Page 58 of Made for Mayhem

13

The mountains stood sharp and undeniable from Ty’s front porch, sunlight catching on the snow still clinging to the highest peaks. I wrapped both hands around my coffee mug and let my gaze slide down the hill to the farmhouse I hadn’t let myself look at last night.

In the dark, it had been easy to ignore. Just a shape swallowed by shadow as we drove past, something I could deal with later.

In the morning light, there was nowhere for it to disappear to.

The house sat where it always had, quiet and waiting. Summers here as kids had been a pause from real life—wide open space, too much freedom, imagination allowed to run wild, all of it shadowed by the knowledge that it wouldn’t last. The farmhouse was a refuge from a father who never hid how much of a burden we were after our mom’s accident.

Without fail, on the last day of school, Aunt Maggie waited on our front steps to take us with her. She loved us loudly. Made us feel wanted. Held us accountable. Taught us how to rise above the things life threw at us.

I’d spent years wondering why she hadn’t fought harder for full custody—why she’d sent us back when school started. Standing here now with a stack of CPS paperwork in my hand, I understood it probably wasn’t that simple.

Her death had crept up on us. Not sudden like Mom’s, but inevitable all the same. I’d been here briefly with Violet afterward, but everything had blurred together—boxes, grief, half-made decisions. Neither of us had been cataloging the state of the house. We’d just been trying to absorb yet another loss.

Once I moved to Chicago, the house didn’t come up. Violet and I talked about Junie. About work. About the small, manageable details of life. The rest stayed untouched—something I realized now we’d both done on purpose, careful not to weigh the other down when life was already heavy enough.

I should have come back.

The thought landed hard and sudden—and just as fast, my reality followed.

Not now.

From a distance, the house didn’t look so bad. Wildflowers bloomed around the yard, and the painted siding still held some of its color. If the caseworker hadn’t called the inside uninhabitable, I might’ve believed this place was still as magical as I remembered.

“Now or never, Daisy,” I muttered as I took another sip of my coffee.

With one last sigh, I stepped off the porch, papers tucked under my arm. I still needed to read through Violet’s Will, review the rest of the CPS paperwork, and figure out if I was going to have a funeral, even though she’d been cremated.

Tears burned at my eyes, and I blinked rapidly, shoving the thought aside.

Today’s goal was the house. I needed to solve something—or at least make a plan to solve it. I had six weeks to prove I was responsible enough to take care of Junie on my own, and that was my next priority.

The chickens clustered in the driveway like a feathery little barricade, pecking at the gravel as if I were the one trespassing.

“Hey, girls,” I said, inching forward on cautious feet. “I just need to get by you. Big emotional day ahead. You get worms, I get existential dread. Everybody loses.”

The hens didn’t care.

I waved the papers in my hand like a sad little flag. “Shoo. Please. I’ve got trauma to process, and I’m not afraid to admit you scare me.”

A few of the hens shuffled aside. The rooster, however—oh, he was locked in. Chest puffed. Feathers ruffled. Murder in his beady little eyes.

“Okay, buddy.” I held up my coffee like we were in a hostage negotiation. “Let’s make a deal. You let me pass, and I’ll become a vegetarian. Pinky swear.”

He took a step toward me.

“I mean it, Cluck Norris,” I added, remembering his name. “Kale smoothies. Tofu. So many beans. We can be friends. I’m very nice, I promise.”

Apparently, he called bullshit.

The rooster let out a crow so loud it startled me back a step, then charged.

I shrieked, spinning around, papers flapping like white flags as I bolted down the drive. “You’re right! I’m a liar! I’d betray you for a twelve-piece and a crispy Diet Coke in a heartbeat!”

Coffee sloshed out of my mug as I ran, gravel crunching under my sneakers. The rooster thundered after me on his tiny velociraptor legs, wings flapping like the world’s angriest parade float. I threw what was left of my coffee behind me and sprinted faster.

Uno watched from the fence line, his expression deeply judgmental, like this was premium llama entertainment.