She woke alone with the rain sprinkling the window. Rolling over, she was sad to see Grant had left for work, his side of the bed rumpled. Grant was an architect in the city, and had a love of sculptures in particular. He’d visited her show in New York while he was at a conference and bought a piece called Our Father in which she’d used industrial metal wires to construct a man’s face. The face, Grant claimed, looked just like his dead grandfather’s. He’d paid thirteen thousand dollars for the four-foot sculpture, while confessing to Rainy he’d seen her work in an architectural magazine, and then he’d asked her out on a date.

She’d been flattered, of course, and she’d gone back to his hotel room that night and proven that flattery will get you anywhere with an artist. Over the next year, he’d made several trips back to see her, and eventually their meetups developed feelings.

Deep feelings. She still didn’t quite know why she’d done it. Her entire life was in New York, her friends and business acquaintances; and yet, when he’d offered her the chance at a wet mountain life, she’d taken it.

She’d moved out of her studio apartment in Soho nine months later and made the trek to Washington state with Shep in tow and fear trailing behind her. No matter where she went, no matter who she was with—

One day, Taured would come for her.

3

Then

What she remembered about that first day was sitting in the back seat of their old Monte Carlo, her bare legs sliding along the leather because of how much she was sweating. The air-conditioning had never worked in the Tin Crap, as her mama called it, and it smelled like maple syrup for some reason. The radio was the only thing that provided some comfort of home, playing songs they could sing along with, like the Cranberries and Destiny’s Child. They’d driven from California, sleeping in the car at rest stations and Walmart parking lots, eating peanut butter sandwiches when they got hungry. Summer still felt sick about the way they’d left: in the middle of the night so that the landlord wouldn’t see them. No goodbyes, no nothing. And they could only take what could fit in the Tin Crap—which was practically nothing. She’d had to leave her books behind and the telescope her dad bought her for her birthday. Now, they were headed to Nevada, where her mama had a friend who could help.

“What type of help do we need exactly?”