Saturday sun was coming up over the hill. There was a rustling in the larch trees above me, followed by clacking. I looked up in time to see a gray-and-white owl take off, its wings stretched wide. The sky soon turned cornflower blue and cloudless. Yet despite this breathtaking beauty, heaviness reigned in my limbs and my eyelids, as if I had lived a hundred days since waking up.

Mom and Beverly did not say much when I plopped down at the table in the dining room, looking half-decent. They cast furtive glances toward me whenever there was a beat of silence. I didn't have the energy to ask why they were treating me with kid gloves when Tom stepped in for breakfast. As soon as he saw me, he pivoted so fast that his phone fell on the ground, and he left the room. He did not bother to pick it up or to look back.

I set Tom's cell on the counter. It was that new piss-yellow iPhone, and it matched the tiled floor. The shock on my face must have already morphed into anger because Mom turned to me, her expression strained. "Rhi, I'm so—"

"It's okay," I said. "Really."

None of the shit people were saying about me was true, but it still hurt the way the ones I actually shared blood with—Tom—sometimes tiptoed around me like I was a ghost. A stranger with his DNA.

Mom reached for my hand and squeezed it. "I need to pick up a few things from the flower market, if you want to come."

"She can come with me and Tom to the Gaffney Outlet Marketplace," Beverly said.

Tom's wife reminded me of a doll: brown hair, blunt bangs, porcelain skin. A round head, a little too big for her body. And those eyes again—wide hazel ones that would prompt a particularly nasty freshman at my old high school to call her that freaky Bambi bitch. Luckily, she didn't go to Gaffney High. When she realized that we were staring at her, speechless, she started blushing, pulling at the ends of her ponytail. "I mean, if you want to c..."

"Of course I do. Did you think you could just dangle that carrot in front of me and expect me to ignore it?" I cut in.

Mom smiled. "You can stay there as long as you want. You're going to need something to wear for the rest of next week."

The Gaffney Marketplace Mall had gone to the dogs. The once-gleaming tile floors now showed scuff marks. A central fountain stank of chlorine, its water a slightly murky blue, its sculpted cherubs looking dusty. I choked on a sweet, synthetic aroma of Bath & Body Works battling with the savory tang of the food court, and the faint, lingering perfumes of department stores struggling to stay afloat.

Despite the fact that it was lunchtime on Saturday of all days, the mall wasn't bustling. A smattering of Gaffneyans passed us by: teenagers with bored expressions, young families wrangling strollers, and older couples walking hand-in-hand. Tinny music spilled out from clothing stores, drowned by the excited squeals of children near the small, coin-operated rides. We walked past a shop window sporting a cropped yellow T-shirt at the front that read Pugs Not Drugs with a sad, chubby pug in the middle. The kind of thing Eli would probably wear. I sighed, remembering the disaster of last night. I knew I had to give him a call later.

Tom stalked ahead of Beverly and me, his shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Well, I guessed he wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. Beverly walked quietly beside me, her gaze flitting from store to store, a polite smile occasionally gracing her lips.

"Is he going to be like this all day?" I huffed, more to myself than anything else.

Bev's rosebud mouth formed an apologetic grin, her perfect teeth hidden.

I giggled, thinking of my bestie, Cindy, and all the times we used to go to the mall as teens, buying piles of clothes we might never get to wear and dreaming of fleeing this boring shithole of a town. She always smiled with her mouth closed, too—she hated her bottom row of teeth. Cindy thought she was hideous, a troll, but I had always wished I looked more like her. Creamy skin, like she slathered it with milk and honey. A smattering of gold freckles on her nose to match her strawberry-blond hair. There was just something naturally wholesome about her looks.

I was always the opposite. People stared at me and I felt like I did something wrong, as if my very existence offended them. To this very day, no matter how I styled my hair or what I wore, I seemed like the type of girl who would get caught shoplifting eyeliner at Walmart.

"It's the will thing. But he'll get over it." Bev winked. "I tried to talk to him last night on your behalf."

"Oh. You didn't have to do that."

