Mouth agape, Cassie pulled onto what was left of the driveway—gravel long since surrendered to nature.She killed the engine and stepped out, boot heels sinking into the crabgrass and plantain.
The siding wasn’t yellow anymore.It had dulled to a sickly gray, streaked black where water had run down from clogged gutters.Mold crept up from the foundation; windows boarded with plywood.And the yard her daddy once fought to keep neat?Saplings crowded the porch, blackberry vines climbing the propane tank.
The smell hit her halfway up the steps—mildew and something sweet-sick, like fruit left to rot.Empty bottles littered the porch boards, cigarette butts packed into the cracks, a Styrofoam cup crushed flat beneath her heel.
Her eyes caught on the bright yellowNotice of Tax Lien and Pending Salenailed to the doorframe.Above it, a new deadbolt glinted against the weathered wood.
Off to the side, the swing hung from one chain, the other torn loose, the seat listing at a drunken angle.She used to sit there at dusk, feet tucked beneath her, watching lightning bugs rise from the creek bottom.
Her hand moved without permission, reaching for the doorknob.Rust flaked beneath her grip, the knob rattling hollow against the frame, but the deadbolt held fast.
Jaw aching with effort, she stepped to the nearest window, peering through a gap in the plywood.The living room was empty save for a sofa she didn’t recognize.Above it, a dark outline marked where her great-mamaw’s cuckoo clock had hung for generations.She used to spin with the dancers when they popped free—twirling, twirling across the living room floor.
Her chest felt suddenly too tight, her skin too hot.How long had it been like this?The bottles, the butts, the overgrowth swallowing the yard—all proof Connor had lived here right up until the house was taken.He’d held on as long as he could, until…he hadn’t.
Her heel snagged a loose board, and she lurched, grabbing for the railing.The wood splintered under her palm, tilting her sideways before she caught herself.
“Fuck!”she cried, sinking onto the steps, slumping forward.“Fuck,” she whispered, ragged, eyes burning.
Connor was dead.The house was dead.Everything she’d left behind had withered and rotted while she was gone, and now there was nothing—and no one—to come back to.
A pitiful sound tore loose, unrecognizable even to her own ears.She pressed her face into her hands in a piss-poor attempt to shut herself up.The sobs came anyway, tearing through her.
Down the holler, a truck engine rattled, slow and dragging.She barely registered it until tires crunched into the drive.Glancing up, she found Margie’s old pickup wheezing to a stop behind her rental.
“Goddammit, Cassie,” Margie called out, slamming her door.“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I’m fine,” Cassie muttered, throwing a hand up, trying to wave her off, to hold herself together.
“Oh, sure ya are.”Margie planted her hands on her hips.“Sittin’ there bawlin’ your eyes out—that’s passin’ for fine now, huh?”
Cassie swiped at her wet face, though the tears only fell faster.“Why didn’t you tell me?”she demanded, half sob, half accusation.She flung a hand toward the house, the boarded windows, the goddamn deadbolt.
“Girl, I was gonna—” Margie sighed, shifting onto the steps beside her.“You was already buckling last night.No use kickin’ your legs out.”
“No,” she bit out.“Why didn’t you tell me before it got this bad?Why didn’t you call me?God, why didn’t anyone call me?Why—”
Her words collapsed, her body folding in on itself.She pressed her forehead to her knees as new sobs tore through her, stealing her breath.Guilt.Grief.Feelings and memories she’d bottled up for years all bursting loose at once.
After a while, Margie’s hand came down on her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.“Like I done told ya,” she said low, “it got bad ’fore anyone knew what hit us.And by then…hell, Cassie, you’d gone and changed your number an' Con wasn't about to give it.”Another weary sigh slipped out—longer, harsher.“The two of you—locked up tighter’n a drum.
“Now, c’mon,” Margie continued, tugging at her arm.“Get yourself on up.”
But Cassie couldn’t move.She couldn’t even lift her head.Her body had gone slack, muscles trembling with the aftershocks of sobbing, every limb leaden, like she’d been running for hours.
“You’re gonna be all right,” Margie said, sliding her hands under Cassie’s arms, pulling her upright.“Ain’t never met a Berry warn’t tougher than a pine knot in January.”
Cassie sputtered out a sound—half laugh, half sob.“That’s not true."
Margie’s tone only hardened.“It damn well is.Your daddy was sick.Your mama was sad.And your brother…he just got lost.”She cupped Cassie’s chin, forcing her to meet her gaze.“But you, Cassie-girl—you got all their fight and none of their quit, you hear me?”
What else could Cassie do but nod, even as a fresh wave of tears spilled forth.
“All right,” Margie echoed.“Now let’s get you on up in the truck.”
As the engine coughed to life and the truck lurched into reverse, Cassie watched her ruined home sink into shadow.
Then the road curved, and it was gone.
