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CHAPTER 1
Summer
BEFORE THE END
On the day they buried my mother, the wolf saved me, and I unknowingly became beholden to him.
She died on a Tuesday, beneath a burning, star-filled sky.
After the funeral, I hid under the table, watching feet moving past, and chanting, “Jibber babber, jibber babber.”
There were too many people to count, most of them lingering, picking at bereavement finger foods. Every now and then, a cracker would fall, topped with truffle fromage and raspberry fig jam. No one bothered to pick it up, but instead ground it into the hardwood floor until it was a crumbled, goopy mess.
There were mostly black shoes, without mud or dirt, as if they'd all just come direct from their homes instead of mom’s grave.
They buried her just past the garden, where she could overlook both the flowers and the bay. But, just like the jibber babber chant, I hoped the water didn't creep into the grave one day and carry her away.
It had been my thought all day as I'd watched the people come and go, wondering who they were and if they knew my secret.
I braced myself as a horde of shoes appeared, overpowering the low and sympathetic murmurs suffocating the room.
"Where's her husband?" The hissing tone of Mrs. Stetson grated on my ears. I recognized her black Mary Janes, crowded by several other heels. “He ought to be here, attending to the guests."
A chorus of buzzing agreement followed, and my fear changed into boiling anger.
Tightening my hands into fists, I wanted to punch something!
A bunch of old ladies, gossiping about my father. Judging him. Complaining that they'd run out of shrimp cocktail.
He’d been here for three whole hours—trying to keep himself together. Trying not to break down and cry. That, or to yell at everyone to leave, until, finally, he couldn’t take it any longer.
Unlike the people here, he actually cared about my mom!
I glared through the table, wanting to scream—you shouldn't even be here! You didn't even know her!
"She was there, you know." Mrs. Stetson kept on with her big, fat, ugly mouth, "The eldest daughter. Heard she witnessed it all. Was even in the car.”
I froze, dread making me jumpy as another one said my name in questioning astonishment. Clasping my hand to my mouth, I hoped they didn’t know the truth.
The thing that had stripped my peace, turning it into sticky tar that sat at the back of my throat.
I gasped in surprise as the black, lace tablecloth was ripped away. Mrs. Stetson’s puckered face appeared, her eyes narrowing. "I thought you might be there!" Long, bony fingers tightened around my arm. "You shouldn't be spying on the adults. And look how dirty and wrinkled you are!" Her grip was like a vise as she dragged me to her, shaking me. "I knew it. Your mama isn't cold in the grave and her children are already running wild."
Stumbling onto my feet, I stared her down. “We’re not wild, we’re just tired of you being here.”
“How dare you!” Sharp talons dug into my skin. "Young lady, you don't back-talk. Didn’t your mother teach you to respect your elders?”
Another woman piped up, her manner grave, like the six-foot-deep one, only yards away from the house. "Someone ought to send her to a school. Now that her mama's dead."
“Mmmhmm.” More hums of agreement, nodding of heads and earrings jingling. “You’re right.”
"A proper one," Mrs. Stetson's cutting voice slashed through me, "A boarding school would teach you how to behave." She clucked her tongue, shaking her head, "Should'a taught you better manners before she died."
“My mama taught me enough,” I sneered at them, “taught me to stay away from mean old ladies like you!”
The gasps of shock and looks of disapproval made me bite down on my tongue, trying to keep my tears back. Why were they still here? I just wanted them to leave so I could go to my room and cry.
“I'm going to have a conversation with your daddy tonight. Tell him he needs to send you away until you learn how to behave like a well-mannered young lady. Men do not harbor affection for daughters who act out of line; they want virtuous, obedient children who know their place."
