Enticing: Prologue

I tiptoe down the stairs as quietly as any human ever has, careful to avoid the creaky spot on the bottom step, and breathe a sigh of relief that no little voices or sweet baby tears followed me down. I swear some nights the hum of the old air conditioner is enough to wake my feral little five-year-old. My sister’s big brown eyes watch me as she holds back her laugh, and I yell at her with a silent, single look. We’ve perfected the art of nonverbal communication since I gave birth to Lennox at the start of the summer.

Coraline hands me the baby monitor, picks up two glasses of wine, and nods for me to follow her outside. Sometimes I wonder if we were born in the wrong order. She’s always been an old soul, taking care of everyone and everything she comes in contact with, including me. And now including both my girls.

We step out onto the old porch of Gran’s house . . . I guess it’s technically my house now, but in my heart, I think it’ll always feel like hers. The white wood siding has a pretty pink hue to it from the reflection of the setting sun as it hangs onto the last of today’s rays. Soon the warm weather will turn cooler and darker earlier in the day as August creeps into September, and fall weather sets in. But as we drop down onto the porch swing, I push us back and forth with the tips of my bare feet and soak in the last bit of warmth. “What am I going to do without you?” I ask Cori, already dreading tomorrow when she leaves for her final year of law school.

She hands me the glass of wine she wishes I’d drink but knows I won’t, then taps her glass to mine. “You’re going to be my badass big sister who doesn’t need anyone and never has. You’re the strongest woman I know, Addie. You’ve got this. And it’s not like I’ll be that far away.”

“You’ll be at least a five-hour car ride from here. That’s far enough.” I pout an awful lot like my five-year-old and look out over the lake behind us. The one that holds some of my happiest childhood memories. Memories of easier days. Less responsibilities. More laughter. Less fear. More freedom. And so much less stress. When Mom and Dad used to drop us off to stay with Gran for a month each summer, Cori and I could run wild. “Can you still remember the smell of her peach pies?”

Lost in a happy memory, a sweet smile stretches across her lips. “Gran made the best pies.”

“She did,” I agree and silently vow to make my girls a peach pie this week. Not that Lennox can have it. Not yet. Not technically, I mean. She’s two months old, but she’s nursing, so I’ll tell myself she’s getting it through me, and she’ll be my excuse for a second piece.

Not like Cori will be here to share it with.

I shake myself of impending pity party and close my eyes as anxiety builds in my chest, pressing against my ribs. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Gran always said you’ll be amazed what you can do when you have no other options. Well . . . I’m pretty sure you’re out of options, Addie.” She trails off and runs her finger over the edge of her painted wine glass that Gran probably picked up at a yard sale, unease settling in her eyes. “Unless you go after him for child support.”

Anxiety mixes with fear and wraps around me like a vice, tightening its hold, inch by inch, until I can barely breathe. “No,” I somehow manage to force out, leaving no room for question. “He doesn’t get to be part of their lives, and if I ask him for anything, I’m opening that door again. My girls deserve better than that. They deserve safety and security, and we aren’t safe with him.” He’s proved that more than once. Leaving their father was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I’ll never regret it. “I’ll never let him into their lives, money or not. I’ll find another way.”

“I get it,” Cori offers softly as she rests a hand on my arm and lowers her voice like she’s soothing a skittish animal. I guess that makes me the animal. “You know you do have another option.”

Another option . . . “Can we really even call it that?”

She tilts her head to the side and purses her lips.

Yup—nonverbal communication. My sister just told me an option is an option without ever opening her pretty little mouth.

“I’m a twenty-five-year-old mother of two, with debt that rivals any advance my publisher would ever be willing to give me. I have a book due by the end of the year and absolutely no inspiration. And let’s not forget the old Victorian that’s falling apart around me. Pretty sure the repairs it needs to be brought up to code in this century would cost more than the place is worth. Gran was the cheapest wealthy person I ever knew, and it shows in every inch of this place. Even if I was willing to entertain the other option, I’m not sure I’d find someone crazy enough to marry me.” I dump my wine in Cori’s glass and tuck my legs up underneath myself. “Mom and Dad really were assholes.”

Cori quiets her laughter and leans her head on my shoulder. “Why?” she giggles. “Because they died, or because they set up our trusts to basically control us from beyond the grave?”

“Both . . . Only they would control us in death the same way they controlled us in life.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and rest my head on hers. “I’m mad at them for leaving us. I’m mad at Gran for getting sick six months later. And I’m mad at all of them for being so nearsighted that they thought making our trusts contingent on us getting married or turning thirty was a good fucking idea.” I swallow down the pain slicing me open with each ragged breath. “But most of all, I’m mad at myself. I’m mad that I stayed with Gavin as long as I did. I’m so damn angry that I didn’t plan better for my future. I’m furious I’m in this position. The hospital bills from Lennox’s surgery alone are enough to sink me.”

Sometimes giving voice to your fears helps calm them.

Today isn’t that day.

“You’ll figure it out, Addie. You always do.”

“I know . . .” I whisper, wishing I believed that.