"That's okay. I wanted to. Plus, he knows we're fine as we are. It's not like we want or need the house. We both have good jobs. My family is well off too. I think it's more a matter of pride for him."

"Believe me, I had no idea Victor was going to pull this off. And like you just said it yourself so well a moment ago, it's not like I want it or need it. I'm gonna figure this out."

We entered a shop and I sat outside the cubicle waiting for Tom's waves of flesh and material waving at me through the small crack in the door.

"Do you even feel like bras are more complicated than they used to be?" Beverly huffed from inside.

I fought a smile; I lost.

It was my turn to try some clothes on. I emerged a few minutes later, the khaki skirt skimming my calves, paired with a ruffled black top and white sneakers. Not quite happy with the outfit, I showed Bev, standing there with sad, subdued jazz hands.

"Get the top. Lose the rest," she said categorically.

My eye caught a patch she had pinned to the front of her shirt—it was embroidered with the words not all who wander are lost.

"I like that patch," I said. "Tolkien."

"What?" Beverly tucked one side of her hair behind her ear, revealing a silver hoop pierced through her cartilage.

"It's from a book," I said.

"Oh. Had no idea. I just liked the saying."

I somehow hid my disappointment. Cindy and I had always hated people who wore clothes with etiquettes that didn't define them, like someone parading around in a Nirvana t-shirt without ever having actually heard of the band. That, and we were both Lord of the Rings nutters, so I knew this would grind her gears, too.

But then Tom came over, and the intimate, adoring look Beverly gave him made me wish a Rhiannon-sized sinkhole would appear in the mall floor and swallow me. I didn't get how someone could love my obnoxious brother so much, but there you had it.

"Do you want Outback Steakhouse or Osaka's Sushi?" Bev chirped. "You're the deciding vote."

I was suddenly not very hungry, but if I said so, Tom would keep digging and find out I had also told Mom I wasn't hungry when she asked if I wanted anything for breakfast this morning. I took the easy way out. "I could go for a steak."

As we closed in on the restaurant, the aroma of sizzling meat and grilled onions invaded my nostrils, and I was kind of glad we came here. Even Tom cracked a small smile as he saw me sniff the air, eyeing the menu eagerly.

As soon as we approached the entrance, the relatively calm atmosphere of the mall shattered. Suddenly, a swarm of people descended upon us—a chaotic wave of flashing lights, outstretched microphones, and shouted questions. How did they even know where we were?

Four news reporters surged forward, blocking our path. The suddenness of it was disorienting. Microphones were thrust inches from our faces, their fuzzy windscreens like hungry mouths. Camera flashes momentarily blinded me, leaving spots dancing in my vision. I batted a microphone away, then another, like irritating moths slamming themselves against a bulb, never getting what they wanted.

"Ms. Carmichael! What do you have to say about inheriting the mansion?"

"Thomas, any comment on your sister's sudden return?"

"Beverly, how are you coping with the family situation?"

Their questions overlapped, a cacophony of voices demanding answers we weren't prepared to give. Tom, already on edge, bristled, his face contorting in anger. He tried to push through the throng, muttering curses under his breath. Beverly shrank back, her eyes wide with fear, clutching my arm. Damn. I hadn't dealt with anything like this in years, not since... well, not since I left Gaffney. The vultures had already started circling.

"No comment!" Tom snarled, trying to shield Beverly with his body.

It was a suffocating, overwhelming experience, and I realized, with a sinking feeling, that returning to Gaffney had thrust me back into a spotlight I desperately wanted to avoid.

"What has it been like for you, Rhiannon, growing up in the shadow of this impossible mystery of a man that was your father?" A stray sentence sailed to me as we headed out of the mall. No one had ever put it quite like that before. It did feel like a shadow, most days, a dark, unpleasant thing that you looked away from if you knew what was good for you.

"I feel bad for the daughter, honestly," another female voice continued. "What a sad, messed-up life."

