard of.
It was a young guy, who definitely had to be the same age as me. He had deathly pale skin, eyes that were black and void, and messy, fair hair. Another boy equally as pale, but with jet-black hair stood with him. The two of them stretched out their arms and dropped a handful of dirt into the open grave.
"Mom, who are those boys?" I leaned in to ask.
My mother blew her nose against a small, white handkerchief and tried her best to seem more put together than she felt. "I think the blonde one is Mrs. Lena Whitman's grandson, Marcel. Mrs. Whitman is—I mean was your Nana's neighbor."
