1. Bea

1

BEA

" Y ou sure this is the place?" the cab driver asks, looking at me over his shoulder.

I glance down at my phone, re-reading the email I received last week. Sure enough, the address is correct. "Yup, this is my stop," I reply with far more confidence than I feel at the moment.

My eyes roam over the property we're currently parked in front of. The attorney I talked to over the phone and through email warned me that the house and yard hadn't been kept up in years. It didn't faze me in the least at the time. I've stayed in some questionable homes and run-down apartments on the wrong side of the tracks. I was positive that this couldn't be any worse.

Boy, was I wrong.

From what I can see of the house through the overgrown grass and weeds, it looks like it's held together by tacky glue and the power of prayer. Too bad I've never been one much for talking to the Big Guy Upstairs.

The giant wrap-around porch has more broken support beams and missing wooden planks than not. What a shame. I've dreamt about having a yard and a patio for a long time. I'd fill it with potted plants, bird feeders, comfy chairs, and of course, a porch swing. Looking at the remnants of what was once a gorgeous home, I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

What have I gotten myself into?

"Miss?" the man asks, pulling me from my thoughts. There's no going back at this point anyway, so I might as well get to it. I'll start by assessing the damage and then I'll figure out how to fix this damn place up.

"Yeah. Yes. Um, right. I'm good," I ramble, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear and mustering up a fake smile.

The driver raises an eyebrow, his thick, silver-gray mustache twitching as if barely containing the words he wants to say. In the end, the man lets out a sigh and then shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'll grab your bag–"

"I've got it," I'm quick to reply as I open the back door and hop out. The cab driver furrows his brows at me, but once again, decides it's not worth asking more questions. I'm not sure what I'd tell him anyway, other than I don't trust anyone with my stuff and I've learned that every kind gesture, however small, always comes with strings attached.

A second later, the trunk pops open and I wrap my fingers around the handle of my suitcase, tugging until it finally comes loose from where it was stuck. I stumble backward a bit, the inertia of my heavy, hastily-packed luggage bag pulling me to one side as I clumsily set it down at my feet.

This old suitcase and I have been through a lot. I can't remember how many times I've packed, unpacked, repacked, and moved over the years. It was a point of pride that I could fit my entire life into a luggage bag. The older I get, however, the more pathetic that sounds. I don't want to be a nomad anymore. I bounced from one foster home to the next more times than I care to think about. No one wanted to keep me, so I was rehomed over and over again like a dog that keeps getting returned to the shelter.

It's over now , I remind myself. This is my new start. Even as I think the words, doubt creeps up my spine and wraps around my lungs, making it hard to take a full breath.

"So, uh, you're all good to go?" the cabbie asks awkwardly from the driver's seat. It takes me longer than it should to realize he's waiting for me to pay him the fare. Duh.

Reaching into my purse, I fish out my wallet and count out fifty-two dollars before adding a few more as a tip. I try not to balk at the price of the ride, but then again, I had no idea how far out of the way this little town was from the airport.

Good thing I have that inheritance money, or else this ride would've cost me groceries for two weeks. Even so, it's hard handing over the cash. I've spent my life scrounging and saving every penny in hopes of a better future. That all changed when Samuel Maxton, attorney and executor of Mary Leavenworth's will, called me and gave me the shock of a lifetime.

Not only did I have a great-great-aunt I never knew, but I was apparently her only living relative. Samuel explained my great-great-aunt either didn't have a last will or it was lost over the years. The attorney had to repeat himself a few times for the words to sink in. Being the sole heir of Mary Leavenworth made me a wealthy woman overnight. I'm still not used to it, and I don't know that I ever will be.

"Have a good… well, have a night," the cab driver settles on. He gives me a two-finger wave as he pulls out of the driveway, leaving me standing in front of the most haunted-looking house I've ever seen. No, this is more than a house. It's a freaking mansion. That fact should make me happy, but all I feel is overwhelmed by everything that needs to be done to fix this place.

Rolling my shoulders back, I take a deep breath and blow it out. Then I take another. And another. I keep breathing deeply until the world doesn't feel like it's caving in on me. I just need a good night's sleep. That will help. I'm sure the place looks extra creepy in the dark. Maybe the warm glow of the morning sun tomorrow will paint a better picture of the house I just inherited.

I start walking toward the front door, mindful of the random holes in the ground. Some look big enough for a groundhog or rabbit to fit in, while others are smaller. More suited to a snake. Shivering at the thought, I pick up my pace, dragging my suitcase behind me.

Carefully avoiding the worst of the porch and porch steps, I finally reach the front door. Can I even call it a door if it's hanging at a weird angle and doesn't have a lock? I guess I just found my first project. New door.

I place my suitcase off to the side and explore the property I now own. It's weird even thinking those words. Me? Owning land? And a home? Crazy. Less crazy, though, now that I know what condition everything is in.