My fist closed around the chip packet in my jeans pocket, squeezing it to death. How fucking dare she? Give me two minutes alone with her, then she'd have a sad, messed-up face. I knew it was a silly, immature thing to do, but I couldn't help it. I turned around and threw the balled-up packet toward the woman's head.

"Hey!"

It made contact. Ten points.

"That's not the way to handle these people, Rhiannon," Tom said, but I was already moving past him, my shoes angry and fast against the rough dirt road as I headed toward our car. My fists were clenched, and I was muttering under my breath about the invasion of privacy when a small, fluffy white blur caught my eye.

"Coco?" The name escaped my lips before I could stop it.

Standing near the entrance of the mall, patiently holding the leash of a very fluffy, very white Maltese, was a young woman I vaguely recognized. Her dark, choppy hair and the confident set of her jaw sparked a memory. What was her name again? Roxy. Cindy's younger sister. She had... grown up. The last time I saw her, she was probably still rocking pigtails and braces. The old dog, his once-pristine white fur now bearing a few tell-tale smudges and his gait a little slower, perked up at the sound of his name and growled at me.

Roxy's eyes widened as she heard her dog's name. "Rhiannon?" she said, with a touch of the familiar lilt I remembered from Cindy. "Is that really you? I heard you were back."

"Ah, it's only for a week. Never mind me—is that really Coco? He must be... what?"

"He's thirteen," Roxy mouthed, a soft smile playing on her lips as if reading my thoughts.

Thirteen years. It felt like a lifetime ago that Cindy and I would sneak him Milk-Bones under the kitchen table. He still had that same bright, intelligent gaze, and a nasty temper, though a touch of milky cloudiness hinted at his age.

"I, um... listen, Roxy, I was just thinking about your sis... about Cindy, the other night," I said, attempting to figure out exactly how to phrase this. "I'm trying to find her. She isn't answering her socials. Did she maybe leave a phone number, or—"

"I really don't want to talk about it." Roxy shook her head to drive home the point.

Desperation clawed at me. "She was my best friend. I just need a phone number or something."

Roxy's face softened a bit. No doubt she remembered that I didn't get to say goodbye to my father. If she felt bad for me, I could work with that.

"Please," I said, playing the sad orphan. "There aren't that many people left in my life. I just lost my father. And I haven't seen Cindy in ten years... so I..."

Just then, a voice called out, "Rhiannon! There you are! We were looking all over for you!" Beverly jogged toward us.

Coco, hearing Beverly's voice, let out a soft, excited bark. His tail thumped against Roxy's leg for a moment before he pulled gently on his leash, eager to greet the newcomer. He trotted toward Beverly, his fluffy white body wiggling with friendly enthusiasm.

Beverly took a step back, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "Oh. Hello. I... I don't really like dogs, I'm afraid." She retreated slightly, keeping a polite but definite distance from the eager Maltese.

Roxy gently tugged Coco back toward her. "Sorry. He doesn't really like anyone, either."

Not anymore, I thought. Coco loved Cindy more than he loved anyone else. He slept in her bed every night, and every afternoon, he would sit on the back of the couch, looking out the bay window, waiting for her to get home from cheer practice. He was her pride and joy. I still remembered her saying: "My dog is not the brightest or fastest, but he has impeccable hearing, and he can bark like a motherfucker. If there's anyone lurking in the house, Coco will hear him or her and go berserk."

Roxy turned to me. "Come by the house tomorrow. I might have something for you."

I gave the woman—the girl I once knew—a brief hug. "Thank you so much, Rox. It means the world to me."

I insisted on returning home alone by bus, refusing to drive with Tom and Beverly, even if I knew damn well it was a lot faster. Key to the lock, I hesitated. I pushed the front door open, the familiar scent of dust and old wood hitting me. A shiver crawled up my spine, a prickling sensation at the back of my neck—that pre-warning, that primal response to danger.

Then he was there. A dark shape lunged from the shadows of the adjacent room. My breath caught in my throat. But before I could even scream, Tom was there, too, right behind me, a snarling force between me and the attacker. His eyes were glittering and mean, his mouth bared, showing all his teeth. He glared down at the man—because it was a man I didn't know—and roared. It was a desperate, terrible sound, but I wasn't afraid anymore, not alone.

