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Chapters (47)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraphs
  5. Prologue
  6. Part One
  7. ONE
  8. TWO
  9. THREE
  10. FOUR
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. Part Two
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. Acknowledgments
  46. About the Author
  47. Newsletter Sign-up

No, Ann thought. Carol didn’t understand. Carol didn’t have the slightest idea what Ann was going through. Carol wouldn’t want to know.

“So how would you price it?” Ann tried not to sound desperate. Maybe she could finally start her own business, something she’d dreamed of doing since she got her MBA. She wanted to advance out of her old life and into a new one. No matter how bad things got, Ann always believed she could start fresh.

A low number: she could tell by the way Carol looked around and bit her lower lip that that was what she was thinking. Before Carol arrived, Ann thought the house was special and valuable. Now? She felt like she’d have to pay someone to take it off her hands.

“I need to run some figures, look at the comps. What about the title? I’ll need a CYA to be sure you have legal authority to proceed with the sale.”

“A CYA?”

“I’m sure it’s not a problem, but we don’t want to get into a legal snarl with heirs. Happens with houses that have been in the family a long time. I’ll need to know that the title is clear.”

The word “title” made Ann’s stomach twist. She thought about Michael. She couldn’t help but see him here: his thick, dark hair that always hung over his intense brown eyes. She could hear his footsteps on the creaky stairs, see his sandals on the mat by the door, smell the Old Spice he insisted on using because that was what her dad wore, imagine him curled on his side in the twin bed under the eaves in the attic. She felt him here, present to her in a way he hadn’t been in years. She swore she could almost feel his breath. Who knew where he’d gone off to? She wasn’t about to try to find him—certainly not now, even though she knew she probably should.

“The title is all clear,” Ann lied, the same way she lied to the probate court officer when she filed to be the administrator of her parents’ estate. She felt bad about lying, she did, but she was beaten down, desperate. “It’s clean as a whistle.”

Part One

1999

ONE

Michael

Ann ordered Michael to drop his bag next to a long, skinny door that had an iron lever for a doorknob. “Your room will be upstairs,” she said, although there were no stairs he could see. Michael struggled with the handle, and Ann, impatient, pushed his hand away. “Everything here is old and weird. Here—”