Chapter Ten

Lily's gleeful squeals yank me from sleep as she bounces on the mattress, urging me to ‘rise and shine.' It's been three months since Brogan's passing, and thankfully, my sleep schedule is finally returning to normal. Having Mel here has been a godsend. Her presence is a calming balm over my raw nerves. Life, well, it's taken a positive turn in many ways. And my sister's willingness to stay in Denver ranks as one of them.

Even though the Baxter's tried to pull the rug out from under me after his death, their venomous attacks haven't fazed me thus far. At least, not too much. Mel's unwavering support has helped me fight their ridiculous lawsuit over the house, and thanks to my brilliant lawyer, we've emerged victorious. Turns out, Brogan had the foresight to set up a living trust, protecting our home and all of his assets from their greedy clutches.

And then, well, there was the life insurance payout. Ten million dollars. Such an unexpected windfall and a lifeline which has eased the burden of my financial worries. I can finally breathe easy, knowing that even though I've stepped away from my career, Lily and I will be financially secure.

"Wake up, Maxie, wake up!" Lily's voice chirps in my ear, her tiny hands playfully slapping my cheeks. "You're gonna be late, you big oaf."

Disoriented, I bolt upright. I must've slept through my alarm this time. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" I hiss, throwing the covers off and scrambling out from underneath Lily Bean to rise from the bed.

Lily gasps dramatically. "Ahhhhhmmmmmmm—you owe the swear jar, mister! You can't talk like that."

Peeved, I roll my eyes to the side. But I can't help the smile forming on my face. She's right, of course. Swearing is a no-no around her, but the stress is making my sarcasm bubble to the surface.

Tossing her my Capital One No Hassle's card from my wallet, I reply with continued sarcasm. "Here, take this," I insist. "That should cover me for the entire month. Have fun shopping with Aunt Mellie."

She stares at the card with a puzzled look. "What's this?"

"Insurance, babe. Insurance," I reply with a wink.

Thankfully, I had the smarts to pack last night for my trip to Seattle. With Lily comfortably settled into the house by my sister's side, I'm seizing this opportunity to escape, a means of finding some peace amidst the stunning Washington coastline. Perhaps we'll even find a new home there, a place where the painful memories of this house don't linger around every fucking corner.

Clenching my credit card, Lily runs off to inform Mel of my tardiness. I splash cold water on my face, pull on a windbreaker, and head downstairs, hoping a cup of coffee will kick-start my brain.

"Okay Mellie, I'm running late, as you can obviously tell," I announce, heading into the breakfast nook with my Uber app displayed.

Mel raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Yeah, Lily came running in here waving your credit card, claiming she had ‘insurance.' What's that supposed to mean?"

I grimace. "Right, I may have let a ‘shit' or something slip."

Lily, the little tattletale, chimes in. "No, Maxie, you said ‘fuck' ."

Mel lets out a chuckle. "Oh Lord, honey. That doesn't mean you can repeat it."

Another grimace. "Kids say that darnedest things," I say with a wry smile, bending down to hug Lily Bean. "Try to be a good girl while I'm gone, okay?"

"Okay, Uncle Maxie," she says, hugging me back. "We'll miss you."

Mel places her hand on Lily's shoulder. "He knows, sweetie," she says. "Max, here's your credit card back."

"Keep it," I insist, waving it away. "Go have some fun. Just remember, no overstimulating stores, no sizeable crowds, and no loud music?—"

She nods. "Ten-four, Captain."

Blowing a kiss to my two favorite girls, I step out the front door with my suitcase trailing behind me. As the door clicks shut, a Black Lincoln Town car pulls up to the gate. Lily, from the front room window, presses her lips and nose against the glass while I shimmy into the car. I offer another wave before securing the door. A tinge of guilt strikes me in this moment, for I could've brought them with me. However, if Brogan could speak to me, I'd go as far to say that he'd remind me this is an act of self-care, and our daughter is in fine hands with Melanie.

As the Uber pulls away from the curb, Taylor Swift's haunting melody of "Wonderland" fills the car. Her lyrics resemble the emptiness in my chest, a longing for something that's out of grasp. She sings of reaching for someone who's already gone, of searching the world for a love that can't be replicated. These words resonate with a painful familiarity, mirroring my yearning for Brogan Baxter, my desperate search for solace in a world without him.