"Get the hell away from her! I'll kill you!" Tom doubled back, grabbing a heavy lamp from a nearby table. "Touch my sister, I'll fucking kill you!" He raised the lamp above his head, stumbling toward the man again. He was going to do it; I could see it in his eyes.

The man swung his fists, but Tom threw himself forward, tackling him around the legs. The lamp crashed to the floor with a sickening thud. They grappled, a tangle of limbs and angry grunts. For a split second, I wanted to pull Tom away, but another part of me—the part that felt a strange surge of relief at his unexpected defense—just watched, breathless. Tom, warm and solid against the threat, protecting me.

Tom stared at the man, who was now struggling to get up. "I won't let him near you again, I promise," he said, his voice rough. "My job to protect you. I'll call the police now." He grabbed the man's arm, hauling him toward the front door with surprising force. He shoved him out into the night, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing through the suddenly silent house.

I leaned against the doorframe, my legs shaky, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Adrenaline and fear were a toxic cocktail, keeping me wired and trembling. My knees wobbled as I picked my way up the stairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I vomited into the toilet—sour, nasty, adrenaline-crash vomit. I brushed my teeth and splashed some water on my face. I sensed the phantom touch of the attacker, a lingering sense of violation. I still didn't feel clean.

After changing into jeans and a cardigan, I headed back downstairs. The flashing lights of the police cruiser had lit up the house; Tom had to be giving a statement outside. Laughter and warm voices, alongside the smell of something buttery and sweet, wafted from the living room. I hadn't expected that.

"Rhiannon, is that you?" Beverly's voice rang out, finding me around the corner. "Come watch a movie with us!"

When I descended the staircase, my eyes settled on Mom first. The television threw light on my face with each frame, sending flashes of bright white into a green afterglow. She was on the sofa, her legs tucked up under a checkered blanket. And she wasn't alone. Beverly was on the other end, her legs hidden beneath the same blanket, her hands caressing her belly. A bowl of popcorn sat between them, half empty already.

Mom rushed to embrace me, touching every single part of my face as if wanting to make sure I was alive and breathing.

"Mom, I'm fine," I growled.

"We're having a movie night. Come join, there's plenty of space. It might do you good after what you've just gone through today." She moved the popcorn to her lap.

My eyes darted to Beverly, her face flashing the same colors as Mom's.

"We're watching Love Actually," Beverly said. "I bet you've seen it, Rhiannon. But I'm sure you'll like seeing it again. It's kind of timeless, don't you think?"

I barely had time to settle on the sofa next to Mom when Tom entered the house. He dropped his bag and kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the way.

"Honey, I'm home," he said darkly to himself, following the sounds of the TV into the living room where we all were.

"Tom." Beverly's face illuminated as if Christmas had come early. "You're back."

"Just talked to the cops out front." Tom stood dead still in the same spot. "It turns out that the man who ambushed Rhiannon was some pushy reporter, wanting to interrogate her about her life, about Dad, about everything. They'll want a statement from her, but I've convinced them to leave her alone for now."

"Join us?" Beverly patted the free spot next to her.

For some strange reason, I felt like Tom didn't like this at all—the three of us together, without him. A churn of acid hit my gut, the knot paddling around in it. Did he think this was a calculated move somehow; me shifting the pieces on the board, trying to take Beverly onto my side? I was here only temporarily, but my own brother sensed me as a usurper. Welp, at least he saved me from the intruder.

It had been three days only and so much had happened already. I leaned my head on Mom's shoulder and sighed.

That fluffy white dog in the mall... Coco. Seeing him, seeing Roxy... it stirred something in me, a pull toward the familiar. Cindy would know what to do. She always did. About this house, this strange inheritance that felt like a gilded cage. About Eli, that lingering warmth and the guilt that came with it. Even about Tom, his simmering resentment a constant pressure. And Victor.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I needed to go see Roxy and her parents.