1. Summer Solstice
Summer had descended gently, as it tends to do, with warmth and sunshine, languidly spreading itself over Salem in a beckoning to slow down. This was the time of year that this small town of people found themselves outside bringing about their lush gardens, whispering to wakening bees in their hives, and settling on porches in the evening to the sounds of summer crickets and glasses of cold iced tea.
Tilly Nguyen woke to the sound of a tufted titmouse, its nasal and fussy call making her sigh, throwing an arm over her face. She was not one for violence, but lately she'd found sleep to be a persnickety friend and she feared that as summer carried her further into its heat, her struggle with hot flashes in the night would become an all-out battle. The bird's song was calling to her frayed nerves, inviting her thoughts to tumble darkly.
Finally she threw her covers off and stumbled out of bed, making her way down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. The off-white tiled floor was already warming under the rays of themorning sun and she blinked against the brightness. Her thick hair felt heavy as she gathered it into a lopsided black and emerald green bun on top of her head while squinting into the dated honeywood cabinet for coffee. She didn't immediately see any, but then she hadn't grabbed her glasses and everything was a softer, blurred version of itself.
Once it was clear she had none, she sighed. She could stop by The Black Cat. As she thought about the monumental task of making herself presentable to the world, her phone dinged.
It was Eloise asking her if she was up for morning scones and coffee.
She smiled at the perfectly-timed invitation; the thought of Eloise's buttery scones making her mouth water.
She threw on a navy short-sleeved sweater with white polka dots, a pair of jeans and green flats and made her way from her apartment toward The Lost Souls House.
She had moved here years ago. Sometimes it felt like she was still an outsider, and others it felt as though she had grown up here, settled, and Salem's salty air had become a part of her. But the temporary apartment she had leased years ago with the thin walls, cheap construction-grade cabinets and worn-down carpet was the one piece that kept her ready.
Her friends hadn't known this about her, about her past. She'd finally told them two months ago over bourbon and a bonfire on the back patio of The Lost Souls what brought her to Salem. About her marriage. The messiness of it.
But she'd given them the skeleton version. Not the one with blood and organs that would create a full picture. She'd never told anyone that version. She kept it to herself, a secret that showed itself in the thin carpet, and the windows that needed replacing.
The damage he'd left behind made her feel never quite settled, evidenced by the place she chose to live.
Her quiet tip-toe into the healing world from a life of anxiety might be seen if anyone had come to this apartment to nothing on the walls, minimal furniture, and enough cutlery and dishes for exactly one person.
But she rarely invited anyone over. No one of consequence. Lovers over the years and hopeful courtships that turned to dust, but no one with whom she had a vested relationship. This way, no one would linger, leaving behind questions with their eyes.
Which had been made quite easy when her friends, the family she had formed here, were gracious hosts themselves.
Jen had asked before why she had never been to Tilly's apartment. The first few times had been easily swatted away with a casual answer. But the last time she asked, Tilly had erupted. Rarely did Tilly allow her emotions to spill over; she was the kind of woman who kept everything in check, ensuring that everyone around her was enveloped in pleasantness, and she could keep the peace. She was good at running around and fluffing the proverbial pillows for everyone to stay comfortable. This kind of woman learned these things young.
She felt unease in others the way some people feel the temperature drop before a storm. It was an energy that straightened her shoulders and put pressure there, holding her down, which she would feel for hours. Some called it being an empath. She called it being cursed.
But after she had erupted on her dearest friend, Jen hadn't asked about Tilly's place. Besides, among all of them, they had Crystal's farmhouse, Jen's sweet cottage, Kelsea's tiny apartment that they rarely squeezed into, and of course The Lost Souls House.
It was the kind of house that welcomed them without pause. The further she walked into the house, the more she felt at home. Jen had said the same thing, like the house was a living great-grandmother that couldn't wait to welcome them anytime, for any reason.
If her apartment were a sentient being, it would be the curmudgeonly single alcoholic uncle who spent his time reading conspiracy theories and flipping angrily through the newspaper. Alone, and without invitation for anyone to join.
She left the yelling tufted titmouse behind in the large tulip-poplar tree that brushed against one side of the four-unit building.
A fluffy black and grey cat she recognized as Georgia joined her walk. It would take her exactly twelve minutes to walk to the house, and more often than not, a cat would join her. Or Cleopatra, the hawk that had acted as a sky sentry over Eloise during the Cassidy and Bentley business a few months ago. Now, Cleo watched the skies over them all. Tilly suspected the sharp bird was there more often than she knew, ever the skillful hunter, hiding herself unless she wanted to be seen.
"Morning, Georgia," she greeted.
The cat looked up at her, her flowing tail swishing behind her as they walked in warm silence through the wooded path that would lead them to the great black house. Breaking through the summer-thickening trees, she smiled when she saw Casper and Sulphur lying on the top porch step of the Lost Souls house. Casper, with his horse-like head and his floppy legs hanging over the lip of the wooden step, perked up, his ears springing, then his mouth opening in a soft hound call of welcome when he recognized the visitors. Sulphur, ever the cat, lay lazily against his side without lifting a paw or moving other than the flick of her different-colored eyes once before closing them.
Tilly's ballet flat hit the first step of the porch, and there it was: that sense of welcome that hadn't faded.
Georgia made her way to a sunbeam on the porch as she pushed open the heavy wood door with the moon-phase glass,the smell of vanilla, tobacco, and memories whooshed out to cover her. She breathed it in and left behind the small, dingy apartment that had no coffee and no roots.
Roots were important. They held magic that grounded a person. She'd told them about Brent.
But she hadn't told them what kind of man he was. And what kind of woman she had to unbecome when she moved to Salem.
2. Scones and Scrutiny
"Thank goodness," Eloise said as she placed scones fresh from the oven onto a wooden board and saw Tilly entering the kitchen. "I made too many," her amber eyes cut to an eager raccoon sitting at one of the green velvet stools. She cupped her mouth and whispered to Tilly, "Lady Macbeth is eating too many sweets lately."
