The Monday sky is the color of a bruise by the time I reach Daniel Kane's office at Gaffney outskirts.

Without warning, the trees break away all at once, in a clean line, letting the sky have them. The huge track where the forest had been cleared for the power lines, running in and out of town.

The rolling hills would prevent me from seeing Gaffney unless I'd drive up on top of one.

I found Montreal noisy and congested in comparison to my hometown. In there, it felt like the mountains weren't just around the corner, because buildings blocked them out.  It felt like the meadows had gone brown, replaced by dull roads. The only saving grace were the sea breezes.

That, and the much-desired cloak of the anonymity.

Imagine Montreal through the eyes of a nineteen-year-old, seeing it for the first time. The energy, the lights, the way the people who walk the streets seem like they just woke up one day and decided to be whoever the hell they wanted to be. You can be anyone and still, no one would look twice at you.

Everyone in Montreal wants to be someone, but everyone is no one.

And it's good to be no one.

Heart jackhammering, I back off the gas pedal, slow to a creep. A light rain has begun to fall. I flick my wipers on.

The scene blurs around me. Green and brown trees, blue light, gray highway—they spin into each other like paint on an art wheel. A daddy longlegs hobbles out from under my seat as I halt the engine — a metal growl. The headlights flick on, through the bars of the gates, glaring against the sign, into the darkness beyond.

Taillights stain the morning red.

Horns and hey watch its as I pull off  the main road, into a parking spot by the building.

The office of Daniel Kane, attorney-at-law, is in a four-story monstrosity. The Carmichael & Co. Real Estate Agency is uncomfortably wedged between Fargo Financial Advisors and a gynaecology practice.

The lobby is just big enough to serve its primary purpose — accommodating people making complaints about their asshole neighbor using a leaf blower before eight a.m., or reports about stolen car radios. It's completely nonthreatening, all pea-soup-colored walls and linoleum. There's a map of the county on the wall next to the chairs in the waiting area. And a soda machine.

I plop on a free spot across a bunch of interchangeable men and women in suit. Next to me, an abandoned Tupperware holding the soggy remains of a salad nests on an empty seat. A radio behind the desk blips, followed by an unintelligible garble.

A woman, probably in her late twenties, is manning the desk, occupied by a phone blitzkrieg. She has strawberry-blond hair in a side-swept chignon, with curtain bangs, and disarming sapphire eyes.

When she notices me, her jaw stiffens, as if she's trying to hide that she's got a piece of gum lodged there.

Her crystal-blue gaze blazes. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No." I jut my chin at her. "But I think Mr. Daniel Kane is going to want to see me. Tell him Rhiannon Carmichael is here."

***

Mr. Kane is sitting with his back to me when I rap on the doorframe of his office. He swivels around in his chair, his face brightening when he sees me. He's in a charcoal-black polo that makes his matching eyes pop, a fleck of shaving cream on his tan jaw. His forehead is shiny and his frizzing brown hair drenched in sweat. He actually looks like he hasn't slept in days.

He stands up, sheepish, as if he'd just gotten called to the principal's office in the middle of class, his glasses sliding down on his nose.

The stale tang of alcohol hangs in the air around him. The dark circles under his eyes make more sense now, after the will has been read, the gray tinge of his skin. I never cared to notice the signs before, or perhaps the signs were never there when I was younger.

"Rhiannon?"

What are you doing here? What can I do for you? Are all understood, in subtext.

Eli's father has said maybe one hundred words to me in all the years I've known him. It's not personal; it's just how he is. He's a quiet man, the type who gets home from his job as a CFO, and self-medicates with online poker. The stone-faced, dutiful dad in the audience of his son's competitions who sighed and looked away every time a routine involved any sort of ass-shaking or tackling violence.

There is a photo on his desk — Eli's mom is posing with the two of them in front of a football stadium. It's obvious the photo was taken at least ten years and ten Daniel Kane's pounds ago.

"Will?" He says, monosyllabically.

"No, not really. I have nothing to say about it, actually. I decided I'll transfer the property to my mother, and that's my final decision." I start pacing around his office, and Daniel gestures towards a leather couch.