Denver International Airport's hustle and bustle washes over me as I navigate the TSA checkpoint and baggage check-in with a sense of ease. Air travel, once a routine part of my glamourous life as a fashion photographer, now feels strangely different. No heavy camera equipment, no overflowing bags either. Just a single carry-on for a quick trip.

As we ascend into the cerulean sky, the recognizable ding of the seatbelt sign release me from my temporary confinement. The flight attendant, her smile warm and welcoming, approaches with her beverage cart, offering a moment of respite.

"Just a Pepsi and ice, please," I request, my gaze locked on the vibrant real estate listings on my iPad.

The unlimited in-flight Wi-Fi comes as a perk to my Delta VIP status, a precious lifeline to the world I'm leaving behind and the one I'm hoping to embrace. Meanwhile, I continue scrolling through the seemingly endless listings, exchanging messages with Dirk, our trusty pharmacist back in Denver. He's been an inspiration, offering to help me research child psychiatrists in the Seattle Metro area. The images of charming bungalows, modern condos, and sprawling estates dance before my eyes. Each one serves as a potential haven for Lily and me. But finding a new therapist for her is paramount, and Dirk's background in child psychology makes him an invaluable resource.

A cool rush of refreshing Pepsi glides down my throat, offering a temporary distraction from the whirlwind of emotions that stands to keep me wrangled. Although a mix of trepidation and excitement fills my chest, I can envision the possibilities that await us on the Western coastline. This trip could be the catalyst for a new beginning, a real chance to heal and rebuild our lives.

Yeah man, look him up. His name is Durango Walters. I know him from school when he gave a guest lecture on the importance of boundaries for children on the autism spectrum.

I offer an inquisitive reply.

So he's that good? You think Lily would have any problems opening up to him, since it would be somebody brand new?

Dirk takes a while to respond, which isn't unusual if he's at the pharmacy today. It's a busy one, always crammed with patients waiting for their prescriptions to be filled. And it's always on a ‘right fucking now' basis. I switch back to Zillow while my eyes scan the listings for houses in Seattle and the surrounding area. I want a place that feels like home, with plenty of space for Lily to run and play. What kid doesn't love rambling hallways and a vast, green lawn to explore?

Sure, she's only seven now. But I can already imagine the day when she'll try her hand at staircase surfing. It's inevitable, and part of growing up. A smile warms me at the thought, even if a wave of sadness washes over me, as I realize Brogan won't be here to witness those tender moments. Shaking away the fatigue, I push each of the melancholy thoughts aside. I need to focus on finding a new home, a place where Lily and I can create fresh memories, ripe with adventure and health. Denver is no longer that place.

Blinding afternoon sun assaults my eyes as I stumble out of the terminal, disoriented after hours in the clean confines of an airplane. My phone screen is an illegible glare, but I know it's filled with messages from Melanie. I left Lily in her capable hands, but a knot of anxiety twists in my gut. Can I really trust anyone to take care of her the way I would, or the way Brogan would?

I hail a cab, my suitcase suddenly feeling heavier than usual as I heave it into the trunk. The driver guns it, a sudden lurch throwing me back against the seat. Meanwhile, the outside world blurs as we speed away from the airport, the cityscape offering me a kaleidoscope view of colors and shapes.

"Were to, guv'nor?" The driver asks in a thick Cockney accent.

Contending with the lump in my throat, I advise him. "The Grand Hyatt on Pine Street."

He nods and we merge onto the highway while cars whiz past us like busy honeybees on the hunt for fresh pollen. Finally shaded from the harsh sunlight, I unlock my phone to recover a wave of notifications flooding in. Mel has been busy. Pictures of dresses fill my inbox, each one more dazzling than the last. My heart swells with pride as I see Mel's choice, a shimmering gunmetal sequin gown with a dramatic black bow. She's even arranged for the designer to make a replica for Lily. Another lump forms in my throat because it's a beautiful gesture and testament to Melanie's unwavering love for her niece.

Swiping through more messages, a melody of updates and reassurances surface from my sister. Lily is doing well, she says. By the looks of it, they're having fun exploring the city together. However, a pang of guilt accosts me because I should be there with them. Not stuck in a taxi, chasing shadows of a life that no longer exists. Then I remember the purpose of this trip and the hope it represents, evolving my momentary malaise into a bursting fountain of expectations and optimism.

Melanie's last message catches me off-guard.

