“Okayisn’t the word I would use,” she hums thoughtfully. “No. The word I would use is happy.”
Her expression is serene, filled with love and pride. I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, sagging in relief that she isn’t mad at me for something completely out of my control.
“I need to go check on Asher. I’m sure he’s feeling some kind of way about how this turned out,” she sighs heavily, patting my back and exiting the dining room, leaving me alone with my uncle’s corpse.
I never gave much thought about him. I never really had reason to.
But now?
Now I owe him everything.
He has completely changed my life with this one act, and I didn’t even have the chance to thank him. I hope he knows how much I appreciate this opportunity.
I hope I can make him proud.
Chapter One
Sunshine
Eighteen Months Later
Iwalk from the quaint mom-and-pop coffee shop, taking my time as I stroll to my new home. The old unicorn shifter couple that runs it are some of the sweetest beings I’ve ever met. They even gave me a free raspberry bearclaw when I mentioned that I just moved here and look forward to coming in often.
The neighborhood looks like it stepped out of a magazine for old-timey Louisiana. Tall multistory homes with wrought iron balconies line both sides of the brick road, with large oaktrees casting shadows over the sidewalk. It’s picturesque and perfect. I wonder idly if the funeral home will have a similar look, feeling giddy at the possibilities.
I sip my coffee as I meander down the street, rounding the corner with a little skip in my step. An elderly couple in wooden rocking chairs waves at me from their front porch. I wave back spastically, too excited to care about looking insane.
I stop abruptly when I finally lay eyes on my new home.
To say that it’s dated would be an understatement.
The brick is covered with a brown moss that resembles mold growing up the side of the building. One of the front windows has a large spiderweb-looking crack in the corner. The landscaping consists of overgrown grass dotted with tall weeds and a few dead shrubs. The sign that hangs over the steps leading up to the front porch is hanging slightly crooked, on its last screw, and the gold lettering has faded to a sort of flaky beige that suggests it was painted several decades ago and hasn’t been touched up since.
JEREMIAH GRAVES MORTUARY & FUNERAL HOME
I guess Jeremiah wasn’t big on creative advertising.
Stepping off the pristine sidewalk, I dodge weeds and random pieces of garbage as I make my way to the front porch. The steps creak menacingly as I climb them, threatening to give way any second.
Uncle Jeremiah neglected to mention how sick he was before he died. I knew he had Parkinson's, but I didn’t realize how much the disease must’ve eaten away at him for the estate to suffer so harshly. I guess it’s hard to maintain a business when your body is fighting your every move.
It looks as if it’s been waiting, frozen in time.
I spin the key ring around my finger, my mind whirling with all the ways I can make it better. There’s so much potential here. So much I can do. It’s hard to focus on one thing.
I shake my head, exhaling slowly. I need to calm the fuck down. I haven’t even seen the inside yet, and I’m already doing mental renovations.
Chuckling at myself, I stick the key into the antique brass lock, frowning when it refuses to turn. I wiggle the key a little, trying to force it without breaking it off in the lock. Nothing happens.
A breeze drifts past me, lifting the edge of the crooked sign. It creaks faintly on its remaining screw, almost like it’s clearing its throat.
Buildings that have seen as much death as this one tend to collect memories. Not to say it's haunted, because it's not, but it definitely has its own personality from all of the spirits coming and going.
“Hi,” I say cautiously, glancing at the sign.
The sign creaks again, swaying slowly, this time without the help of the wind.
“Okay,” I murmur. “Are you trying to speak to me?”
