1. Kirsten

Rain pattered against the windows on this dreary and sad day. Appropriate, if you asked me. The room itself wasn't what I'd anticipated. I'd always imagined a lawyer's office to look like some ornate smoking room. Mahogany and velvet, paintings, and massive hand-carved desks. This? It was sterile and cold. Thin carpet, plain white walls, drop-down acoustic tile ceiling, and the thin waif of a man sitting across from me at a desk that looked to be a department store special. "Depressing" was an understatement.

"Here it is," the lawyer, Carlton Davies, said. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "You're okay if we head straight to the probate portion of this?"

Clearing my throat, I nodded. "Yes, that's fine. I read the other documents you emailed to me."

"Great." He glanced back at the paper in his hand. "Your grandmother did have a few assets to her name at the time of her death. From what I see here, almost all were left to you, barring a few keepsakes and antiques left to your father. This was all updated upon her, um, diagnosis."

Nana had fought like hell the last four years. I'd done everything I could to take care of her, but we always knew what the outcome would be. She was nothing if not a pragmatist. If I had to guess, she'd made these arrangements the same week the doctor told her she had cancer.

Davies glanced around the room, noting that I was the only person in attendance. "This does make things a little less awkward," he said with a pained expression. "There are times during the reading of a will when, unfortunately"—he winced—"issues can come up."

I knew what he meant. Some cousin gets mad he didn't get the boat, a sister is pissed Grandpa didn't leave her his stock portfolio—it was all so trivial when you were dealing with the death of a loved one. I couldn't imagine arguing over scraps at a table after someone you cared for had passed, but maybe I wasn't that type of person and would never understand.

My father, Nana's only child, should have been here. For support, if nothing else. The thought of Dad sent a hard lump of anger into my throat. He was an addict, bouncing from one rehab center to another, then back to the dealers that fed his addictions. When I told him Nana was sick, he hadn't acted like he cared in the least. He hadn't even bothered to go to the funeral.

Nana had been all the parent I needed. Given I had no mother and a deadbeat father, she'd poured all her love into me and done everything any mother or father would have done. Now, all that was left was her things. A life gone, reduced to memories and items to hand out.

Outside, thunder rolled.

"So, your grandmother left you the access information to her bank account," Davies said. "Looks as though there is about five thousand dollars in the account, give or take. She also left you her car. A 1999 Toyota Corolla. With it is a note that reads, Kirsten, please sell that piece of shit and buy yourself something nice—if you get anything at all for it, that is."

I couldn't help but snort a laugh. "Okay. That's fine."

Davies grinned at me, then returned to the paper. As he continued listing items, an even greater sense of grief and anger filled me. Grief, because I wanted her back. Anger at my dad for not caring, at the sickness that had ruined my grandmother's body and caused her to slowly waste away. Davies's droning voice faded to the background, a dull roar that mixed with the storm outside.

"Lastly," he said, "there's the house in Crestwood, Missouri."

My ears perked up, and I returned to the moment. The cabin? God, I hadn't been there in years. Nana had been living right outside St. Louis when she was diagnosed, and I couldn't remember the last time Nana had said she'd visited the old place. Part of me had assumed she'd sold it. After she'd broken the news about her diagnosis, I'd scraped together enough money to fly her to Texas and then sold her small condo. The Anderson Cancer Center at the University of Texas offered the best treatment for her specific cancer. In the horror and dread of her sickness, I'd never thought to ask about the cabin. Between me making the two-and-a-half hour drive back and forth from Houston to meet her for her treatments, budgeting, and researching alternative treatments, it had never come up.

Leaning forward, I frowned at him. "She still owned the cabin?"

He blinked in surprise. "Uh, well, according to this, it appears she did. There are no liens on the property, and it's fully paid off. She left it and all its contents to you. There are no stipulations in the will on what is to be done with the property, though." He set the paper down and interlaced his fingers. "That's all I have. It does appear that this property is the largest item of value. I don't work in real estate law, but I do know someone in the practice who does. Would you like me to put you in contact with them?"

Too shocked to speak, I shook my head, still thinking. When was the last time I'd been to Crestwood? Probably on a summer trip when I was in high school. Even earlier, perhaps? I had vague memories of the place tucked away deep in the woods at the end of a long gravel driveway. I remembered thinking it looked like a little cottage out of a fairy tale.

"Ms. Holly? Are you all right? Do you have any more questions?" Davies asked.

I flinched, ripping myself out of old memories. Smiling, I said, "No, I'm fine, thank you."

