“We’re staying,” she said, her tone easy but firm. “I’m just pissed. What’s crazier is that there’s no news article to be found on this guy. Nothing. Your neighbor keeps a pet cougar, and no one thinks it’s a big enough deal to write a story on it. Who are these people?” Her voice teetered between being a mother terrified for her children and acting like an amused spectator at a circus who could leave at any time. And, she could. So why was she compelled to stay?

“I thought they outlawed exotic pets,” I said. “You know, after that shitshow in Ohio where the guy let his lions onto the highway, then offed himself.”

“Turns out they outlawed it in Ohio. Apparently, not in Wisconsin. The laws are loose here and change county by county.”

“Strange that my mom never mentioned cougars,” I said.

“This place seems tiny to us—I mean, it is compared to Chicago—but it’s not so small that you’re going to hear about everything,” she said, her voice drifting. She sighed. “Any other wild stories about this place from when you were a kid? Ghost stories or gruesome murders?”

I turned on my side, propped my head with my hand, and searched her eyes. “That’s what I love about you—your cheerful, optimistic soul,” I teased, trying to get her to soften. “You are all bubble gum and kittens.”

One corner of her mouth turned up, her tough shell cracking.

First thing anyone notices about Heather, her severe looks. Like Snow White. Dark hair, cut sharply above her shoulders, dark eyes, pale skin, and plum-colored lips. Snow White, or maybe a vampire.

She had this harsh, skeptical look to her face. Distrustful. Like she thought everyone was trying to fuck with her. They were. Well, at least when she was little. The youngest of five wild kids and growing up in that unpredictable household, she never knew what to expect. But, under that glare, at her gooey center, she was funny, easy, and gentle. She wanted to be a good mom so badly, it was occasionally painful to watch.

“Did you ever hear about Dawn Young’s murder?” she said. “It rings a bell, but I have to be honest with you about something. I hate to admit it,” I said, exaggerating sincerity, “I was a bit of a self-absorbed asshole as a teenager.” Selfish, really. Just thinking about what I was like in high school made me cringe. “If it didn’t revolve around me, I barely paid attention.”

“I can picture that,” she said, smiling deviously.