Prologue

PROLOGUE

LENNON

Six Weeks Earlier

T he couch feels good, too good. I’d usually be at work or cleaning the house, except for today. The date on the calendar loomed in my head for nearly a month, and when the page on the calendar flipped, I made it worse. Why would anyone circle this date in red over and over again? It stared at me like a beacon each and every time I walked into the kitchen. Maybe that’s why I avoided it like the plague a few days leading up to this morning.

Fortunately for me, my preconceived notion of being a total embarrassment narrowed down to a party of one. My sister, Minnie, would have flown down from Colorado without batting an eye. I wouldn’t let her. She and Clay are smitten with one another, and I know my sister well enough. She’d stay as long as possible and feel guilty when she left. This task is better for me to deal with on my own. The fewer witnesses the better, in my eyes at least.

The party of the one and only me, myself, and I. We being me, dealt with standing in front of a judge. Well, minus a lawyer representing me, who is a literal godsend in every stretch of the imagination, and the paralegal taking notes through the proceeding. I held my head high, kept my tears at bay, and breathed through the overwhelming pain of coming to yet another realization.

Failure.

My body failed me.

My husband, excuse me, ex-husband failed me.

My birth parents failed me.

But I’ve never failed anyone. I’ve always been there, even when I’m not wanted, and that, my friend, is a hard pill to swallow.

And now I’m left alone with a pile of debt and emotions I refuse to unpack at this time. I’m too comfortable with the pint of moose tracks ice cream propped on my stomach and wine in one hand without a glass, instead choosing to drink it directly from the bottle. I’m allowing myself to wallow in self-pity for this afternoon. Come tomorrow, I’m going to dust myself off, get back to work, and dig myself out of the hole I’ve been buried in.

I take another bite of the vanilla swirled with chocolate and peanut butter chunks. The flavors burst along my taste buds, helping me drown out the noise of all the things I should be doing. The red pinot noir I’ve chosen does not pair well with my sweet treat, so I’ve abandoned guzzling the liquid for the time being. Maybe when I’m done divulging in the massive amounts of ice cream, I’ll move this into the bath and continue drinking.

My body is aching, my eyes are tired, and it’s not even because I’ve been crying. Nope, I’m all dried up, have nothing left to give. I used up all the tears when shit hit the fan with Zach all those months ago.

One fight.

One knock-down drag-out argument, and everything came out.

Zach blamed it all on me. Everything. The small-ish house we owned together, which seemed completely perfect to me, and did to him at one point, too.

Then things got worse when he said harmful, hurtful things, things I couldn’t bear to hear. I did the only thing a woman worth her salt would do: I ran out the door and started over. I walked out of the home we built with nothing but the clothes on my back. Of course, a few days later, when I knew Zach would be at work, I went back home, packed everything I could in my car, and never looked back. Clothes, a few mementos from when Minnie was younger, and my favorite kitchen appliances I use to bake with. The one hobby I allow myself despite its added expense.

The worst part is knowing that he didn’t care enough to run after me or to call. I thought it would be a stalemate for a few days, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing from Zach.

The ringing of the doorbell jars me out of memory lane. “Ugh,” I protest, plopping my ice cream on the scratched-up coffee table I picked up at a garage sale for five bucks. I think condensation marks are the least of my concerns while I get up to answer the door.

“Coming!” I say when the jarring noise goes off again. The rental house I moved into is a small two-bedroom and one-bathroom, less than eight hundred square feet, and serves its purpose well. It also doesn’t take me very long to reach the front door, look through the sidelight, and see a woman in a sophisticated pant suit. My stomach would have dropped if this had happened before the judge signed, sealed, and delivered my divorce papers today.

“Hi,” I answer the door after twisting the knob. I’m trying to be chipper, except I’m anything but. I’d much rather be left alone, and my untucked dress shirt with the lack of shoes probably shows that more than I’d like.

“Hello, there, are you Lennon Sinclair?” the woman on the other side of my door asks. Thank god, I put in the paperwork with my lawyer to change my last name back to my maiden name. I’d have started over with a different name entirely, but Minnie, my baby sister, has the same name for now. Plus, I’d like to think we’d make a better name for it than our negligent parents.

“I am. May I ask what this is about?”

“I’m Miriam from Simon & Simon attorney at law. You’re a hard woman to get ahold of. Usually, we’d have you come into the office to give you this news, but we couldn’t find a phone number.” I pause to think about what Miriam just said. When everything went down, I had to change phone plans and numbers with my credit being shot. I either needed to ask my younger sister to add me to her cell phone plan or get a pay-by-the-month deal. I went with the latter, so unless this lady did more research about my divorce, it’d be pretty difficult to get ahold of me minus e-mail or snail mail. The mailbox at the end of the driveway is rarely checked since all of my bills are paid online, so who knows if she sent me a letter.

