It took an entire day to unload everything. From the furniture to dusting the small figurines and putting them on the shelves, dad and I worked until evening dusted over the sky in its usual orange glow.

"It's supposed to rain tomorrow, make sure you bring your coat," dad told me as I put away the last of the dishes. I wiped off my hands with the kitchen rag. "It's Upton, Dad. You can't go anywhere without a coat."

"How 'bout a movie to congratulate ourselves on the move?" Dad asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down. I nodded. "Popcorn?"

"I'll do it," he said instantly, snatching up the package from the pantry.

I glowered at his t-shirted back as he popped it in the microwave. "I can make popcorn," I said, a little defensively. You just stuck it in and pressed a button. Big deal.

"You burned it last time," he replied.

"I made it crunchy."

"Crunchy and black."

"Maybe the that microwave was broken," I offered, retrieving a bowl. Dad still shook his head. "This is the only package we've got and I'm not willing to risk it. Go pick out a film."

I followed orders and chose one we'd watched a lot when I was younger, turning on the DVD player. That had been the paramount endeavor of the day; setting up the TV. I'd given all my efforts but had only helped in changing the language settings to Chinese. But we did get it working, thanks to the TV guy I'd resorted to call from the phone book.

Dad came in and took a seat beside me, holding out a separate bowl of popcorn to me. He tapped the rim of his with mine. "Welcome home, Kid," he said. I smiled.

___________________________________________

I woke to the sound of a raging animal. Or what sounded like an animal. I pulled back the curtain to my new window in my new room. The branch from the front yard's tree clashed loudly against the pane, scraping it's fingers alongside the house due to the heavy winds. It was September and Wyoming storms could be harsh. Overhead, I heard thunder make itself known.

Awesome. I groaned before I tossed onto my back, covering my face in my pillow.

The tree collided with the house again and I swore I heard something strain. I tried to ignore it, even as the sound of rain began, steadily growing into a torrential downpour. Lightning flashed from my window and my chest contracted.

The tree hit again.

The house groaned.

I highly doubted a stable house was supposed to make that sound and not bothering to wait for it again, I walked out of my room. Downstairs, I nearly smacked into Dad. "Did you hear-?"

"Yeah," he said.

Lightning hit again and my eyes widened. The wall had moved.

"Outside," Dad told me, grabbing a coat from the hanger and pushing me into it. Then he opened the front door and pulled me out. Freezing air wafted through the material and I shivered, watching from the front lawn as the house leaned.

Dad made some kind of noise that I assumed was shock. "It's going to go."

I didn't look at him, awestruck by the surreal sight of a shifting house before me. But the house couldn't go. I needed elaboration. "What is?" I asked.

But before Dad answered, the house gave one final shutter just before the unmistakable sound of shattering glass erupted from the windows, followed by a horrible crash.

I didn't realize Id been closing my eyes until I peeled them back, staring at the tree that had taken residence on top of our house.

I felt the horrified expression register on my face, too stunned, too afraid, to look at Dad. I'd thought my day couldn't get any worse. What an ignorant assumption that was to make.

___________________________________________________________________

"You have a friend that's willing to take us in?" I asked Dad, sitting across from him in our cafe. Dad owned the shop and was making fair business here, which was impressive for the lack of a better advertisement catch. It literally was called The Cafe.

Dad nodded. "He was my college roommate. Just moved back here a couple years ago. He's a good man."

"And he's....he's agreed to it?" I didn't want to admit it, but I wasn't in favor of sharing a house with strangers. I had no desire to feel even more reserved in a place that could be comfortable, but I didn't want to appear ungrateful. I was. Barney post-cussing grateful.

"Yup," he said, taking a sip of coffee. "I talked about it earlier with him."

"Huh. So like....when would this be happening?"

"He's on his way."

"Already?" I really had to give it to the man; he was on top of it.

"He'll be taking us back to our house to get some things or what's not damaged and then we'll head over to his home."

"Insurance wouldn't do anything? Even homeowner's?" There had to be something.

Dad shook his head and I saw his hands shake around his mug. "I found out it was fraudulent. The house wasn't new; I'd gone over the asking price for an worn house that would've otherwise been torn down. I paid to keep it there."

I gaped. "That's awful."

He just shrugged. "I should've taken my time. Sorry, Lewis. This one's on me."

Actually it was on those people lacking a conscience but I didn't say that. I just scooted out of the booth and gave my self-blaming father a hug.

____________________________________________________

As it turned out, my dad's friend, Calvin, was a likable guy. He was strong, too, which allowed me reprieve of lifting anything heavy. As the men did the work, I spent a good deal scrounging around the broken home, wary of glass shards at my feet. I pulled out what I could from the ruins which included my bag and miraculously, the letter. I actually stared dumbstruck at it for a few moments.

