1,2,3,4,5. 1,2,3,4,5. I counted repeatedly the small, delicate purple petals of the Geranium flowers blooming seemingly everywhere. I was studying the tiny veins in the petals so intently I didn't see or hear someone coming up from behind me.
"Georgy, come here, won't you?" a familiar voice asked, right behind me. I jumped at his voice, then turned around on the soft grass slowly. My older brother, Aidan, towered over me, his tan face gazing softly down on me. It seemed odd he was telling me to 'come here' when he was right next to me. I scooted closer to him. "Okay, I'm here." he rolled his eyes, but not before striding away towards our back door.
"There's someone here to see you. So get up." Interested, I quickly plucked the flower I was examining while scrambling up from my position. The grass was pressed down where I had been lying, I noted. Looking up, I saw that Aidan had left. Curiosity drowning my other thoughts, I jogged through my backyard into our sun room, which was more of a miniature library than anything, with a folded lawn chair propped up against a bookshelf. Following the path to our front door, I crossed the dining room, where stacks of paper spread across every inch of the table. Dad must be catching up to old bills, I thought. Coming to the foyer, I heard voices. One familiar, one not. I peeked around the wall I was leaning behind.
There was Aidan, his left hand resting on his hip while his right hand making a large sweeping gesture, slamming against the the wall. The young woman standing just outside the doorway raised her eyebrows at him. Upon seeing me, the woman barged past my brother, now shaking his hand in frustration, and stopped right in front of me. She was a maybe two heads taller than me, unsurprising considering my below average height. She wore an expensive looking suit; a pin-striped blazer buttoned right below the chest, a matching pencil skirt, and a pastel pink blouse underneath her blazer. I glanced down at her shoes to see that they were Gucci. Feeling slightly intimidated, I took a trembling step back. She had curling chocolate hair, pinned up loosely. A stray curl covered one of her vivid green eyes. Staring up at her, I saw she was regarding me kindly, not like most wealthy people, who usually gave me the 'I'm richer than you so I immideatly take presidense over you' look. She at least was keeping her judgmental thoughts in her mind and not on facial expressions. The intimidation faded away.
"Georgia Penhallow, correct? Ms. Penhallow, I was just discussing with Mr. Penhallow about your-"
"My dad is Mr. Penhallow. My mom is Ms. Penhallow. That's my brother, Aidan. Just call him that. And call me Georgia. Once you pass our threshold- which you have- we go off of first name basis. So, what's your name?" Feeling more confident than I should, I leaned against the wall, attempting to raise an eyebrow. It failed, but I doubted the eyebrow raising regestered in her mind. She looked down, examining her feet. Aidan ventured towards us, hesitation plain on his face. He stopped in his tracks when she looked up again.
"My name is Eileen Jackson. I'm here to take you to your mother, or where she was, rather." Eileen glanced at her wrist, a silver watch dangling from it. "Really, we should leave now."
"What do you mean, where she was? I stared at her incrediously, trying not to think of the obvious thing she was going to say next. I almost cringed when she actually said it.
"I'm very sorry Georgia, but your mother's grave was robbed last night."
* * * * * * * *
The grave I had spent every Sunday at and had made sure it always looked fresh now was torn apart, dirt splayed everywhere, the headstone was unreadable it was so dirty. But I didn't need to read the the name to know that this my mother's grave. The roses I had planted next to it were trampled on, and her coffin was halfway out of the hole it was placed in. Tears welled up behind my eyes when I saw the lock on the coffin mangled.
"I-I'd like some time alone." I managed to get out. Everyone filed away, including Aidan, who squeezed my shoulder in sympathy. He would never understand, because he was only my half-brother, our father being the shared parent. My mom was his second wife. Just thinking about her brought me to my knees, weeping. I cursed all the people who had done this, wishing they'd die the same death my mother had. Wishing they'd bring her back. I crawled to the gravestone, wipping away the dirt with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. My mother's name appeared in the stone. Jessica Penhallow, beloved daughter, wife, and mother. My vision blurry, I looked over at the coffin, wishing it would bury itself back in the ground, body inside. Suddenly still, I stared at what was there.
A face stared at me from the hole, smiling sweetly. I gawked at the face, taking in the stringy copper hair, large brown eyes, and the small scar above her left eyebrow. My mother was staring at me. Not believing my eyes, I crawled forward. Surely I was seeing things. But when I reached the edge of the grave, she reached out her hand and pulled me in. The drop was about eight feet, but someone caught at my wrist, to prevent from falling the rest of the way. I looked up, expecting Aidan, his warm hand gripping my wrist, his smile symapathetic and worried. But no, my mother was clinging to the dirt wall, her freezing hand grasping my wrist. I watched in plain shock as she climbed down the eight foot wall, her feet making no mistakes as she landed on the bottom of the grave. She lowered her hand as my feet touched the bottom too. Immideately I backed away, my eyes widening at her. Confusion and horror fought eachother to take over my mind. She then turned towards me. The way she looked at me was not the way a mother looked at her child. She looked at me with a sort-of hunger, like she wanted something from me.
"Georgy, you can see me. You can see me! I knew you were special from the moment you were born." Her face broke into a smile, while mine twisted into a mask of horror. Her voice sounded exactly like my mother's. Who was this? A ghost? She seemed surprised I could see her. Her strong gaze didn't fall from my face, strong being a trait my mother never inherited. Who was this this person?
"Am I not supposed to see you? And how do I get out of here-"
"Through there." She pointed at something behind me. Turning slowly, I saw a dirt wall, identical to the one I came down on. There was nothing I could escape through. I glanced back to this supposedly invisible clone of my mother,then back to the wall, confused and frustrated. Not even a split second later the dirt was replaced by two double doors, three times as tall as me. They shimmered at the edges. Suddenly the doors swung open, narrowly missing my foot. I jumped back, bumping into the woman. One second later she was gripping my wrist again, pulling me through the doors, into a thick, heavy blackness.
Mostly, you described the things that were important to Georgia, which is very good. You don't want to describe things she doesn't care about or finds uninteresting. You did good with describing what was important to her. Like if she sees something every single day of her life, her mind probably skims over it. Unless it's particularly special to her. And then it's got a backstory. Nothing is important for any random reason, at least in books.