I blink, staring at her with wonderment at what she’s getting at. “Do you know an Estelle Sinclair?” I shake my head. “That’s okay. My firm is in charge of her estate. She left you a home in Whispering Oaks.” I’m stunned silent, trying to digest her words. I swallow air, opening my mouth, closing it, then proceed to do the same at least two more times.

“Me? Are you sure?” I point to my chest, wondering if she’s being serious, or maybe I’m on one of those shows where you’re being pranked.

“I’m sure. Here are the documents as well as the deed.” Miriam hands me the folder, flipping it open so I can read the information.

“Wow.” The word comes out with a breathless quality.

“I can see this is a shock. I’d love to give you more time to go over this, but as you’re the last living relative, there isn’t much else I can do except have you sign.” She continues talking. I hear bits and pieces. The house is paid off, there’s money left for taxes as well as a decent sum of extra cash. Is this real life? Me, the girl who has worked her ass off, is now divorced and essentially starting over from scratch.

“Oh, okay, I can sign.” Miriam pulls a pen from her breast pocket, clicks it, and passes it over. I probably should have offered to do this inside, but my manners are completely out the window .

“Thank you. Once you’ve signed, I’ll get your phone number and set up a time to finish the complete transfer of the property.” I go through the motions, remembering I’m a Sinclair again, so my signature takes a moment before I tell her my phone number. Then she’s walking away, and I’m left reeling for another reason entirely.

Once Miriam is pulling out of the driveway, I finally head into the house. I’m practically running to grab my phone to make an important call. The ice cream is completely forgotten, but the bottle of wine is in my hand. I take a sip directly from the rim and pull up my sister’s number, putting it on FaceTime. It rings a few times before she answers.

“Minnie,” I say.

“Lennie,” she replies at the same time.

“You’ll never guess what happened a few minutes ago.” The papers are on the table. I prop my phone up against a stack of books and take another sip of wine.

“Wow, sister, think you’re celebrating a bit much?” Minnie says with a laugh.

“Leave her be. She’s finally rid of that worthless piece of shit,” Clay interjects in the background. He’s not in the screen, but when everything came out and Minnie shared what had happened and then some, well, let’s just say he hugged me tightly and offered to pay my divorce fees, saying the Sinclair girls are done taking shit from the world. I love him for my sister, and while he was annoyed that I didn’t take his money, he understood my reasoning too.

“Well, I’m celebrating for a good reason right now. I’m still reading over everything, and as far as I can tell, this seems legit.” I put the bottle down, away from my phone and paperwork, and scan over the bold font to get the gist of it.

“What seems legit?”

“Give me a minute. Apparently, we had a long-lost aunt. Her name was Estelle, and in her passing, she left a house and a sum of money. The only thing I don’t understand is why your name isn’t on the will, too.” There are quite a few years between me and my younger sister, and Estelle could have very well not known she’s even around.

“Lennon Sinclair, do not even think about it.” Clementine is pointing at the screen after I tell her everything that Miriam relayed to me.

“I’m not cutting you out. This is every bit yours as well as mine. Surely, she didn’t know, or you’d have been on there. It’s only fair.” Our parents were shit, our life was shit, and while I clawed our way out, giving her as much as I could, it wasn’t enough. It’ll never be enough.

“Lennie, you’ve done everything for everyone else while your happiness has been put on the back burner. You’ve self-sacrificed, and I love you for everything you’ve ever done for me, but take this as yours. A chance to get out, away from the memories and the pain, and maybe you’ll find a man who will love you for who you are. Not what you can produce.” She says that last part on a whisper, knowing how much Zach hurt me with his words.

I’m thirty-five. My biological clock has been semi-ticking, and within the last year of our marriage, we were trying to get pregnant to no avail. The doctor said it’d take time after being on birth control for almost twenty years. Still, luck wasn’t on our side, and when my now ex-husband called me a failure because of my lack of pregnancy, that was my breaking point.

“I love you, Minnie. So much.” I close my eyes, breathing through the emotions.

“I love you, too, Lennie. I’ll figure out a date when Clay and I can come down to Florida. We’ll help you move and get settled.” I’m about to decline her offer when Clay comes into view.

“We’re coming whether you like it or not, and you know we’ll have a Johnson or two in tow. All you have to do is give us the date. We’re family, and family helps each other.” He disappears as fast as he appeared.

“Alright, I’m going to read through this paperwork, set up an appointment, and go from there. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Please do. I’m happy for you, Lennie. Really happy. This is a fresh start, and no one deserves it more than you.” We say our goodbyes, saying I love you yet again, and when the phone goes silent, I take another sip of wine from the bottle. I’m going to celebrate with a hot bath and the rest of my wine, then I’m going to bed and hope like hell that today wasn’t a fever dream.