We loaded what was salvageable into Calvin's sturdy pickup before finally starting off down the road. I sat in the back, pressed between a shelf and pillows as Dad and Calvin talked about their times in college. The discussion earned me audible scars and the terrifying image of my Dad in a fro.

I didn't know where we were headed as the paved road gave way to a thicker wooded area. I saw houses constructed precariously over ledges, lavishly spaced miles between each other. It was definitely an up-scale place and I wondered just how well this friend of dad's lived. He was driving a pick up truck, after all. How good could it be?

"I think you'll like it here, Lewis," Calvin said to me and I frowned at the title. It wasn't that I didn't like my name; I just got tired of people's continuous expressions that prompted me having to relay its background.

"Hm?" I asked, taking a swig of water.

"I think you'll enjoy living here for the time being," he clarified. I looked out the window.

And choked.

Clearly, the pickup's sole purpose was to mislead people. Because judging from both the man and his vehicles's exterior, I was not expecting to drive into a wooded, open-window resort. My jaw dropped and I stared, in more awe than Id been when witnessing my own house's demise.

I pointed out the window. "This is....this is where you live?"

In the review mirror, I saw him nod. "Pretty, isn't it? My wife chose it."

I instantly regretted having not listened more closely to what they'd been discussing on the drive here. If this was how the man lived, I wanted to know what he'd done that got him it.

We parked in the driveway-a driveway that could fit multiple cars-and I slung my bag on my shoulder. "Is there anything you want me to carry?" I asked Dad. In response, he handed me a stack of pillows.

"My wife planted these herself," Calvin said as we approached, gesturing to the purple lilacs I was surprised to see still in bloom. It was September.

"And I built this porch myself. Well, designed it."

It was a white wraparound porch and my eyes just continued to cinch higher and higher the closer we got. The maple door was clearly taller than normal doors, thicker than them, too. It dragged with obvious weight as Calvin pulled it open. He had us enter first.

The inside was just as impressive as the outer sight, complete with warm cream-colored walls and furnished in tasteful pieces; red-cushioned couches revolved around a glass coffee table; thick drapes lined the huge windows; a well-sized fireplace occupied the far-side wall and was topped off with a wooden mantle. Above it hung a portrait that I would bet my entire twenty bucks was hand-painted.

Flatscreen. Persian rugs. Before I took another step, I removed my shoes.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," Calvin reassured me, but he'd never seen our carpets; he didn't understand the threat I posed.

"No, it's okay. I-"

"Ah, you're here!" A high-voiced woman chimed and my eyes fell upon a very pretty woman. She wore a comfortable pair of yoga pants with a white shirt and by her physical features,cI wondered if she was Portuguese or something. Her hair fell in dark waves, seemingly black against her alabaster skin and her high cheekbones supported a beaming smile. It felt genuine.

"Hi," she said, shaking Dad's hand. To my surprise, she embraced me. "Was that too weird?" She asked. "Sorry, I'm just really looking forward to having company. It gives me an excuse to cook more."

I smiled. Her warmth made me feel as if I were wrapped in a blanket. "Hi." I waved dumbly.

"Hi, you're....Lu, right?" Calvin's wife asked and I nodded. "Well, please call me Edith. I can give you a tour of the house. Show you both to your rooms. To be honest I'm really excited about not being the only female anymore."

"You don't have a daughter?" I asked her, inexplicably surprised. Did they have any kids? That would've been a good question to ask Dad.

Edith shook her head. "No, I have two sons. Love them both but the boys go to the fathers for advice. I'd like someone to feel comfortable with me for that, too."

My smile widened. Having lacked a maternal figure all my life, I instantly liked this woman.

"I'll get Lucas here. Lucas!" She said at the base of the stairs. "Please come down."

A minute passed. Then a kid appeared on the top of the flight and slowly descended. I could tell he took more after his father than his mother; brown hair rather than black. Darker skin, not alabaster. He had her eyes though, and not his father's light ones.

He couldn't have been older than ten but I was still impressed to see a book clasped between his hands.

"This is our youngest, Lucas," Edith said, doing the whole mom-thing and hugging him around the shoulders. "He was more than happy to lend his room to you, Lu."

"Happy? You forced me to," Lucas mumbled and I glanced away awkwardly. He shouldn't blame me. I didn't ask for it.

"I taught you better manners than that," Edith whispered scornfully to him. He nodded but I also saw the look in Lucas's eyes when they fell on me and it was far from welcoming.

On a spectrum ranging from one to ten, I wondered how screwed I was.

"Oh," Edith said, looking out the window just as the door opened. "Here's our oldest son. Will."

I felt my face blank. My mind, too, along with whatever else fell in between as William Trenger stepped through and stood before me.

Ten. Definitely a ten.