Splintercat

By Jilleen Dolbeare

Chapter 1

I bounced along the rutted drive, going as slow as possible, my nerves jangling. This was a bad idea. Of course, it was a bad idea! Who was I kidding? I tried to take a calming sip of coffee, but it splashed out of the little hole at top and splattered on my favorite blouse. The universe was trying to speak to me. To warn me away.

I clenched my teeth. The universe could go screw itself—where was the universe when I married Evan? There should have been a thunderstorm on our wedding day, or an earthquake, or some other suitable portent to warn me about the cataclysmic mistake I was about to make.

I put the coffee back in the cupholder. I didn’t want to drink the lukewarm crap, anyway. Maybe this was a bad idea. Did I really want to take this step? Move out of my comfort zone? Like, really far out of it? Evan had said he’d take me back if I dropped my demands. For the millionth time, my resolution wavered. Evan was all I knew; he was the easy choice. But every fiber of my stubborn being knew he wasn’t the right choice.

Thinking of Evan was a habit, a bad one I needed to break. I couldn’t go back to him, couldn’t trust him. Besides, I’d be the homewrecker now. He’d gotten the skank pregnant. She’d carried the baby I never could. Don’t be bitter, Brigid, don’t be bitter. She wasn’t even pretty. She had youth on her side while mine was fleeing me like a rat from a sinking ship.

The house loomed out of the misty rain, and my breath caught. Grey, decrepit, and depressing. But something in me sang. Oh, the potential! If I squinted, I could see what this place could be. For the first time in I-don’t-know-how-long, hope and excitement buzzed in my chest. This could be the start of something special, something amazing, just for me. Screw Evan. Don’t think about Evan, dammit!

Brush blocked the driveway as it curved around to the back of the house. I would need to hire someone to clear that out so the workers could get in to restore this beast. If it was even possible. The house looked ready to collapse, but even so, the old building spoke to me.

I parked next to the realtor’s jaunty red hybrid and stepped out. The misty rain decided at that moment to change into a downpour, and I had to run to the sagging porch. Luckily, the old cobbled walkway up to the front of the house was still solid, so I avoided the worst of the mud. I stepped up the old rock stairs and onto the wooden porch. It squeaked under me and had far too much bounce. I frowned at it. Would it hold my weight?

I pushed back my long, damp hair and scanned the porch and the roof above me. Nothing was in good shape. Was it even safe to enter? I blew out a breath. Maybe my optimism a moment ago was delusional. I frowned doubtfully at the building around me. Before I could second guess myself yet again, the front door swung open with a loud squeak. For a moment, I thought it had opened by itself, but then the realtor beamed at me in her dark red power suit and helmet hair. I couldn’t judge her. I was rumpled, crumpled, and covered in coffee stains. I summoned my best social smile and continued into my old home.

“Hi, I’m Karen Trask. I talked to you on the phone.” She stuck a hand out.

“Brigid Coleman, nice to finally meet you.” I stumbled slightly over my last name. I was stuck with it until the divorce was final and I could go back to Donovan, my maiden name. I shook her hand and stepped over the threshold.

It had been twenty-three years since I’d set foot in this house. And the years hadn’t been kind to it. You could still see its beautiful bones if you knew how to look, but they were covered by grime and disrepair. The vaulted ceilings, the floors, and crown moldings were exquisite, but they needed sanding, painting, and repair. That’s what I saw everywhere—repair needed. The realtor used her hands to express her excitement over the “solid structure” and “diamond in the rough.”

I smiled wanly. “I grew up here. I lived here the first eighteen years of my life.”

I’d told her this on the phone when I’d made the appointment, but she acted as though it were exciting new news.

“Really? That’s marvelous!” Then she returned to her spiel.

She was going to give the hard sell to get rid of this slumbering beast and didn’t want to be distracted from any of her prepared selling points. I rolled my eyes behind her back. It didn’t matter what I said; she had a speech and was on a roll.

We walked up the central staircase. I remembered it as grand and sweeping, and it was, but the carpet that had been a little threadbare in my day was now ripped, stained, and smelled awful. I wrinkled my nose.Maybe renovating this house would be biting off more than I could chew, but something about it called to me and had since the moment this mad idea had popped into my head.

She took us to the third floor. I remembered this climb. I’d loved playing on the massive staircase, pretending I was a princess in a grand castle. Surprisingly, the staircase felt solid under my feet and didn’t even squeak. That was a good sign. Relief swept through me; it wasn’t total shit.

“The house was built in the 1880s. This town had only been founded in the 1850s, so it was still building into what it is today,” Karen droned. “The original owners must have valued their privacy. You’ve driven the long drive up and know the house is completely hidden from the highway and any neighbors by acres of old growth forest…”

The realtor continued her speech about the house’s construction and history. I knew it, so I tuned her out.