After wandering around the first floor, I take the stairs two at a time, since every other stair has a loose plank, a broken plank, or no plank at all. It's not as dilapidated up here, which is pleasantly surprising. Don't get me wrong, the carpet is a mess and everything needs a good scrub to wash the dust and grime off, but it's not nearly as depressing as the kitchen with tens of thousands of dollars worth of high-end kitchen appliances that may or may not work. I'm too tired to figure it out tonight.

I get to work finding the room I'm going to stay in upstairs. I'm thankful the home is furnished, though once again, I'll need to deep-clean everything before I can enjoy it.

My phone rings, startling the hell out of me. I let out a squeak and pull my phone out of my pocket, relief flooding over me when I see it's my childhood friend, Aurora. I haven't filled her in on my latest adventure yet.

"Hey," I answer, hoping my voice doesn't betray how exhausted I am.

"Bea! What is up? I've been meaning to call and check-in. Is this a good time to talk?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding even though I know she can't see it. "I could use a distraction."

"Uh-oh. What's going on?"

I sigh and rest my back against the nearest wall, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor with my knees tucked up. It feels a little safer like this. Not as big and overwhelming.

"Bea?" Aurora asks, her voice softer this time.

"I'm fine," I promise my friend. "Just a little… out of my depth here." That's an understatement, I think to myself as I scan the entryway I just walked through. The hardwood flooring is worn thin, the door is one good sneeze away from falling right off, and everything is covered in at least an inch of dust.

"What's going on? We may live in different states but I will find a way to get to you if you need me. You know that, right?"

"I know. I love you for that. I don't think you can help me this time." Aurora doesn't say anything, she simply gives me space to think and put the right words together. She's always been good to me in that way; patient and understanding instead of annoyed. "So, I kind of… inherited a mansion," I start.

"Wait, what?!" she exclaims over the phone. "Like, a mansion mansion? With multiple bathrooms and fifty bedrooms and a library like in Beauty and the Beast ?"

I can't stop the sarcastic laugh falling from my lips as I think of all the things that I need to fix and clean before this place is even livable. "No, it's definitely not a fairytale. The place has been abandoned for years, though apparently my great-great-aunt who lived across the country or something had been paying property taxes on it, so… it's just been sitting here, untouched, for over a decade."

"A great-great-aunt?" she asks, intrigue and disbelief coloring her tone. Aurora and I went to school together from kindergarten through high school, and she knows better than anyone the kind of hell I went through in the foster care system. I'm sure she's nearly as shocked as I was to hear I had a living relative this entire time. Well, not anymore, but still.

"I know. Crazy, right? I had no idea she existed until her attorney tracked me down and told me I inherited a piece of property."

"You could have been living with her the whole time instead of…"

My friend trails off, probably not wanting to remind me of the past. "I try not to think about what might have been, you know? Who knows if my life would have been better or worse if I lived with her? Besides, I probably wouldn't have met you, and that would've been a tragedy, don't you think?"

"Definitely," she replies. I can hear the smile in her voice, and it warms me up from the inside. God, I miss her. I'm about to ask what's new in her life, but then something that sounds like plastic crunching fills the other end of the line. "Oh, crap!" Aurora squeaks out.

The line goes dead and I try calling her again. It goes to voicemail, which should have me worried. However, I know my bestie. I love her with all my heart, but she's about as accident-prone as they come. I wouldn't be surprised if she dropped her phone in the sewer or a vat of hot oil or something equally as baffling.

Sure enough, a few moments later, I get a text.

Sorry! Dropped my phone. I'm good. I'll call again soon!

I smile and hold my phone against my heart as if it will somehow magically heal my wounds. I miss my friend, but I had to leave our hometown. There was no way I was going to have a successful adulthood by hanging around the town that beat me down, chewed me up, and spit me back out in horrible foster home after horrible foster home. Good riddance, I say. My only regret is not taking Aurora with me.

I take another fortifying breath and heave myself off the floor, wiping away any dust from my clothes. I'm pretty sure I still have at least half a pound of it on me, but I think that's just how it's going to be until I tackle all the cleaning that needs to be done.

Wandering in and out of the dozen or so rooms, I get a sense of the scale of this place. It's gigantic and has a few stained-glass windows in the attic-slash-spiral thing that probably has a fancy architecture name. I bet the sunrise is outright miraculous to see with all those colors sparkling in the light.

By the time I get back to the main floor, I can't stop yawning. As much as I'm not looking forward to stripping the bed of its sheets, I'm thankful I thought enough ahead to pack my own. Obviously, it's just a Band-Aid for the deeper problem of a lumpy, ancient mattress, but it's all I've got right now.

As I make up the bed in the room across the hall from the bathroom, my mind wanders to the woman who lived here before me. My great-great-aunt, Mary Leavenworth. What was she like? Why didn't she have anyone else to give her wealth to after she passed?

I peel back the comforter I bought for just this occasion and slip inside the covers. I didn't think I'd be able to sleep with everything going on and the house being in such disarray, but as soon as my eyes close, I fall into a deep, dark slumber. Maybe tomorrow, this will all be better. Yes, tomorrow…