Chapter One
Marin Henderson looked forward to her upcoming extended stay in Dillon, Colorado, as much
as she would an IRS audit, her annual pap, or consuming those disgusting chocolate-covered cherries
with the sugary, syrupy liquid inside.
Except…that wasn’t completely true. She was a house—a woman—divided. One portion of
her loved this town and the alpine environment that could switch from rain, snow, hail or a strange
white substance that resembled Dippin’ Dots to periwinkle-blue skies and sparkling, high-altitude
sunshine in a nanosecond. She loved the weather in the summer—currently a perfect seventy-one
degrees. She loved the views of the Rocky Mountains, which, despite it being the first week in June,
still wore leftover layers of snow on their peaks like shimmering crowns. Marin even loved the house
itself that she’d grown up in—older, simple, well cared for. The kind of place people concentrated on
the inhabitants and not the type of countertop or the age and color of the appliances. So many good
memories filled those walls.
What Marin didn’t love was that the last season she’d stayed at her parents’ house for an
extensive amount of time had been one of the worst periods in her life.
And considering that in the last four years she’d lost her mother, then her husband, then her
father…that was saying a lot.
Marin had quite unwillingly become a poster child for grief.
Her Bluetooth-connected phone rang obnoxiously loud in her car, and Marin clicked to answer.
“Hey, Etts.”
“Home, home on the range, where Marin and Lovetta used to play. Where seldom would roam
a stupid cell phone, and they stayed outside all day.” Lovetta’s soprano boomed into Marin’s vehicle
at rock concert levels, and she notched the volume down two clicks.
“That was a good one.”
“Thank you!” Her younger sister by two years broke into song lyrics—made up or otherwise—
whenever possible. The habit had started when she participated in musicals in high school and
continued long past. “Are we there yet?”
“Almost.” Marin turned onto the inclined road that led to their parents’ home and the place
they’d lived out an idyllic childhood, until that fateful summer—at least for her—squelched those
carefree years into a soupy, tasteless pulp.
Ever since the month-long span she’d spent here in her twenties, Dillon created an uneasiness
in Marin that crawled along her spine and wrapped talons around her windpipe.
Those weeks had changed and warped things, and the lid never fit the bowl right again after
that. This town wasn’t as innocent for her as an adult as it had been as a child.
And this visit made her tense in a way previous ones hadn’t, because Marin was once again
staying for a substantial length of time.
Over the years when she and Ralph had visited her parents, they’d laid low. Baking with Mom.
Fishing the Snake River Inlet with Dad. And once her parents’ health had begun to decline, her trips
had become focused on their care and the subsequent logistics.
When Marin was in Dillon she treaded carefully, as if someone she knew—or someone who
recognized her—might be lurking around every corner. She constantly feared that a nosy pot-stirrer
would bring up the past and pummel her with questions she didn’t have answers to.
“How was the drive?”
“Uneventful, thankfully.”
“I’m glad. You could use some uneventful in your life.”
“Right?” Her arthritic fingers gripped the wheel with tension that would wreak havoc on her
later. The familiar street stretched before her, curving, etching into the side of the hill until it brought
her to the row of houses perched atop the rocky ledge that lined the cobalt Snake River Inlet and the
indigo Dillon Reservoir. Though rock was too quaint a word to represent the boulders jutting from and
forming the land. Most of the houses on the street were semi-mansions—contemporary boxes or
remodels that gave the illusion of rustic with all the conveniences of modern.
The home Marin and Lovetta’s parents had occupied during their fifty-eight-year marriage—
and that Dad had then lived in until his passing six months ago—was by far the smallest on High
Meadow Drive.
Three bedrooms. Two bathrooms. One oversize, overflowing, storage-slash-laundry room that
the family affectionately referred to as The Armpit.
For someone else, the value of the home would be based on the location. For Marin, her sister,
Lovetta, and for Marin’s children, the value of the home was in the people who’d occupied it.
Marin and Lovetta had discussed their desire that the future purchaser of the house improve on
the bones and structure rather than demolishing it to build something newer and supposedly better, but they didn’t plan to demand anything of the sort. They had to find a way to be unemotional about selling their childhood home, because the modest amount of money left in their parents’ estate had dwindled
swiftly over the last year.
Dad’s request to live out the end of his life at home after his stroke had incurred major medical
expenses. That, coupled with the cost of living in Summit County, had quickly drained any reserves
he’d had.
Marin and Lovetta had no regrets over conceding to his wishes. They’d just wanted their father
to be as happy as possible without their mother, and the house had been family to him.
3
But the lack of funds created additional stress.
Because of Ralph’s life insurance policy, Marin could technically float the carrying costs until
the house sold and then replenish what she’d spent before splitting the profits with Lovetta. But her
sister had been adamant that everything remain even between them—especially since she wasn’t able
to be here to assist with the purge. If money was needed, she’d demanded that they both pool their
savings to cover costs.
Marin wasn’t sure Lovetta understood how much pressure that added, because the last thing
she planned to do was accept money from her chronically ill sister.
Which meant they’d just have to clean out and sell the house quickly.
“I don’t want to be melodramatic, but are you going to survive this, Mar? I know there’s a slew
of memories in Dillon that you’d prefer to avoid.”
A vast understatement.
Marin had turned erasing the events of that summer into an art form. Like a page torn out of a
history book, there was no point in discussing or rehashing something that didn’t exist.
“Of course.” Marin was quick to assure her sister. Less quick to believe herself. “I’ll be fine.
