That’s it?
I stare at the letter blankly. The words replay in my head like an unwelcome earworm, ominous and eerie.
Too many regrets.
A corrosion on the soul.
I mean, that’s how it was with my mom. His own daughter disowned him after he pushed her to do the unspeakable, and all the Blackthorn billions could never make it up to her.
Ethan was crushed.
Without Hattie around and the little push I gave him, he might still be locked up in a cabin, drinking himself to death.
Ugh.
PopPop kept the truth locked up until it was too late.
That was months ago now and it had a happy ending, but it still stings.
One more bout of aching confusion added to the pile.
But this letter, this regret, it hints at something else.
Also, a lesson?
What the hell kind of lesson does he mean? What does he mean about walking in his shoes?
My mind spins with dark possibilities.
I fight the urge to start tearing the house apart, prying up floorboards and punching through walls to find—
I don’t know.
The letter isn’t helpful in the hints department.
For all I know, it’s not a physical thing at all, and I’ll just wreck this place looking for an invisible needle in a phantom haystack.
“PopPop, whyyy?” I groan out loud. “Why can you never make it easy?”
The man was tricky like that.
I think he loved putting us to work. That’s why he’d spend hours walking his big house back in Portland, planting little toys and treasures for us to find.
I fold the letter back up and stare at the lake, wishing he hadn’t left me a dime, much less this old eyesore turned guessing game.
But before I get too deep into my pity party, there’s a scream behind me.
Sharp and high and piercing.
Holy shit!
I’m up before I even know I’m moving.
Heart pounding, adrenaline gunning through my veins.
I act on instinct, sprinting into the hall as footsteps pound the staircase going up to the next level.
Just as I reach them, there’s a blur falling down the steps.