He grinned back, pulled out an envelope, and slid it across the desk. "This is the title to the car, the access info for the bank account, as well as the deed and key to the house in Missouri. If there is anything else the offices of Sampson, Davies, and Thatcher can do for you, please don't hesitate to call or email."

"Thanks," I said, taking the envelope and standing.

"Would you like me to walk you out?" Davies offered.

"Oh, no, I'll be fine. Thank you." All I wanted was some time alone to process everything.

In the elevator, I pulled my phone out and texted my friend Harley, asking her to meet up for lunch. I needed to talk to someone who knew me. Not some lawyer. Before the doors opened to the lobby, she responded that she was down for sushi.

Out on the sidewalk, the rain was letting up. Rather than cooling down the late-May temperature, it had only served to create a stifling steam that made it difficult to breathe. The clouds above were breaking apart. Soon, I'd be walking around in a sauna. Houston was great, but it might actually be nice to be tucked away in a cool mountain forest.

That thought made me frown. A cool mountain forest like where Nana's cabin was? How strange. After barely thinking about the place for the last fifteen or sixteen years, I was imagining hanging out there. I did need to talk to Harley.

We met at a small sushi place downtown. Harley was already there when I arrived. Unsurprisingly, she was flirting with the server as I walked up to the table. From what I could see, he was enjoying the attention from my gorgeous red-headed friend.

Harley glanced over and saw me, a huge smile breaking out across her face. "Oh, there's my girl. Trent, this is Kirsten. Kirsten, this is our server, Trent. He was just telling me about the specials and doing his best to get my number."

As I sat, I grinned at the blush that rose in the server's cheeks.

"Uh, so, what can I get you ladies to drink?" he asked.

Harley pointed at me. "She will have a glass of the sweetest red wine you have—chilled, like the barbarian she is—and I'll take a beer. I'll let you choose, big guy."

The server scurried off, and I glanced over my shoulder before leveling my gaze on Harley. "He looks like he's at best twenty-one."

Harley shrugged. "He's fun, it's fine. Too shy for my taste, anyway. Now, what did you want to talk about?"

I gave her a quick rundown on the reading of the will. During my story, we received our drinks and put in a meal order. By the time I was done explaining, our food had arrived, the server still flustered by Harley and barely saying anything to us.

"You own a new house? That's cool," Harley said through a mouthful of salmon and rice.

"That's the part I wanted your input on," I said. "You're a realtor. What's the best use of this place?"

Harley sighed and took a sip of her beer. "What are the details? Square footage? Location? That sort of stuff."

I sucked in my lower lip and chewed at it, picturing the cabin in my mind's eye. "Well, it was big enough for me and Nana to stay there. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. It's been a while since I've seen it, but it's probably over a thousand square feet."

Harley tilted her head back and forth. "Not bad. Decent starter home or a rental property. Location?"

"It is pretty deep in the woods, has a secluded driveway. The biggest issue is the town. It's a place called Crestwood. It's a shifter town. Like, one-hundred-percent shifter."

Harley winced. "Yeah, that makes it tough. Most humans won't want to live in a shifter town. Your options are limited to selling to another shifter or making it a rental. The good news is the property taxes won't be that high. Probably a small town, right?"

"Yeah," I said with a nod. "Like maybe two hundred people."

Harley put her chopsticks down and gazed at me. "Why am I getting this weird hesitation from you right now?"

I sighed, trying to think of the best way to explain it. "It sort of creeps me out. Going there to get it ready to sell or rent, I mean."

Harley's face softened. "Is it because it'll remind you of your grandmother?"

"Sort of, but mostly it's what I just talked about. The whole shifter thing."

"You're creeped out by shifters?" Harley hissed as she leaned forward.

My cheeks flamed, and I glanced around to make sure no one had heard.

"No, I'm not a bigot or anything. It just always freaked me out a bit, being the only human in town. Especially when I was a kid. I think Nana had the same sort of idea about how I felt because we rarely went into town when we were at the cabin. She had a little garden in the back and taught me how to forage for stuff in the forest. Edible mushrooms, plant shoots… did you know you can eat the inner portion of pine tree bark—"

"Chick, you're changing the subject. Get back on track," Harley said, returning to her food.

"Sorry." I shrugged. "It's probably not as bad as I remember. You know how it is when you're a kid. Being different is always terrifying, and staying in a town where I was the only human just made me feel weird. That's all. The shifters never bothered us."