"You must be wondering why I left Gaffney all those years ago." I cross my legs, making myself comfortable. The cool, smooth surface is oddly soothing against my restless energy.

Eli's dad simply observes me, his thin glasses reflecting the muted light of the room. It's unsettling. His stillness, his unwavering attention, makes me feel exposed, like a specimen under a microscope. There's a detached quality to his gaze, this... analytical air that puts me on edge.

It all feels strange. Uncomfortably intimate, in a way I hadn't anticipated. His silence isn't hostile, not exactly. It's more like a deep well, inviting me to speak, to delve into whatever it is that's brought me here.

He doesn't prompt me, doesn't offer a leading question. He just waits.

And in that waiting, in that silent, intense observation, I feel a bizarre role reversal.

He's not Eli's slightly eccentric father right now. He's... something else. Something akin to a psychologist, a silent figure inviting me to unpack the burdens I've been carrying.

The longer he remains silent, the more the pressure to speak, to finally break through this suffocating quiet, builds within me.

"And you're probably wondering what kind of person would leave her mother and her brother alone for ten years. But my father left us alone a lot longer than that. He was there physically, sure. But he was like a dead man walking, never engaged with us, never interested in anything we had to say. We were his, and he had full control. It meant he did not have to invest in us anymore."

Eli's dad lowers his head, steepling his fingers.

"He was never a good husband, a good father or... a good business partner, I assume. All Victor Carmichael cared about was Victor Carmichael. Not leaving the house to my mother, and not leaving the business to you..."

Daniel's lower lip twitches almost imperceptibly.

"It was his final joke. Before he vanished forever. Mock everyone he ever knew in existence. And this is why so many people had the motive to murder him."

Daniel Kane's eyes snapped open, fighting a gasp. His gaze flicked to me.

"What?" He rasps, clutching the expensive leather handle of his briefcase, pulling it onto his lap like a shield. "Murder him?" His knuckles are white against the dark leather.

"Any evidence?" He demands.

"It's a serious accusation, I know. But had you seen his body..." My voice trails off, the image of those strange markings still vivid in my mind. "You would have thought the same too. Trust me, I have a medical degree. Everyone said liver failure, but what if it wasn't? As a matter of fact, today I'm getting tox screen results, and I'm positive they will confirm my theory. That's why I still haven't gone to the police. Aubrey knows too."

At Aubrey's name, his eyebrows shoot up, a flash of surprise quickly followed by a weary slump of his shoulders. He must have known about the affair all along.

"You, too, are the victim of his ego, aren't you?" I press gently, sensing a vulnerability beneath his guarded exterior.

The dam breaks. Suddenly, the silence shatters, as a torrent of words pours out of Daniel Kane. "Fired," he almost spits the word. "Did you know? He almost fired me. Because I dared to question him. The way he was... using the company. Our company, really. But his name was on the door, wasn't it? Victor Carmichael. The great Victor Carmichael." His voice is thick with bitterness.

I feel so sorry for him.

"And Aubrey... she told me. Right to my face. 'I'm with Victor.' Like it was some kind of triumph. Didn't matter, she said. Didn't matter that I built that company from the ground up, the late nights, the risks... my blood, sweat, and tears. It was always Victor's. His vision, his brilliance, they all said. They only ever saw him." His voice cracks, a raw emotion finally breaking through the years of carefully constructed silence. "Lived in his shadow my whole damn career. Always in his shadow. And what have I got to show for it? Nothing. I should've never gotten involved with that two-faced... For all I know she might not have been the only lover Victor had. He liked being the sun, and other women orbited around him. My late wife was the only person in my life who truly loved me. And my son."

I remember how Daniel would always wait up to make sure Eli got home okay. That's the kind of father he was. The kind of husband he was.

My father was the kind of husband who'd make my mom wait up, sick with worry, until he stumbled in smelling like Johnnie Walker.

"Do you know where she actually was that night? Aubrey?"

Let's see if he can confirm her alibi.

Daniel sighs. "Out of town. I can confirm that. She had some... conference, I think. Left that afternoon."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

She has an alibi.

It wasn't Aubrey. It's not Aubrey.

But if it's not Aubrey, then, I need it to be Daniel Kane.

I need it to be anyone, really, but my mom.

