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TWENTY-ONE - PART 1

The black sedan rolled to a stop, causing the panic in my chest to immediately flutter. I glanced out the window, instantly noticing how accurate the house looks to the photo. A perfectly manicured green lawn with a stone path led to a red brick tudor style home, with large bay windows that reminded me of the style from a storybook. Bushels of beautiful hydrangeas covered the flower beds - a favourite flower of both of ours.

"Dylan?" Diane's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Are you alright, dear?"

I looked towards the sealed envelope folder that was sticking out of Diane's bag. After reading the address provided by my mother on the card, I asked Diane if she could confirm that Delilah did in fact live at this address. Instantly, Diane was on the phone with one of her private investigators, providing them with the little information we did have. And within forty-eight hours, the sealed folder was delivered. I couldn't bring myself to open it; I wanted to hear everything straight from the source. However, the PI did confirm that this was her house, located in a suburban area, an hour outside New York City.

For almost seven years, I had convinced myself of the pitiful story my parents had told me; that Delilah decided to attend boarding school in Europe in the middle of the night and was too excited to bother saying goodbye. It was easier to pretend she fell in love with life abroad than to question why my sister, my best friend since birth, never bothered to call.

After all this time, I had the ability to learn the truth. And yet, I was too scared to even get out of the car.

"I don't think I can do it," I confessed in a shameful whisper.

Diane reached forward, taking my hands in hers. Some may think our fast bond was abnormal; that it would be weird for her to join me on such a journey. I was thankful for Diane. I believed we filled a void for each other; I reminded her of her daughter, while she provided me with more parental love than I had experienced in twenty-one years of living.

"It's alright to be nervous," she said softly. "But you, Dylan Miller, can do this. You have waited long enough to know the truth, and it's right there." She pointed in the direction of the house. "Would it help if I walked with you to the door? Make sure she's actually there?"

I nodded my head, feeling foolish for needing assistance with completing such a simple task. After all, the journey from the car to the house was an extremely short walk. However, having Diane's company meant someone was there to stop me from trying to escape at the last second. Which, at this moment, I was still contemplating on doing.

One... two... three...

Diane placed her arm over my shoulder as we walked.

... four... five... six...

I was unable to tell if it was a gesture of comfort, or if it was done to ensure I wouldn't run away. Either way, I appreciated it.

... seven... eight... nine...

Smoothing the material of my cotton dress, I caught sight of the unintentional swipe of yellow near the bottom hem.

"Let me clean that for you," Diane offered when she saw the stain. On closer inspection, when she realized the mark was from paint, she said, "My daughter used to have the same thing on her clothes. I think it provided her with some comfort in a way."

I smiled to myself. Although small, it was comforting to have my trademark paint stain with me.

... ten... eleven... twelve...

"Ready?" Diane asked.

... thirteen... fourteen...

"Yes," I said, yet the audible nervousness in my voice said otherwise.