Nodding along as I spoke, Harley popped a sliver of pickled ginger into her mouth. "I get it. Shifter towns can be, well, strange. Lots of backward or old-fashioned rules and proprieties. There's a reason most humans don't move to shifter towns. Even if you don't mind living with them, figuring out the whole hierarchy and pack dynamics can be exhausting."

"I've only got one option, don't I?" I asked sullenly, nudging a glob of rice with my chopstick.

"I don't see how you have a choice. Sell or rent, someone has to go down there and clean that place out. You said the lawyer told you everything in the house is yours. I wouldn't trust a hired maid service or something to go through your grandmother's things."

The thought of that sent a twinge of irritation through me. The mere idea of some stranger going through Nana's things, possibly stealing some of them, made me angry.

"Right," I mumbled.

"One other thing to think about," Harley continued. "If we list it and it sells, there's a chance the new owners may simply tear the cabin down and rebuild. That, or gut the thing and add on, making it unrecognizable. Can you handle that?"

As much as I wanted to say I could, deep down I wasn't sure. Even all these years later, I could remember how much Nana had loved being tucked back in the woods. Could I really sell it? Even considering it gave me a bitter taste at the back of my throat, almost like I would be betraying Nana. Maybe all I needed was to see the place, make my peace, clear it out, and say goodbye once and for all.

"School ends next week," I said. "Once that's done, I'll head down and take care of it. I can make a bit of a vacation out of it. Spend the summer there one last time and decide afterward whether I want to keep it or sell it. How does that sound?"

Harley smiled and took a swig of her beer. "Sounds like a hell of a vacation. No hustle and bustle, no traffic, green trees and nature? Freaking paradise."

The next week of classes was brutal, as it always was this time of year. The kids were so ready for summer break that teaching had basically become more like herding cats than bestowing knowledge. That, along with my upcoming trip to Nana's cabin, had amped up my anxiety. When the final bell rang and all the students flooded into the hall to catch their buses, I flopped into my office chair and breathed a sigh of relief before packing up my things.

The principal had already informed me I would be moving classrooms next year, so I had to pack all my stuff. Most of the décor fit into one plastic bin, and my personal items went into the two cardboard boxes I'd brought in that morning. One of the last things I grabbed was the framed picture of Nana and me.

I took a good long look at it, a lump forming in my throat. Nana stood smiling, her arm around me. I was sixteen from the looks of it, and I recalled it was the last picture we'd taken at the cabin. I hadn't realized then that I'd never return. Part of me had assumed we'd go back the next summer, like always, but life got in the way sometimes.

My happiest memories were with Nana. Now I'd never get to talk to her again. Blinking away the tears that threatened to spill, I tucked the picture into the box with reverence, wondering whether I had the guts to sell the cabin.

The last thing I had to do before making the drive to Missouri was to talk to my father. It was something I had zero desire to do, but after going through the paperwork the lawyer had given me, I'd learned that the box of items Nana had left him was actually at the cabin. I'd tried calling him a few times since her funeral, but he was either too strung out or drunk to answer the phone or had no desire to speak to me. In my opinion, he didn't deserve a single thing from Nana, but the will explicitly stated that he was to receive the items, and I'd be damned if I didn't do my best to follow her final wishes.

With a sigh, I carried my boxes to the car and drove across town to see my father.

Half an hour later, I sat in the driveway of his small rental house: a one-bedroom, one-bath that sat on a quiet side street. To my irritation, it took me nearly ten minutes to work up the courage to get out of my car and walk up to his door.

To my complete and utter shock, he answered only a few seconds after I knocked. I'd assumed he'd be passed out on his couch and that I'd have to bang on the door frame until he woke.

"Oh, hey, kiddo," he mumbled in surprise when he saw me. His face was covered in thick stubble, and his hair was a mess of cowlicks and tangles.

"Can I come in?" I asked coolly.

"Uh, sure, yeah." He stepped back and swept a hand toward the interior.

Stepping in, I was surprised—as I always was—by how clean and tidy his home was. My father was a high-functioning addict, able to hold down jobs for the most part, clean up after himself, and pass himself off as a healthy, well-balanced individual in public. It was only his private and family life that suffered from his alcohol benders and pill-popping.

I took a seat on the couch, trying not to eyeball the empty plastic bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey on the coffee table. Dad sat heavily on the recliner opposite me and kept glancing around the house, unable or unwilling to meet my eyes.

"So, uh, what brings you by?" he finally asked.

"Nana's will," I said.