My gaze sharpens. "And you? Where were you, Daniel?"

He looks away. "The retirement dinner. I was there. Your family can confirm. Made a toast, even. But..." He pauses. "I excused myself. Left early. Couldn't stomach the forced camaraderie any longer."

"And then?" I press, needing the timeline, needing to piece things together.

He looks back at me, a raw honesty in his gaze. "I came here. To the office. Sat in this chair, drinking. Scrolling through Aubrey's damn Instagram feed. Every perfectly posed picture with those young, muscular men, every smug little caption..." He trails off, clenching his jaw. "The cleaning lady, Marta, she would have seen me when she came in early the next morning. And the security guard, Miguel, he does his rounds at night, oversees the cameras, too. He would have seen the lights on. I... I spent the whole night here."

Damn it. I slam my fists against the table.

"Is that all?" He says, a single tear tracing a path down his weathered cheek.

"I... It is." I turn to leave, needing to process everything he's just revealed. My hand is on the doorknob when his calm, composed voice stops me.

"You know what's strange, Rhiannon?"

I pause, turning back to face him.

"I thought I would be happy. When I heard that Victor died. A dark, selfish part of me imagined some kind of release. But I wasn't. It was like him dying changed nothing about my life. Who I am, who I was, where I've been, and where I'm going. Maybe I've used living in his shadow as an excuse to not do any real work on myself. As you did. You are so brave, Rhiannon."

I nod, uncomfortable, lost in the maroon depths of his eyes, so much like his son's.

"I get it now, you know," he adds, a faint, almost wistful smile touching his lips. "Why has Eli always loved you."

I manage a weak nod again, unsure how to respond to such a personal and unexpected statement. I turn and finally step out of the office, pulling the heavy door closed behind me.

The Gaffney air feels cooler on my skin as I walk towards my car, Daniel's words echoing in my mind.

Brave? Eli loves me? It's all a confusing jumble.

I fumble for my keys, my thoughts still tangled in his unexpected confession.

And then he's just... there.

Leaning against his car, arms crossed, a familiar silhouette against the twilight sky.

Eli.

What's he doing here?

***

My stomach does that suction-cup thing it always used to do, it always does whenever Eli is around. I think about last night, the tug of his fingers through my hair. Tamp down the image, because it's oh so distracting.

I don't feel like setting my life on fire anymore. I want to fast-forward to the part I can control my emotions and be their mistress, not their slave.

His phone falls onto the driveway and skitters at my feet. I reach it before he can bend to pick it up, my brow furrowing as I flip it open.

SHE IS HERE, a message on the screen says.

Sent by Daniel Kane, half an hour ago. Must have been the moment his secretary informed me of my arrival.

My mind races, in sync with the wheels of old Cindy's bike.

"What's wrong?" Eli asks.

"The text, I..."  My gaze moves to see what Eli had written in his Notes app.

To-do list:

                ❒ Choose menu for Wednesday

                ❒ Book eye test

                ❒ Book dentist

                ❒ Health insurance

                ❒ Rhiannon

My eyes circle my own name there, at the bottom of the list. I run my finger across it. Well, what the fuck does that mean? My name, as something to be done, below health insurance and dentist. Empty checkboxes, so nothing had been completed yet.

Is he planning to do something to me?

"Nothing," I'm about to say.

"Okay. Sure." He put his fingers in his pockets. "You just thinking about how much you'll miss me when you go away to Montreal, then?"

But then I don't feel like lying. I spent most of my life lying about how I feel, so I wouldn't make other people uncomfortable.

The best way to hide a lie was to bury it with some truths, I knew that. Heck, I have done it so much I could no longer discern a lie from the truth myself.

Now, I need to tell Eli everything.

This time, things will be on my terms.

I am tired of letting things happen to me.

Lines of concern crisscross his black skin. He drops his eyes to his phone, long, dark lashes blinking rapid-fire. "Please tell me what's wrong."

"I saw what your father texted you. She's here?"

He blushes, not looking at me. "I was looking for you but you weren't answering your phone. When you arrived at his office he simply told me. I imagined you went there to ask him about the retirement dinner with Victor."

I wince at my father's name. Even though he's gone, he will always be a conversational landmine.