Those original owners were my family. The house was a Victorian in the Queen Anne style—she hadn’t mentioned that. I snorted a little, then looked up at her, she hadn’t noticed.

“…Three stories with a huge turret that stretches the entire height, three grand fireplaces, three original bathrooms, and many rooms.” I caught the tail end of her speech.

As we trailed through the third story, Karen opened door after door into empty rooms full of dust and grime and memories. I sneezed. A lot. Suddenly, she froze. I stopped just in time to keep from running into her.

“Sorry,” she said with a little breathless laugh. “I can’t remember where this door goes.” She stared at the door oddly.

I shrugged. “It’s the attic.”

“Attic?” She had a strange tone in her voice, and she hurriedly swiped through the phone in her hand. “I don’t remember there being an attic. It’s not listed in the paperwork.” She scrolled hurriedly but finally looked up. “Umm, sorry. Just an extra feature left off the listing. It happens occasionally.”

I nodded. It seemed like a strange thing to leave off, but I didn’t know. I was in computers, not real estate. Evan had handled all our properties. I stopped that thought. No. I didn’t need him. Mustn’t think of him. I could handle it all myself.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said kindly. “These things happen.”

We continued the tour, and no more mistakes were noted. The house did have good bones. There was potential if you knew where to look. Several walls were full of holes, and the carpets were ripped up in most rooms. It was hard to overlook the mess this place had become. It looked as though the place had been vandalized.

“How long has it been empty?” I asked after another room with holes and ripped-up rugs.

“Just slightly over a year,” she answered, obviously uncomfortable.

“How much land is still with the house?” I asked. When we’d moved out, there were only two hundred acres left. My family had sold six hundred acres off to a logging company. I’d been investigating, and the land was back on the market, unlogged. Premium untouched, primordial timber. Almost unheard of. If I bought back the original land, my investment into that would pay for itself and the house.

“There are two hundred acres listed with the house,” she replied after checking her notes.

What had the previous owners done? It seemed like nothing but an attempted bad remodel and then abandonment. I shook my head.

Before we finished the tour, a driving compulsion almost staggered me. An urgency, a need. This place had to be mine. “I want it. I’ll b-buy it.”

I had the down payment, even without the divorce settlement. We’d done well at our business—very well. I was due half of the business, and although Evan was fighting me, I was going to get my share. The money I had in my accounts would cover this and the lawyer, but if the divorce settlement didn’t go through, I’d be dead broke. Saying I’d buy it was a huge risk.

She stopped, surprised. “You will?”She blinked, catching herself. “I mean, great! You will. Fantastic. OK. Umm, we can sign the paperwork at the office.”

“Sure.” I took one last look around and followed her out to the cars. We drove convoy-style to the office, and I signed the offer papers before I had the chance to change my mind.

Signing the papers felt life changing—like a choir of angels should be singing, complete with a sunbeam shining down on me. I looked up. Nothing. It was mildly disappointing.

I returned to my dingy hotel and parked in the dubious lot. I was staying in a small dive hotel because they took cash. Evan monitored my spending, and every time I used a joint credit card, he’d cancel it. So, I’d applied for all new ones in just my name, but I hadn’t yet received any of the new ones in the mail. We were wealthy. I, not we. I was unbelievably wealthy, especially once I received what I was due from Evan. The money I spent was miniscule, but still he tried to control it and keep it from me. I was the reason the business had even been successful. Me, not him!

My heart beat hard, and my breath rasped. Great, I was about to give myself another panic attack. I leaned back in the driver’s seat and worked to calm down. Deep breaths, Brigid, you’re fine. You can do this. This isn’t a terrible mistake. Please don’t let this be a terrible mistake.

Once my breathing was controlled, and my heart had stopped beating out of my chest, I stepped out, locked the doors, and walked into my hotel room. I’d checked in earlier, after I’d arrived and before I’d met Karen at the house. It was old and worn, but clean. The bed was a little saggy in the middle, but if I didn’t have to sleep in it for very long, it would be comfortable enough. I hoped the soft mattress wouldn’t cause my back pain to flare up. It’d been a fourteen-hour drive to get here from Utah, and my back was tight. I was staying for a week. Hopefully that would be enough time to get the down payment money transferred and to investigate the local restoration companies.I was a woman with a plan.

I threw my bag down and stepped into the bathroom to take off my makeup and change into my pajamas. I was going to lie in bed and watch something trashy on tv—if the tv worked. Just as I was pulling the covers back, someone knocked on my door. Fear washed over me. Had Evan sent someone here to harass me? I wouldn’t put it past the bastard.

I swallowed hard and creeped forward, looking cautiously through the peephole. It was blocked. Shit.

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