Chapter One
Vivien
* * *
I never should have left Boston in the middle of a snowstorm.
A snowflake lands on my eyelid and melts into my lashes. I blink up at the darkening sky.
This is fine. It’s fine. I can handle a little snow.
I turn my gaze down to the engine bay, eyeing the various parts for the culprit of my breakdown, both literal and metaphorical.
Is it the engine, the battery, something else? I have no idea. I’ve always wanted to be some kind of badass who can wrench on cars, but instead I’m a pathetic recluse who spends more time anonymously browsing online forums than having actual conversations with real-life humans.
More snow tumbles from the sky, obscuring my vision.
I need to call someone.
I slam the hood shut and a metallic clang echoes across the quiet road, swallowed by the snow and the gathering dusk. No houses. No headlights in sight. Just me, my dead car on a gloomy road in the middle of nowhere, and the creeping suspicion I should have bought that roadside assistance membership instead of the sauna blanket some online influencer insisted was “life changing.”
I must be close to Surrender. The last time I glanced at the GPS it said less than an hour to my destination. I haven’t been in this part of Massachusetts since I was shipped off to stay with Grandma Beverly the summer after Mother’s second divorce.
My foot slips in a patch of slush and I catch myself on the icy fender. I open the car door and shut myself in.
It’s not much warmer in here, but at least it’s less wet.
I pick up my phone from the center console. No service. Of course.
This is perfect. I haven’t slept a full night in weeks. Beverly passed away over a month ago. Even though I hadn’t seen her in a decade, the news hit me like a punch in the solar plexus.
Then last week, I got the notice from the attorney’s office that I needed to come to Surrender as soon as possible to claim my inheritance. In person only. It could not be done over the phone, video call, or mail.
The thought was terrifying and thrilling.
I haven’t traveled outside of Boston in years. I try not to leave my cozy little apartment unless it’s absolutely necessary and mostly it isn’t. These days, everything can be delivered.
What could Beverly have left me? I can’t fathom it. We aren’t actually related, except through marriage, but I don’t think she had any other living relatives.
She owned a retro theater in the center of town and a rambling farmhouse on the outskirts, but she wouldn’t have left me either of those, would she? It’s too much for someone she hasn’t seen in over a decade.
Maybe it’s one of the movie reels. The theater still had a working 35-mm projector, reserved for special screenings. She always told me Singin’ in the Rain would be mine someday because it was my all-time favorite.
But why make me come in person for that? I guess they don’t want to ship it? It’s probably pretty fragile.
I’m never going to get anything, though, if I end up dying on the side of the road. Bracing myself, I open the car door, wind slicing through me. I pace down the road, lifting my phone in the air like I’m offering it to the snow gods in exchange for a ride.
After about fifty steps, a single service bar appears on the screen.
“Thank you, snow gods.” I pull up a web search for nearby tow trucks.
In another miracle of miracles, the call goes through. My fingers are numb by the time a tired dispatcher named Marge finally answers.
“Yes, hi, hello, I’m on Route 7, maybe forty miles east of Surrender. My car died.”
After taking down all my contact details, she promises me a truck “within the next two hours,” which is either reassuring or a threat, depending on how long I stay above hypothermic. She also quotes me over six hundred dollars due to the remote location, lack of available drivers due to the incoming storm, and the “holiday.”
Holiday?