It’s going to go great, especially with the kids’ help. We’re just going to put our heads down and focus
on the work.” Marin was oversimplifying things. In truth, if she and her adult children survived their
time together in the home that held some of her best and worst memories, didn’t get on each other’s
nerves and managed to ready the place to sell, that would be quite the achievement.
Now look who was being melodramatic.
Marin reached the driveway and detached two-car garage, which was located on the west side
of the house. She parked in front of the wooden double door, knowing full well there would be no
space for her to park in the garage—not with her dad’s things still filling it.
“Just pulled in.”
“It hurts that I’m not there to say goodbye.”
“I know. I promise I’ll send you lots of pictures and save whatever you want to keep.” After
she was diagnosed with MS ten years ago, Lovetta had switched from traveling with friends to hoarding
her paid time off in case of a medical appointment or a flare-up. She worked as a Discharge Planner at
Vanderbilt University Medical Center, and she was careful not to do anything to jeopardize her career
and the fabulous benefits it provided.
“Keep me updated when you can.”
“I will.”
Lovetta sniffled. “I’m so sorry I’m not there to—”
“No apologies, remember?”
“Fine!” The snort-laugh Lovetta had always despised but never been able to change filled the
car, and she blew her nose. “No one is sorry, then. Even though I am.”
Marin’s head shook, mouth curving. “Talk soon.”
Engine off, Marin exited the vehicle like a person who’d just fallen down a flight of stairs—
gingerly, painfully, her RA reacting to the lack of movement in her twelve-hour drive from Scottsdale.
Purse and house key in hand, Marin walked the stone path to the front door. Evergreens grew
impossibly out of rocks where no dirt was visible, their refreshing scent reminding her of crisp summer
nights.
A lump—or more specifically a body—sprawled along the wooden planks of the small front
porch. Panic caused the tendons cradling Marin’s throat to constrict and then release as recognition of
the unexpected figure registered. It was only Slade, though why her daughter was conked out on Gran
and Grandad’s porch, Marin couldn’t begin to understand. Slade had been planning to arrive around
the same time as her brother at the end of the week.
A quiet snore sounded as Marin moved up the steps.
Her daughter’s pale, skinny legs poured out of jean shorts and ended in white boots with thick
black soles, and her current hair color was a shade of blond that was almost silvery white.
Marin had recently stopped dying her hair chestnut and embraced the gray that had been
overtaking her scalp for the last decade. Her daughter, it seemed, was in a hurry to age. Except on
Slade, the almost silver-blond color was somehow young and stylish.
Marin bent enough that she could shift Slade’s hair from her cheek and yet not so far that her
knees would give out or get stuck.
“Hi, Love.” Slade was named after Lovetta, but even though she adored her aunt, the summer
before sixth grade, she’d announced that she was going to go by her middle name, Slade—which also
happened to be her favorite grandparents’ last name.
Marin agreed that Slade fit her better than Lovetta. Still, she didn’t regret that the two women
she loved most in the world shared that connection—even though Slade often considered Marin’s love
to be overbearing and intrusive.
She was working on it! Marin could admit her faults.
Icy blue eyes, which were somehow jaded and vulnerable all at once, opened. Blinked. “Hi,
Mom.”
“What are you doing here, Love?” Marin stood. “I thought you weren’t arriving until Saturday.
Same day as Reed.”
Slade scrambled up from the porch floor. They hugged. Marin wouldn’t classify it as stilted,
more…halfway present. Just like Slade herself. Her daughter was always bouncing from one scenario
to the next, never focused, horrendous at keeping a job let alone managing a career.
“My job ended early.”
“Ended? I hope you didn’t quit for this. I was very clear that no one was to jeopardize their
livelihood in order to help with Gran and Grandad’s house.”
“I didn’t jeopardize anything to be here,” Slade assured her, her expression the mixture of hurt
and defiance that she’d worn for most of her teenage years.
Marin had coached herself on the drive today, regarding the upcoming time with her two
children. I will not say anything to upset anyone. I’ll keep my mouth shut when it comes to the lives of
my adult children, both of whom insisted on helping me with this massive project like the wonderful
children they are.
And yet Marin had started out, somehow, on the wrong foot. But then, she hadn’t expected to
find Slade at the house. She’d anticipated having the next four days to get organized, shore up old
wounds and fears, tuck them away.
Why are you really here, Love? What’s going on?
Marin was confident that voicing the question out loud would be a mistake. Slade would take
offense at Marin’s concern—which she would consider nosiness. Things would digress. Quickly.
Surprisingly, Slade’s cheeks creased with amusement, and she squeezed Marin’s arms gently,
like a mom admonishing a toddler. “It should be a good thing I’m here early to help, Mom. Roll with
it. No need to dissect it.”
Right. No dissecting. Reed would never show up without communicating his arrival, but Marin
wasn’t sure why she was surprised that Slade had. Reed had taken a week off work and planned to be
at the house nine days—leave he’d requested ahead of time. But then, that was Reed. Marin’s eldest
and only son had always been the exact opposite of his sister. Poised. Planned. Purposeful. Full of
career goals. Driven. Strategic. She could go on and on.
“So, what happened with your job?” Despite that this probe was also likely off-limits, Marin
couldn’t set aside that she was a mother who was deeply concerned about her daughter. Was Slade
okay? Had something happened? Should she be home interviewing for new jobs instead of here
assisting Marin?
“Nothing, really. Let’s just focus on the house, okay?”
“Okay,” Marin replied, hoping the sometimes painfully deep love she felt for Slade would
transfer through the one-word response.
If anyone could understand not wanting to talk about a subject, it was Marin.
At least they’d unearthed something the two of them could agree on.
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