Would you object to placing a deposit down for the designer to fix up a matching dress for Lily? It would be really sweet to have look-alike gowns. You'll never know when it will come in handy.

I'm flabbergasted that Lily's showing such an interest in fashion. This being a new concept for her to grasp, especially because she's usually so averse to clothes shopping. Somehow, in some way, Melanie has changed this for our Lily Bean, and I honestly couldn't be prouder. I'm all for whatever makes the little princess happiest. And Brogan would be on-board to encourage his daughter to express new interests. Another text beeps in, this time setting my nerves ablaze.

Sorry to bug you again if you're still up in the air and won't see this immediately. But I just went outside and signed a card to receive a letter addressed to you from some legal office on behalf of Josiah Baxter. It seems urgent. Call me when you get this. Love you, Boo.

The Grand Hyatt is an oasis of tranquility, a conflicting symphony to the turmoil raging within me. I pace the plush carpet, the soft thud of my footsteps a counterpoint to the frantic rhythm of my heart. The letter, the Baxter's, the looming shadow of their greed—it's all a suffocating weight on my chest. I try to distract myself with the view of the cityscape as twinkling lights offer a mesmerizing dance against the velvet sky. Yet, it's no use. The questions and uncertainty keep swirling, refusing to be hushed any longer.

What fresh hell is this? What do they want now? Will they ever leave us in peace?

A wave of exhaustion sinks in, and I collapse onto the soft bed, burying my face in the cool, crisp sheets. But sleep is elusive, chased away by relentless anxiety. And Melanie's probably trying to battle Lily in the bathtub or reading to her in bed at this minute. Regardless, I reach for my phone. It's time to call her, to find out what the fuck these vultures have unleashed upon us. The line trills four times before she finally answers.

"Mel, open it!" I urge her angrily. "Right fucking now!"

I can hear footsteps on the other end of the line as she walks downstairs to my desk, silent and solemnly. The tension builds, an agonizing and impervious affliction of the new struggles I'm probably going to face now. At last, she breaks her silence, appearing frustrated on my behalf.

"It's from Bechtel and Associates, signed in Chicago, representing Josiah Baxter the Third in Paris, France," she relays.

Dread washes over me. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I explode, my anger momentarily eclipsing the fear. "Go on, finish reading it, God fucking damn it, Melanie!"

My mind races with a torrent of worst-case scenarios. The Baxters have already tried to steal our home, to take away the life Brogan built for us. What more could they possibly want?

I pace the hotel room, my hands clenched into fists. "Tell me everything," I drone.

Mel continues reading the letter aloud with a trembling voice. Each word is legal jargon, filled with barely concealed malice. The Baxters are seeking full custody of Lily, claiming I'm unfit to raise her alone.

Ice floods my veins. "They're monsters!" I roar, my voice echoing in the frigid hotel room. "They can't take her away from me! She's all I have left of Brogan!"

I hurl my phone across the room, the impact a dull thud against the carpeting. It's a pathetic display of impotent rage, but I can't contain the fury that's boils inside. This can't be happening. Not now, not after all we've been through. The Baxters are like parasites, feeding off our grief, trying to tear my family fucking apart. Not gonna happen. No fucking way! At this moment, I realize that I've forgotten my sister is on the other end of the call, now probably worried I've fallen over. Quickly, I go scoop the device back into my grasp when I hear her frantic tone.

"What are we going to do, Max?" she asks, her voice laced with pure dread.

A deep breath protrudes from my lungs, forcing me to calm down. "We're gonna fight this, Mel," I affirm, my reply steely with determination. "We're not gonna let them fucking win."

Melanie sighs. "This is so ridicu?—"

I interject her thought with more rage. "FUCK NO, IT'S NOT RIGHT!" I exclaim. "Listen, sis," I continue, pressing into my temples. "I'm fucking tired and need to take a hot bath, but please take a picture of the letter and send it to my iPad so I can read it legibly."

"Okay, I can do that," she replies with certitude.

My indignation storms forward. "I'm also gonna call our lawyer, Derek Lancaster," I advise her. "Fuck! This is too much, Sis."

Melanie's response seems genuinely fearful that I'm about to do something incredibly stupid. "Don't make any rash decisions."

I cut off the call, though kicking myself for not telling her I love them. It should go without saying, however. At this moment, all I can think about is the brewing shitstorm in the series of fuckstorms I've been dealing with the past several months. This just isn't fair, Brogan. God damn it, why did you have to die?