"Okay," I say slowly, tamping down the memory of Eli's face, hair clinging to his forehead, wet from sweat. The way he looked at me, before he went down on his knees and kissed me.

A single glance at my phone confirms what he says: I have five missed calls from E. Kane.

That checks out, I guess.

"And your to-do-list?"

"It's a surprise," he says. "Seeing how you're flying back to Montreal on Thursday, I wanted us to have dinner together on Wednesday. My treat."

The look on his face makes me feel unsettled, like a dog sensing a coming clap of thunder. I wonder if he is hiding something from me. Something he doesn't want me to know. But then again, isn't everyone in Gaffney?

"And then..." He hesitates. "I was thinking of coming to visit you."

A visit? He just decides this, without even asking? The thought of him in my life, in my space, again, sends a shiver down my spine. It's excitement; but it's also cold, hard fear of intimacy. Of vulnerability.

"You'd... visit? When were you planning on telling me this?"

He shrugs, the easy charm faltering slightly. "Just thought of it. Life giving us a second chance, and all."

"A second chance? Just like that, out of the blue? And what about the tox screen results, Eli? You said you'd have them on Monday. Newsflash: that's today! Why didn't you give them to me?"

His smile vanishes completely. "They'll be ready tomorrow. It takes time."

Alarm bells are screaming in my head now. Tomorrow? He's conveniently getting the results tomorrow, just before I leave, just before he might be... running away to Canada. Is he withholding something? Is he involved in this somehow?

"Tomorrow?" I challenge him, my voice rising. "Or are you planning on using that as an excuse to follow me to Montreal? To get out of Gaffney before... before what, Eli? Before the truth comes out?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Did you have a motive to kill my father, Eli?"

He recoils as if I've slapped him. "What? Are you serious? Motive? Plenty! He was going to shut down our lab, and build another one of his offices there, plus he was a controlling bastard who made my dad's life a living hell. But do you really think I'm that kind of person, Rhi? Do you really think I could do something like that?"

"I don't know anymore! Everyone is hiding something! And you... you're just suddenly deciding to follow me across the country? What am I supposed to think?"

"You're being ridiculous!" he yells back, his face flushed. "I'm trying to be there for you, Rhiannon. To support you. And you're accusing me of... of murder?"

"Then why didn't you give me the results today?" I demand, tears welling in my eyes. "Why, Eli? What are you hiding?"

"I think it's best we talk tomorrow, when the tox screen results are done." He delivers the verdict with a gravity that suggests I asked to cook crystal meth in the back office, and drives away in his car.

***

The rest of the evening drags. The gears in my brain turn on my ride home, my rage hardening into sadness.

I park the family car and crawl back to the mansion, the fight with Eli leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. The grand foyer feels even more cavernous and cold tonight. As I start to climb the stairs, Beverly appears, her face soft in the dim light.

"Rhiannon," she says, her hand resting protectively on her small stomach bump. A faint smile touches her lips. "The baby kicked. Would you like to feel?"

She steps closer, her eyes hopeful. "You know... Tom... he's told me so much about you. I'm really glad I finally got to spend time with you."

Her words are unexpected, a small balm to my raw nerves.

Beverly's smile doesn't waver. "I know you'll be leaving soon. But at least we got to see each other. And... I hope we can see each other a bit more when the little one arrives. You know... your nephew or niece."

There's a genuine warmth in her voice — a window to a small, unexpected connection.

"Thank you," I say, because that's all I'm currently capable of.

In my bedroom, I wolf down a banana and go back to reading my book, one of the few possessions I'd managed not to lose over the years of constant shuffling back and forth between houses. A compilation of fairy tales that had belonged to my mom as a child, even though I don't know why anyone would give this shit to a kid.

They weren't the Disney type of fairy tales, where everyone gets a prince — they were the real stories, the ones that came first. The story where the sea witch cuts out the little mermaid's tongue and she decides to throw herself over the cliff.

I find a dark spot between two trees, where the moon can't reach, and I stare at it.

Curled up on my side, I wait for the sleep to come, but it doesn't.

A choice, binary, this or that, front or back, Eli or no Eli, but I wasn't ready to choose.