“Aren’t you the heir to the throne of white dude magic?” Mariah waves a hand around. “You should be surrounded by bodyguards.”

Behind me, Alice snorts. “Oh, she is.”

I glare at her. “It’s complicated.”

“Hello?” Dr. Patricia Hartwood, my former therapist, appears on the screen beside Mariah. We hear her voice, but the image faces the ceiling.

Mariah covers a laugh. “Can’t see you, Doc Hartwood.”

Patricia adjusts her camera until the image is mostly her wide smile, bright eyes behind yellow horn-rimmed glasses, and smooth, deep brown cheekbones. Her graying locs are wrapped on the top of her head today. “Better?”

“Yes,” I say. I note Patricia’s surroundings too. She’s in a comfortable-looking cabin. Sunlight makes flickering patterns on the ceiling above her head. “That your rental?”

“It is!” Her eyes flick over the phone and around the room. “It’s quite cozy. I need to thank your father for recommending it.”

I grin. “Dad always knows the best places to stay in the mountains.” It’s true. He grew up in rural western North Carolina and he and my mom used to take me out there every year to see the fall leaves. Bright reds, vibrant golds, splotches of pink, peach, and grapefruit orange. Thinking about the family vacations we’ll never have again makes my chest ache.

My eyes find the altar set up by the closet door. It’s just a small wooden milk crate, nothing special, but the items on top of it remind me of the reason I came to Carolina in the first place.

In the center, a shallow ceramic bowl filled with dried medicinal wildflowers. Three crystals in a pile from my mother’s jewelry box back home, sent by my father upon request: an oval-shaped bloodstone, a three-pointed rose quartz, and a carnelian that fits perfectly inside my fist. A tall jar of dried figs; sweetness grown from the ground. My mother’s charm bracelet, laid open on top of a black cloth.

“The views are incredible,” Patricia says, drawing my attention. “I could see myself staying in Asheville for longer than a week.” She tilts her head. “And you still haven’t spoken to him about what’s really going on?”

“No.” I’d called my father yesterday morning to check in, short and sweet. He told me he’d been having trouble finding good work at the auto shop. Been happy that my “fancy new digs” at the Lodge also came free of charge. Meant he could stop paying Carolina’s dorm fees. “I told him that I think I understand Mom better now, and why she kept things about Carolina to herself. He said he wouldn’t push.”

My mother’s gone and those family vacations are gone, and I couldn’t prevent her death, but I’ll do what it takes to keep my dad out of this.