A deep, long bay erupts in the night.
And I wake up, startled by Bullet chasing something outside.
My bleary eyes flutter open, staring at the ceiling above my childhood bed. I’m pretty sure the sheets haven’t been changed since I left, but the room is much different. It’s been stripped of anything familiar, the photos I’d hung replaced with generic lake cabin décor.
I flip the covers back, already knowing my mother will be expecting me to have something ready for her.But this won’t last forever. She’ll get better, and then I’ll leave.
And I’ll never fucking come back.
I grab a pair of light wash jeans, a sweatshirt, and slide back into my Converse. It’s better to always be ready to run, and whileI’m sure my mother can’t catch me, I’m not sure the other ghosts around this place have the same limitations.
“Rue!” My name jars me just as I finish lacing up my shoes.
“Coming,” I croak out, wiping the sweat from my brow. It’s unbearably warm in the cabin, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother is running the heat just to make me miserable.
After all, everything that destroyed our family is my fault. And the worst part is, she’s not even wrong.
“Are you coming?” Her sharp voice carries. “I can’t get out of this godforsaken bed on my own.”
Well, you were doing it before I got here.I frown, but pick up my pace, slipping down the hall and to the main bedroom.
My mother glares at me as she sits up in bed, her thin lips in a flat line. “You should set your alarm for six-thirty, so you’re always ahead of me. I don’t like to feel stuck. It makes me claustrophobic.”
“You have a boot on your ankle and a cast on your wrist,” I reason, grabbing the wheelchair and rolling it up parallel to the bed. “I think you can probably use it a little?—”
“If I coulduse it a little,then I wouldn’t have asked for you to come home,” she says the words flatly, without any emotion. “I wouldn’t make you torture yourself with coming to a place that you hate.”
I let out a sigh, adjusting her covers and then helping her into the chair. “I don’thateit here.”
“You haven’t been back since your dad died.”
“I’ve just been busy.” I glance down at the top of my mother’s unruly hair, wondering if I should offer to brush it.Probably.
“You and your sister are always too busy, but at least Eliza lets me come to New York and visit her. You took off to California and never called home.”
“I’m sorry.” But I don’t mean it. I’m not fucking sorry for getting out of this hellhole and leaving all the bad memories behind.
I bump the wheelchair down the hallway, my mother groaning at every jostle like it might kill her. I situate her at the kitchen table, just like the way we ate dinner last night, and then start on coffee and eggs.
“You’ve gained some weight,” Mom hums, folding her arms across her chest as I fill the coffee pot with water. “You must eat good in California, despite being poor.”
“I’m not poor,” I turn to her, but only so I can spin and put the coffee pot on the burner. “California is just a lot more expensive than Moccasin Cove.”
She snorts. “And full of funny people.”
“Yep,” I don’t argue with that. I moved to Los Angeles to try and escape the shitstorm, because it seemed like the kind of place where everyone was so worried about themselves, they wouldn’t notice me.
And sure enough, it worked.
“Your dad wouldn’t have wanted you to leave.”
“Mhmm.” I press the on button for the coffee.
“You should’ve put more grounds in the pot. The coffee will be weak.”
I pull out a pan and set it on the stove, turning to grab the eggs from the fridge.
“You should make them over medium. I don’t like too much yoke being runny. Just soft.”
