Chapter 6
Tilda
I leave my shoes by the front door and walk through the house.
My house.
The entryway is just a rug.
The kitchen is on my left, with its U-shaped countertop and the sink below the window that looks out over the front yard.
Two stools are tucked under the far side of the counter, looking into the kitchen. And behind that is the dining area, which consists of a small square dining table and three nonmatching chairs.
The living room is on the right. I have my boxes of stuff lined up along the back of the couch and more against the wall under the front windows.
The couch is made of brown fabric that feels like velvet and is printed in a faded foliage design.
There’s a low coffee table before it, all facing the wall that separates the bedroom—my bedroom—from the main living area.
And against that wall is a six-drawer dresser with an ancient TV and a DVD player sitting atop it.
But the pièce de résistance of the home is the deer head mounted in the far corner of the living room.
The unseeing eyes watching you as you watch TV.
I don’t hate it as much as I did this morning.
I mean, I still hate it, but it does draw the eye toward the back of the house.
To the wall of windows.
My windows.
My windows. In my house. Because Uncle Jack is dead.
I press my teeth into my bottom lip as I pass behind the couch.
I’m not going to cry.
It’s a ridiculous thing to tell myself since tears are already sliding down my cheeks.
It’s only another second before I reach the solid wood back door, which matches the front door.
Sniffing against my emotions, I pull it open.
The screen door beyond doesn’t have a screen in it, so I just step through the empty frame barefoot, onto the back deck.
The best part of the house.
My house.
Using the back of my hand to wipe at my cheeks, I lower myself onto what I imagine was Uncle Jack’s favorite chair.
It’s sturdy. The same as the one on the other side of the door. Same breathtaking view.
But this chair is slightly more worn.
Slightly more comfortable.
Slightly more loved.
I sniff again. “What a day.”
I want to shut my eyes. Want to close them and pretend the last two weeks haven’t happened. But the sight before me…
I inhale.
Trees surround me, but they don’t reach the deck. There’s maybe a fifty-foot radius of shrubs and patches of grass around the house. But past that… it’s forest. Thick, lush forest.
Nothing like the Vegas landscape I came from.
Nothing like the city.
But that’s not even the best of it.
The forest is just the start.
Because straight ahead, the ground dips.
The trees lower, following the slope of the land down.
And what it reveals… is mountains.
Actual snowcapped mountains.
It’s June. It’s already hot back home.
What used to be my home.
But here… Here it feels magical.
I blink away what I hope will be the last tears of the day, and focus my eyes on the distant peaks. They’re miles away. Miles and Miles. But it feels like they’re mine.
Like they belong to me, as much as this land does now.
And… it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“I get it now, Uncle Jack,” I whisper into the vastness beyond. “I get why you kept this place a secret.”