Chapter One

Reid

Pulling into the driveway hit differently than I thought it would. I'd assumed that since it'd been years since I'd been here, coming back would be no big deal. Heck, I thought I probably wouldn't even remember.

How wrong I'd been.

I'd still been in elementary school the last time my mom brought me to visit Uncle Reid. I couldn't remember exactly why we came that time. Or maybe I never knew. It wasn't a holiday or summer vacation, like normal. I even got to miss a few days of school and, to me, that made the trip gold.

So many memories flashed back at me. The huge smile he sported as he came out to greet us. The time he decorated the yard with "proof" that Santa's reindeer had been there. The time we danced in the rain, or, as he called it, "the free sprinkler." I'd had so much fun here, but this time there wasn't going to be any fun. I needed to take care of his affairs, which was a thousand times worse than it sounded.

So much of the place was the exactly the same as when I was here last, from the lopsided four on the front door, just as crooked despite him perpetually calling it the number one item on his to-do list, to the brick ledge outside the front windows, a common feature in this neighborhood and favorite perch of the neighborhood cat, to the tree I helped him plant. Heck, he hadn't even painted the garage door, and my name was still written in the corner for no other reason than I asked him if I could and he agreed. I wasn't sure why I thought it would be a good idea, but he told me signatures made things more valuable, and he was honored to have it.

He'd been such a great uncle, a kind big brother to my mom, and a good man. And now? Now he was gone. Gods, how I wished I'd made an effort to reconnect, and now it was too late.

It had been so long since we'd seen each other. When my parents split up, and Mom and I moved across the country, we saw him less and less. By the time I was an adult, he wasn't part of my life anymore. It wasn't a decision I made. Not really. Just how things went. And here I was, getting out of the car with the keys to his house, which was now mine. It was a lot to wrap my head around.

I grabbed the bag of cleaning supplies I picked up at the store as a way of delaying the inevitable and headed for the door. My plan was to go in, see how much I needed to get rid of, clean up a little, and then go to the hotel where I would grab dinner and relax. All I had to do this trip was to get this house ready to sell. Nothing more. Did I know all that would entail? Not even close, but I refused to see it as anything I couldn't handle because, once I did…I'd prove myself right.

As I stepped inside, it hit me—everything was exactly the way he left it. The day he'd passed, Uncle Reid had gone to the store, where his heart gave out. I guess I assumed that someone came back here and did—I don't know, something. But they hadn't. His half-full mug of coffee sat on the side table by his recliner. It was a lot fuzzier than when he'd gone out that day but still very present. And, based on the smell, the garbage was still in the kitchen.

I could do this. It was no big deal. I didn't even really know him anymore. My memories of him when I was a kid, were just that—memories.

This is only a house.

I was here to complete a real estate transaction. Nothing more. Uncle Reid only left it to me because he had no one else. I was the sole relative. This didn't have to be a big deal.

Except it was, the weight of it all starting to weigh down on me. My instinct was to call my last daddy, to ask him to talk me through it. He wasn't a dick, and we broke up on good terms. If he could help me center myself, maybe, just maybe, I could manage this. Only, he had a spouse now, and it wasn't fair putting my troubles onto him when he had another little to take care of.

I could do this.

I had no choice.

As I wandered from room to room, I took note of everything—from the unopened mail on the kitchen counter to the laundry in the bathroom hamper. The place was a time capsule, a snapshot of Uncle Reid's life, and any single change I made would ruin that.

Even the refrigerator was still full. I surveyed the contents. Full and rotten. This was going to take a lot more work than I'd originally thought. I was going to need to rent at least one dumpster, weed through and pack a bunch of shit for donations, and sell a whole lot of furniture. Thankfully, my company had offered me an extended period of full-remote status, so I didn't need to figure out how to go into the office every Wednesday like I usually did. It looked very much like I was going to have to take them up on it.

Everything was manageable though.

When I opened the next bedroom door, the past slammed into me. Unlike the rest of the house, it wasn't lived in. I didn't see remnants of what he had done that day, like I did everywhere else—like the scrap paper by the computer in the spare bedroom he was using as an office or the partially made bed where he'd slept the night before he passed. I faced an ocean of cardboard boxes, my mother's name written in Sharpie across the top of each one.

I took one deep breath and another…counting, counting, counting each thump in my chest, trying to calm myself. Each heartbeat I tallied was supposed to help. Only it didn't.

This room tore open old wounds and I hadn't even fully stepped inside yet. I closed my eyes, continuing to count, and eventually I gave up. This was too much for me. Unable to take even one more step inside, I took fight or flight in the wrong direction and ran out of the house, barely shutting the front door completely and forgetting to lock it. Unsure what else to do, I began to drive back to the hotel to regroup and get my shit together before starting on the house. It was too much for me. Way too much.

I sat in the hotel drive, unable to get out of the car. The longer I was there, the more I needed to know what was in those boxes. Why did he have my mom's things, and why had he saved them all these years?

"I can do this." Maybe I was lying to myself, but I needed someone to affirm me and I didn't have a daddy anymore, and none of my work friends would get it. They'd be confused as to why I left in the first place, much less why it was so difficult for me to handle the situation.

I slowly made my way back to my uncle's neighborhood and drove around the block far more times than I should have. I was honestly shocked that none of the neighbors called the police about the suspicious man driving around and casing the street. My final trip around, the woman across the street was getting her mail, and I took it as a sign that it was time.

This time, I went straight to the boxes, not stopping to take the entire room in. I didn't stop to think, for fear I'd let myself run away again. I could do this. I had to do this. One by one, I opened the boxes. Most of them were paperwork or dishes that my grandmother had given her. I'd been so stressed for nothing. It wasn't like the bank statements from accounts closed long ago or the old divorce papers mattered to me or anyone else anymore.

But then I opened a box that was all about me. There were little onesies from when I was a newborn, a picture of me from every single year I went to elementary school, my tee ball catcher's mitt, and some Mother's Day gifts I'd made at school. To my surprise, I was able to handle all of that easily.

But then at the bottom, I unveiled a bright red cap with my name on it. She'd bought it for me when she was pregnant, and as a kid, I always wanted to wear it but it would fall off. It was impossible to tighten it enough for my little head. She'd had my name embroidered across it along with a star, and on the inside, there was a tiny embroidered heart.

I thought I'd brought it with me when I moved away and that it got lost in the move. I'd been heartbroken. But apparently, I didn't lose it after all, and now it was here, in my hands, reminding me about how much my mother wanted me and how much she struggled to give me the best life she could. It was too much.

I put it on my head and collapsed to the floor, failing to hold back the tears, wondering if I really could walk away from this house. It was the only thing I had left of my family. I was alone.

It was hours later when I managed to pull myself together enough to go back to my hotel— for real this time. I took a shower, put on the few little clothes that I'd brought with me, filled my bottle with milk I'd grabbed at the breakfast buffet, before climbing into bed. I was still wearing my hat and had my stuffed lobster under my arm. I might not have a daddy here to take care of me, but I needed to escape into my little space as best I could.

Curling up with my stuffie, sucking my bottle, and listening as my favorite cartoon played in the background on my computer, I willed myself to relax and just be. All my big problems would still be here in the morning. Tonight, I needed to push them to the side if I had any hope of conquering them.