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Back Heart of the Sun
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for the novels of Mia Sheridan
  3. About the Author
  4. NOTE TO READERS
  5. Dedication
  6. prologue
  7. chapter one
  8. chapter two
  9. chapter three
  10. chapter four
  11. chapter five
  12. chapter six
  13. chapter seven
  14. chapter eight
  15. chapter nine
  16. chapter ten
  17. chapter eleven
  18. chapter twelve
  19. chapter thirteen
  20. chapter fourteen
  21. chapter fifteen
  22. chapter sixteen
  23. chapter seventeen
  24. chapter eighteen
  25. chapter nineteen
  26. chapter twenty
  27. chapter twenty-one
  28. chapter twenty-two
  29. chapter twenty-three
  30. chapter twenty-four
  31. chapter twenty-five
  32. chapter twenty-six
  33. chapter twenty-seven
  34. chapter twenty-eight
  35. chapter twenty-nine
  36. chapter thirty
  37. chapter thirty-one
  38. chapter thirty-two
  39. chapter thirty-three
  40. chapter thirty-four
  41. chapter thirty-five
  42. chapter thirty-six
  43. chapter thirty-seven
  44. chapter thirty-eight
  45. chapter thirty-nine
  46. chapter forty
  47. chapter forty-one
  48. chapter forty-two
  49. chapter forty-three
  50. chapter forty-four
  51. chapter forty-five
  52. chapter forty-six
  53. chapter forty-seven
  54. chapter forty-eight
  55. epilogue
  56. acknowledgments

The room at the end of the hall appeared to be a guest room, and I set my things down in the upholstered chair in the corner and then turned to the dresser where there were a couple of candles and a lighter. This family had done as so many others had probably done as well—they’d placed candles in all the rooms, they’d lit fires in their wood-burning fireplaces, and then they’d waited it out, thinking it was just a winter outage and the lights would be back on shortly. Especially in a more remote place like this, it might have been several days before they realized something was very wrong.

I lit the candles and the wicks flickered to life, mixing with the final glow of the sunset through the sheer curtains on the window.

The door to the attached bathroom was open slightly and I went inside and tried the faucet just because but the only thing that came out was a few brown dribbles.

But when I pulled back the shower curtain, I saw that they’d filled up the bathtub before they’d left. “Yes,” I murmured. I plugged the sink and then used a cup on the vanity to scoop some water from the tub, using as little as I thought I needed to clean up.

A washcloth and a minute amount of their bodywash served to clean the road dust from my body. I twisted to dab at the wound on my hip, the one that hadn’t bothered me for days now, noting that it was almost completely gone. This odd feeling of disbelief overcame me to know that so much healing could happen when you weren’t even paying attention. And I had this sudden appreciation for my body that I’d never had before. Not because of the way it looked or performed, but because of the way it could heal. And hope blossomed, the belief that it wasn’t only our bodies that would mend from the tragedy befalling the world, but so would our spirits. In time.

I hummed as I took my hair down and used my fingers to work out the tangles. I could hardly remember what it felt like to have clean, blown-out hair. “Ouch,” I yelped when a finger got caught in my hair. I lowered my hand and saw that the last piece of my fake nail that had been glued to the bed of my thumb had lifted at the corner and snagged some strands.