He turned and finally looked me in the eye. "Oh, well… yeah, I got your messages. I just… uh, I haven't…"

"Yeah, lots going on, I guess. You're busy." My words came out clipped and short.

Dad sighed and bowed his head. "Just tell me what she left me. We can make this quick."

A humorless laugh huffed out of me, and I shook my head in disgust. "That's great, Dad. Really great. Sure, let's get this over with. She left you a box of stuff at the cabin in Crestwood. I just stopped by to let you know I'd bring it to you at the end of summer. I'm heading down there to clean the place up a bit."

"What kind of stuff?" Dad asked, his curiosity perking up, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from snorting. He was probably hoping for something to sell.

"Some antiques and old items from your childhood, I think. The will didn't go into specifics, but she wanted you to have it."

Hearing that, Dad rolled his eyes and slumped back into the seat. "Probably just a bunch of junk, anyway."

"Goddamn it," I hissed, unable to control my temper any longer. "It shouldn't matter if it's gold jewelry or some fucking macaroni artwork you made in kindergarten. Nana cherished the stuff enough to hold on to it her whole life, and you should be happy to have them."

"Kid," he said tiredly, "I don't really have room for a bunch of old shit, whether she wanted me to have them or not. Stuff I can sell? That helps me out. Otherwise, what's the point? Mom told me a couple years ago most of the stuff was going to you. Why do you think I didn't bother going to the stupid will reading? I knew I'd get a box of shit I didn't want or need. She was always sentimental. If it's that big a deal, you can ship it to me. Maybe there'll be something of value I can sell online."

He gazed back at me with rheumy eyes, still glazed with drunkenness. I'd made a mistake in coming here. What I should have done was gone straight to the cabin, packed up the shit that belonged to him, and mailed it. Then he could do whatever he wanted with it. My entire life, he'd loved booze and drugs more than he loved me. Diving, again and again, into that bottle and those syringes while I slipped further away from him. Never once had he made any sort of effort to try and get me back. He'd been content to let his mother raise his only daughter, and from everything I'd seen, he was still happy with that set-up and how it had all worked out.

For the first time since the funeral, it truly sank in that I was alone. An orphan. This man before me was no father. This was a shadow that would always trace itself into the corners of my life but hold no real bearing for me. No solace, no comfort, and no consolation.

Three years ago, my father accidentally OD'd on something, and I'd gone to the hospital, still thinking that he would want me, need me. Even then, all he'd wanted was for me to sign him out so he could grab a case of beer or buy some pills off a dealer.

"You know," I said, standing up, "I don't know why I thought this would be different. I'll be gone all summer. That means I won't be here if you accidentally try to kill yourself again."

Dad leaned forward, hands on knees, and looked me dead in the eyes. "I don't need a babysitter. I don't need anyone."

It was almost as though he'd heard my own thoughts and decided to toss them back into my face. I shook my head derisively. All I could do was walk toward the door, unable and unwilling to be in that house a second longer.

"See you later, kiddo," he called to me as I strode toward the door. "Have fun in that shifter hellhole this summer."

Despite my wishes to exit gracefully, I slammed the door on my way out, rattling the frame. As I walked back to my car, I hissed expletives and curses under my breath. When I was slumped into the driver's seat of my car, the rational, adult part of my mind took over again. The part that was and always would be a teacher. The kind of person who took care of people whether they deserved it or not.

Fingers trembling with rage, I pulled out my phone and called Harley.

"Hey, what's up?" she answered.

"Oh, nothing. Just saw my piece-of-shit dad."

There was a long pause before she responded. "I'm guessing he's as pleasant as ever?"

"Yeah." I sighed. "Look, he's a dick, and I hate him, but…" I trailed off, thinking.

"But?"

"But he's still my father, and he's all the family I have left, as bad as I don't want to admit that," I admitted. "Look, while I'm gone, can you check in on him every now and then? Make sure he hasn't killed himself?"

"I can do that. Do you think he even remembers me?"

Something between a snort and a laugh erupted from my lips. "Probably not. But you're a hot redhead. He won't say no."

"Ew, gross," Harley groaned.

"You're the best."

"I'll do it, but I swear if he even attempts to hit on me, you're on the hook for buying me the most expensive dinner in town when you get back. Like, one of those places where they put gold leaf on the freaking dinner rolls and stuff. Got it?"

"Got it."

After hanging up, I had nothing more to do. All that was left was to pack a few suitcases and head out. Not bothering to look back at my father's house, I pulled away and headed toward my place. After all these years, I was going back to Crestwood.