“Come with me, girls,” she says quietly, picking up Amanda and placing her on her hip before grabbing my hand. Charlotte trails behind us until we reach my parents’ bedroom.

The room is dark, but instead of turning on the main light, she clicks on the bedside lamp, leaving a soft glow in its wake. “Please, sit down on the bed girls, I need to tell you something very important,” she says before turning to close the door behind us and moving to sit on the bed with us.

I’m feeling anxious and worried, not understanding what’s going on. Something bad has happened, but I don’t know what. The scenarios are swirling around in my mind. Did they cancel the party? Did Daddy have to close the store? A boy in my class said that his parents were getting a divorce; maybe that’s what my mother needs to tell us. Never in all the situations in my head did I ever come up with the actual truth.

My mother takes a steadying breath and gathers our hands in hers, lightly stroking the knuckles of each of our hands. “Your daddy was very excited about opening the new store today. Last night, he went back to the store to make sure everything was just perfect for the grand opening.”

“We know; why aren’t we getting ready to go to the party? Why is everyone here? Did the party move?” Charlotte asks.

Tears build in my mother’s eyes, but she fights to keep them at bay. “Baby, there isn’t going to be a party anymore. Last night, when your daddy was at the store, someone came in and hurt him very badly.”

“Is he okay?” I ask.

“No, Viv. No one knew that he was hurt; there was no one there to help him.” She pauses, just looking at us for what feels like an eternity. “He died girls.” The sob that she’s been holding back breaks free, and she begins to fight to breathe through her tears.

“He’s not coming back?” Amanda asks as she begins to cry.

“No, baby, he’s not.”

“NO!” I shout, startling everyone. “He promised that we would build our princess fort tonight after the party. Daddy always keeps his promises. He is not in Heaven; he’s coming home tonight,” I insist.

My mother pulls me close to her. “I’m sorry, Vivian, but he’s not coming home, sweetheart. It’s just going to be us girls from now on.”

“Who did this?” Charlotte demands. She has been quiet up until this point, not even shedding a tear. I see more anger than grief in her expression.

My mother sighs; her patience is clearly wearing. Normally the epitome of understanding, the emotional strain of the situation has frayed my mother’s nerves. “Don’t worry about that, Charlotte. The police know who the man is that hurt your daddy; they are looking for him now. When they find him, he will be going to jail for a long time.”

“Do we know him?” she asks again.

“Charlotte, it doesn’t matter; he can’t hurt us any more than he already has. There are some things you guys don’t need to know about.”

“Somebody took our daddy away from us; I want to know who did it,” I add in.

My mother stands quickly, nearly bouncing Amanda from the bed. I can almost see how my words cause this woman to finally snap.

“He’s gone, Vivian Grace, and he’s not ever coming back!” she shouts. “You want to know who killed him, like that will bring him back. Raymond Michaels strangled your father, and knowing that will never make one bit of difference of whether he walks through that door again or not. Raymond was a friend of your father’s; he worked for him, we trusted him, and look where that trust got him!”

I put my head down, listening to her switch gears from weeping to hollering her rant. “Does that make you feel any better about not having a daddy anymore, Vivian?”

“No,” I whisper.

She finally collects her bearings, realizing the damage being done with her outburst of emotions. “I’m sorry, Vivian, but I don’t know what to say,” she sighs. “He was our friend, and he took your daddy from us. I don’t know why this happened, but I do know that sometimes people make bad choices- choices that you can’t take back. This was one of those mistakes.”

“I’m sorry that I yelled, Viv. I’m just scared and sad.” She gathers me in her arms and squeezes me tightly. “I won’t let anyone ever hurt you guys; you are my everything now. We will figure this out together, okay?”

I bury my face into her neck and nod, the gravity of the situation crashing down on my little body. My daddy is never coming back, and someone he loved took him away. Listening to my mother and sisters’ cries, my emotions come to a halt and I begin to feel numb.

It is in this moment that I become the master of emotional avoidance. I vow never to get too close to people, to love people, because opening yourself up to others creates weakness. That weakness is what gets you hurt. I decide to build the fort my daddy promised me, but this one would be a citadel around my heart. When times get rough, and my fight or flight kicks in, I will fly. The day my father died is the day that I grew wings.

Vivian

“Holy crap, Viv! Could you have brought any more stuff with you? I swear I’ll be hunch-backed by the time we finish moving you into the dorms. Are you trafficking small children in these duffel bags?”

Aw yes, Amanda, my younger and colorful sister. I’m sure if I were sneaking college boys in those duffel bags, we wouldn’t have heard a peep from her. “Come on, Manda, we are almost there. Besides, this is the only load,” I reason.

“Yeah, and then I get to help carry whatever doesn’t fit back to the truck; I can hardly contain my excitement,” she hisses.

Manual labor has never been her forte, but somehow my sister always manages to find some handsome and, of course, hopeful young man to complete any task she felt beneath her. Amanda could get guys to do pretty much anything. The reason: my sister is gorgeous. Long, tan legs, wavy blonde hair that she does nothing with–yet it looks like something professionally done–and everything else is toned and perfect. She is serious model caliber. I know it, guys know it, but worst of all, she knows it, and uses it to her fullest advantage. This weekend she can’t put her skills to use, hence the attitude. While she and I have always been relatively close, I’m sure her conscripted moving duties did nothing to help our relationship.

“Enough, girls,” my mother says in that quiet but stern tone that you know means you are embarrassing her in public, and repercussions will surely match her strife. The silence and glares that ensue could freeze the wheels on the elevator that was transporting me to my new independent college life.

I worked hard to get accepted into Colorado State University; it is one of the best teaching schools in Colorado, so it is the place I absolutely want to be. It’s an added bonus that it is on the other side of the state from my teeny tiny hometown. No more cows or chickens. Goodbye to small-town gossip; hello to streetlights and classrooms full of boys I’m not related to. To say I am looking forward to college is putting it mildly. I don’t even care if my roommates are a gang of sluts, the guys on my floor are douche nozzles, or my professors can give Professor Snape a run for his money. My excitement to have the freedom that college would provide has me bubbling. I’m sure the stupid toothy grin I am sporting does nothing to hide it either.

As the elevator doors slide open, we are greeted with a dorm floor bursting at the seams. The hallways are jam-packed with freshmen and their families, everyone lugging huge bags. The massive amount of people in such a small space is causing a serious increase in room temperature, and the body-funk that is permeating through the dorm has my stomach turning inside out. Great, I’m going to throw up in front of all my new housing buddies. With the constant bumping of strangers, incessantly saying, “excuse me”, and tight smiles that say, “I’m sorry for whacking you in the head with my bag,” we slowly weave our way through.