“You see, sweetheart, your grandmother didn’t drift away because she was introverted. She ripped herself away because she was grieving. And …” She sighs a sad breath. “I do think she suffered from some mental issues. Ones she refused to talk about or seek treatment for. Sometimes, she’d mutter things about the wolves working with demons to collect souls. That they took my father’s life in payment for mine.” She digs her thumbnail into the woodgrain of the table. “It took me a while to understand my mother. Too long. By the time I started to work through what made her the way she was, I was already pregnant with Abram. I reached out to Minnie, and she came up for his birth. But she only stayed long enough to hear his name and to give me a blanket. Then, she said I’d made my choices and it’d be best if we kept to our separate ways.”

“That’s harsh.” Sadness clutches at my chest. I can’t imagine what I would do if my mom told me to keep away from her.

“It was. And I fell back into my resentment as easily as a pair of well-worn jeans. But I can’t help thinking she didn’t mean what she implied. That, secretly, my choosing to leave was something she approved of.”

“I don’t understand.”

My mom’s smile is sad. “After years of being kept secluded, I was adept at sneaking out. And I’m sure you know what’s only a few miles down the road.”

“The Rabbit Hole,” I murmur.

She nods. “I met a young man there. A werewolf. He was kind and handsome and nothing like the monster Minnie had described. I was furious with her for painting a horrifying picture of the wolves. And I was looking for a way to rebel. So, I kept sneaking out to see him.”

“You dated a werewolf?” Like mother, like daughter.

“For a little while. But then I turned eighteen, and I was accepted to college in Denver. I realized that dating him, riding on the back of his motorcycle, sneaking beers in the woods—that was all me searching for freedom from Minnie’s fear. But I wouldn’t really be free until I left.”

“And the guy?”