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Where he handed me the listing for the house that was going to be our forever home.
Where he promised we would never need anything but each other.
The muted-brown cottage that comes into view tamps down the swell of memories. The low-pitched roof and covered front porch blend into the tree line, though the vibrant-red flowerpots ensure that anyone walking by would see it. So does the smoldering bonfire and slightly sour herbal smell coming from it.
The cottage by the lake.
Everyone who grows up in Kingsette knows about this place. My grandmother’s generation called it Ahava Cottage, after the original owner. Or more accurately after the original owner’s daughter, who had become so well known for her ability to heal children that mothers started traveling great distances to see her. When it became obvious that she needed her own space, she insisted on being near Lake Olam, which she believed had healing properties.
She died three days before the cottage was completed.
Some say Ahava haunts the cottage. They say on stormy nights they can hear the cries of the mothers whose children didn’t survive.
I never believed those stories. Someone who dedicates their life to healing wouldn’t spend their death destroying.
It takes a few minutes for my tired brain to dredge up the name Tessa mentioned at the wedding.
Maeve Winters.
The woman who convinced Bailey to end her engagement with Rory.
A shiver runs down my spine as I study the rickety dock leading into the lake and the single gray dress swinging on a clothesline stretching from the house. Tessa’s “creepy” was more on the mark than I thought.
Why would someone live all the way out here?
And how?
There’s no electricity or running water this far from town. She could have a generator hidden around back, but it’s at least a mile to the nearest gas station.
Only someone desperate to flee would live like this.
Someone who’d already lost everything.
Someone not all that different from me.
But would I ever go to these lengths to run away from my life? Could I?
Whatever the answer, the last thing Maeve needs is someone standing over her passing judgment. Especially someone like me, who has made more than her fair share of questionable choices.
My awareness returns to the trail, and I’m greeted by an unfamiliar landscape. When had I stepped off my usual route?
I pivot and retrace my steps to figure out where I missed the trail.
Ten minutes later, sweat pools at the small of my back, and I’m almost ready to admit that I can’t find the path.
The thought sends a warning crack through the fragile parts of my heart.
Not finding the trail isn’t an option.
A hot wind whips up the drought-dry dirt, adding a layer of discomfort rather than relief. I take a steadying breath, and then another. Sunlight streams in through the treetops, and the glare is so bright, the leaves in the trees look black.
Black leaves, three trees, stay on the opposite side of the breeze.
The silly rhyme Tessa and I made up when we first learned these woods returns to me on another hot gust of wind.
It’s my best bet.
A blur of blue at the base of a large magnolia tree catches my eye when I turn my back to the wind.
