She was thirteen and was standing outside on the porch, having just said goodbye to Daxton, her best friend.

"I'll see you in the summer," Tressi said bravely without sobbing. Running inside, she crashed into Edda.

"Oof—" Edda massaged her throbbing hip bone. "Watch where you're going, Tress."

Tressi hugged her around the middle. Tears she'd carefully hid from her friend outside, now spilled over. "I don't wanna go to a b-boarding school. I'll... I'll miss you... hic... Dax... hic... Lila... hic... but I won't miss mom. I'll never ever miss mom. I hate her. I hate her so much," she sobbed.

Edda knelt down so she'd be level with Tressi. "It's not gonna be so bad, Tress. I'll come to drop you off and we'll have so much fun on the way. You're gonna make so many new friends. Isn't that awesome?" she said, wiping tears off her sister's face.

"But... But I can't talk to you. Mom says they don't let kids use phones there. I won't talk to you till summer!" Tears threatened to spill over again.

"That's okay. I'll write to you every week. How's that sound? I'll tell you everything that's going on here and you can tell me how many friends you've made"—she stood up and held her hand out—"Come, let's finish packing."

*

Tressi woke up with the sun in her eyes, and for a second she was disconcerted by the surroundings.

It'd been so vivid; she could almost smell Edda's vanilla and citrus lotion. She massaged her temples and screwed her eyes shut against the bright sunlight. Closing the curtains made everything so much better.

God, where's the aspirin?

As Tressi rummaged through her bag, she knocked off the key from the night stand and bent down to pick it up. She'd had no intention to go back to that house, but maybe that was the place to start. She'd hit a dead end with her mom and there was nowhere to go. But she had to be quick because her flight back to Minty was that afternoon. She scrambled to get ready and was soon outside the hotel waiting for her taxi.

When the cab pulled up at number six, Gamon Stones street, she sat frozen inside unable to move. The taxi driver turned back impatiently and said, "We're here. Number six."

She forced her unwilling limbs into action, to get out of the cab and pay the driver. When she turned back to the house, the wind was knocked out of her. Once again.

The house had been quite handsome when she was little. It was of decent proportion and two storied. But it now stood, unkempt and half ruined. Grey paint, at least it looked grey now, peeled away in huge chunks. Originally, it had been pristine white. The iron gate stood rusted and five feet tall. It was desperately in need of a painting job but so was everything else. The balcony that faced the road had cobwebs that hung from its railing.

The gate creaked as Tressi opened it. Wild weeds grew in the garden in front of the house. She remembered her mother's maniac tending of the garden. She'd never been allowed to step foot in the grass, lest she damage the roses. Appearances dictated all aspects of their life. Her mother sought beauty in everything.

Maybe that's why she'd preferred Edda to Tressi.

The cobblestone path through the yard was moss covered. She walked up the path to the wooden door. The corners had been eaten away by termites. She unlocked the door with the rusted key. The lock stuck and she tried it multiple times. But it finally opened only when she thrust her weight against the door and pushed it with her shoulders.

When she stepped inside, she could feel a huge lump in her throat.

She wasn't going to look at the stairs and remember tripping and falling and cutting open her knee. She wasn't going to remember how Edda wrapped a scarf around the wound and took her to the hospital. She wasn't going to think about the scar that was still there, which throbbed as if it was remembering too.

No.

She wasn't going to succumb to the million different memories that hit her as soon as she stepped through the door.

Letting her hand trail through their forgotten belongings, she noted nothing had changed. The furnishings and the layout were exactly as she remembered. Very easy to slip back into the past.

No.

She wouldn't do that. She knew where she had to start but the mere thought of entering Edda's room was unbearable. She let her eyes rake over the closed door next to the kitchen. Sunlight poured through the cracks above the door into the darkened hall where she stood.

Ten steps and she'd be in front of the door.

One push and she'd be inside the room.

The room where Edda died.

No.

She knew what she'd find as soon as the door opened, but it still made her breath stop. The room was of moderate size. Edda's window looked out into the backyard.

As for the walls, Tressi remembered the exact shade of peach that Edda had wanted. Not too pink, not too orange, but perfectly peach. They'd painted the room when she came home one summer. If she let herself, she'd smell the paint that still seemed to linger.

Her eyes scanned the room taking in the forgotten trinkets, each holding inescapable memories that assaulted her as soon her eyes landed on them.

The 'Live. Laugh. Love.' poster that Edda swore was her life's motto. The signed Ronnie Ackerman photograph—a small town singing sensation that Edda was willing to bet would flip the country on its heels. The snow globe they'd won at the local fair after spending thrice what it'd ever be worth on a game of 'Trap the Fish'. The used glass dolphin paperweight that her friend had given as a birthday gift. Every single item steeped in Edda's presence that threatened to pull her in without a chance of escape.

Don't go down that road.

She forced herself to turn away from the belongings that were so Edda, taking in the rest of the room. She could taste the dust that hung heavy in the air. Flimsy cobwebs stretched across the curtain to the ceiling. They glistened in the evening sunlight pouring through the crack between the curtains, bathing the dark room in a mild pinky glow. The sheets were covered with grey dust which had rolled into cotton balls.

As she walked in, Tressi glanced down at the silver photo frame on the nightstand. It held the picture of a girl of about twenty years of age.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Haunting.

That was the word to describe Edda's beauty.

Tall and lean, though not angular. One wouldn't have thought that a still image could exhibit so much grace. Her dark eyes were full of hidden mirth, while her long, flowing, raven hair hung in loose curls all around her. The high cheekbones, angular jaw and full lips suggested regal elegance. She posed casually with her legs crossed, one arm on her hip and the other by her side. Her clothing was not flashy, just jeans and a shirt, but nondescript clothing couldn't take anything away from her looks. It looked like a photo taken for a modelling campaign. Anyone could see, this wasn't an ordinary picture of an ordinary girl.

No. Ordinary wasn't the word to describe Edda Sakit.