Has someone been staying in our new home?
CHAPTER THREE
CORINNE WILDE - PRESENT DAY
An hour later, I’ve just finished sweeping and dusting Taylor’s room when my phone rings. I’m hoping for a return call from my mom, but instead, it’s the movers letting me know they made a wrong turn but are pulling up outside Foxglove now.
It will feel good to have our things here with us. It’s only a small piece of home, a tiny piece of our new normal, but I’m relieved to have whatever we can get.
When they arrive, I walk them through the cabin, showing them where everything will go. I wish it were better. This place used to be something I was proud of.
Growing up, I loved this little cabin. There was something magical about it. Safe. Whimsical. I could play in the forest surrounding Foxglove for hours—turning fallen trees into castles and the fields of wildflowers into my kingdom. From a young age, I was allowed to run and play and explore to my heart’s content, rarely returning home until the sun set, when my sparkling woods turned into a shadowy ghost land.
Back then, this place was my kingdom of wonder. Now, I just wonder where my life went wrong.
As the movers unload our furniture and boxes—the bed from our old guest room, a dresser we’ve never actually used,the small desk I wrote my novel at before upgrading. I’m downgrading now, as this one is the only desk that will fit the space in my bedroom at Foxglove.
They unload Taylor’s bed, nightstand, and dresser while I work in the kitchen, scrubbing the countertops and sink until my fingers are raw and the surface looks clean.
There’s a scorch mark on the wooden countertop near the stove that’s been there longer than I’ve been alive. I vividly recall running my finger over the dark burn as a child, obsessed with the way it almost perfectly encircled my finger. I trace the spot now though, and my finger covers it easily. Somehow, while everything else in my life has changed—myself included—this cabin, this place, is still a touchpoint. Unchanging. Completely still.
Once the movers have left, I open my phone, searching for enough service to place an online order for a new lock. It’s probably an unnecessary expense, but with the evidence someone’s been here, I’d rather be cautious. I won’t take chances with Taylor’s safety. I’ll replace the lock to give us peace of mind, whether or not Mom can tell me why the neighbor might’ve left a pile of trash.
What is his name?
I’m blanking. When Mom calls back, I’ll ask her.Ifshe calls back, anyway. Before, that was never in question.
It was always Mom and me against the world. Then, my dad died. Even though it was years after the divorce, it changed something fundamentally in us. I pushed Mom away.
I think, for a while, it felt like she was the reason I had less time with him. Like she robbed me of half the time that should’ve been spent with him under one roof.
We recovered slowly, but that was before her new boyfriend—now husband—came along to steal her attention. And thencame my divorce and my return to Foxglove, which seems to truly have been the nail in our coffin.
I force the thought away. It’s not like it matters. It’s not like any of it matters. Not the neighbor and not the fact that Mom isn’t speaking to me. Now that we’re here, there’s no need for anyone to check in on the place. And whether or not she can understand why I needed to return, why I could no longer stay in a marriage that was suffocating me, itwasmy decision.
And just like Grandma told me what feels like a lifetime ago—Foxglove is mine now.
Of course, I’m reminded of one of the many inconveniences that comes with living at Foxglove as I spot the delivery date for the new lock—two days from now. In the city, we were spoiled by getting most things the same day. But Foxglove is miles away from town.
I’ll just have to get used to it. It’s not the end of the world.
We can manage for two days, and if anything strange happens between now and then, I can always run into the nearest town and get a lock there. It’s just that the only hardware store nearby is around an hour away, and very small. I’m sure I could find a new lock there should I need it, but looking around this house, I think there are better uses of my time.
Taylor walks into the room, AirPods in. She pulls one out to say, “Dude, you need to call and get the Wi-Fi setup scheduled.”
“Dude,” I repeat, pointedly, “I’m aware. I’ll call first thing tomorrow.”
She groans. “Watch it take like a month for them to get out here. Nothing works.”
“I warned you service is spotty this far out of town. That’s why I brought our old DVDs. There’s a player in one of these boxes. We’ll just have to make do with what we have.”
“DVDs?” She balks as if I’ve suggested she go down to the stream to collect our drinking water. “Seriously? What is this, the nineteen hundreds?”
I knead the space near my elbow, releasing a breath through my nose. “Honey, I know it’s not ideal, but I’m really trying here, okay?” My voice cracks, and I hate it. I hate myself for letting it happen. None of this is Taylor’s fault. She’s just a kid who has lost everything she’s ever known because of her parents’ stupid mistakes.
“I’ll look to see if they have a service number that’s available twenty-four seven and try to call. Maybe I can get someone out here tomorrow.”
Without a word, Taylor turns on her heel and storms out of the room. I start to follow her, to ask her to come back, when I hear a noise from outside. Taylor stops in her tracks, and it’s clear she heard it, too.
