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But beneath the unease, there’s something else.

Not safety. Not yet.

The possibility of it.

For the first time in years, I can imagine a life where I don’t need to check every closet before I go to bed. A life where locking the door once is enough.

Maybe Hartwell isn’t going to heal me.

Maybe it can be the place where I finally learn how to heal myself.

God knows, I fucking need it.

Four

Blair

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I open my eyes to the sound of an incredibly irritated voice, followed by the unmistakable whack of a broom hitting something.

“Get out of here, you little asshole!”

Okay. I have a pretty strong suspicion about who that voice belongs to.

I drag myself out of bed, surprisingly refreshed after last night, pull on a cardigan and make a quick cup of coffee. Another loud whack comes from outside as I step onto my back porch.

I glance toward the neighboring yard and find Georgie wearing pajama shorts and chasing a raccoon around with a broom.

The raccoon is perched on top of her trash can, staring at her as though she’s the one trespassing.

“Georgie?” I call through my laughter. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Defending my property!” she shouts, waving the broom at it.

The raccoon doesn’t move.

“It looks terrified.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Wait.” I step closer to the fence. “You live here?”

Georgie’s head snaps toward me.

For a second, she only stares.

“Oh my God. Blair!” she screams, abandoning the broom altogether. “You’re my new neighbor?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess?”

“Girl, this is the best news since sliced bread.” She points toward her house. “Stay there. Let me get my coffee and put on pants that don’t have martini glasses on them. I’ll come say a proper hello.”

She races back inside, apparently forgetting all about her raccoon problem.

The raccoon climbs down from the bin the second she’s gone and disappears into the trees.

“I think it won,” I mutter.