Page 2 of Knowing Amelia

There’s a weak sob, louder than the last, and then— “Oh, Seth.”

With my book clutched to my chest, I take one step closer to the cry. Turn around, I tell myself. Another step. Walk away. One more step. Go back upstairs!

But I have to see.

My heart thumps against the hard cover with the drawing of Romeo and Juliet on the front. I peek around the wall separating the living room from the dining room and lock in on the figure before me.

Amelia hunches on the ground, where her kitchen table should be. She’s moved it out of the way, and she’s pulled up one of the floorboards. It leans against the wall, revealing a hole in the ground. She’s on her knees skimming the edge of the hole, her back facing me. She’s got one hand on the wooden box next to her, its contents a mystery.

Holding my breath, I watch as she rocks with her sobs. “Seth. My sweet Seth.”

Grandma is crying. No, she’s sobbing.

Her husband of more than fifty years has died, and finally—finally she’s decided to cry.

It makes sense. Even grumpy people should cry when their husbands die.

Only my grandfather’s name isn’t Seth.

One

Eleven Years Later

I speed down the interstate, belting an old Celine Dion song, attempting to ease my nerves. Benjamin really expected me to skip my last final of the year? Why am I surprised? What was it he’d said? “You know, Liv, you’d be on track to graduate this year if it weren’t for all those lit classes.” Well, those lit classes are the only thing keeping me sane.

My one rebellious act in life has been to take two to three lit classes along with my father-approved biology courses, which is why I’m not graduating this year. It’s also why I most likely won’t graduate next year. But I need those lit classes.

I’ve given in to my father. I’m going to be a doctor. But I’m also soaking up what I actually love while I can. Why can’t Benjamin see that? Why does he always pick my father’s side? Even if he doesn’t understand my side, why isn’t he being a more supportive boyfriend?

I don’t care that Dad was annoyed with my extra course in nineteenth-century literature. That class gave me my one and only high each day.

A high that I would miss this summer. Dad, Ben, and I would be together all break long. The thought made sweat pool over my forehead and beneath my arms. Ben went on ahead of me. I had to go back for my bag of books that he conveniently left in my L.A. apartment when packing me up. My roommate even told him to grab the bag.

Ugh.

At least I get to see my mother soon. That thought alone sweetens my sour mood. Because Mom makes everything better.

I walk into my parents’ tri-level home, awaiting the stampede—Mom, Baby, Dad—they love when I come visit. Maybe my brother Grayson even came home to see me.

Only… nothing.

I drop the one bag in my hand to the entryway floor. “Hellooo?”

Murmurs sound from my parents’ kitchen. Hands on hips, I walk to the entrance, stopping in the doorway.

Dad and Benjamin sit at the table, Dad’s arm draped around Ben’s shoulders. In some ways, the two look as if they could be related—tall, thin, and fair. Ben grins at my father—that might even be drool on his chin. He’s in heaven, sitting with the Benson half of Benson and Clyde, Attorneys at Law.

Mom stands at the stove, her crisp apron covering her clothes, cooking a toasted cheese sandwich. Baby Katie, fifteen and not much of a baby anymore, slouches next to Dad. She stares at her phone, her auburn hair—just like Mom’s—pinned up on her head. No Grayson in sight.

Yep. They’re real excited to see me.

“Hello,” I grouch.

“Livy!” Dropping her phone, Katie jumps to her feet and races into my arms.

That’s more like it.

“Hello, sweetie.” Mom waves her spatula at me. “Come here and give me a hug. I’m just making Ben a snack. Do you want anything?” She flips the sandwich in her pan and butters another slice of bread.