Chapter 1 #2
Victoria Falls. Aunt Miranda. Ashworth Academy. A whole new life with people who don’t know that my parents made the best wedding cakes in three counties. Or that Dad always sang off-key while he chopped vegetables. Or that Mom could make anyone feel better with her famous raspberry-ripple cookies.
I curl up on my bed—the bed I’ll never sleep in again after tomorrow—and try to imagine what my mysterious aunt is like. Successful, Mrs. Rodriguez said. But successful enough to cut her own sister out of her life for over a decade? What kind of person does that?
Thunder rumbles outside, and my whole body goes rigid. The weather app said clear skies, but storms can change direction. They can catch you when you’re not prepared, and when you think you’re safe.
I pull my blanket over my head and try to breathe through the panic building in my chest. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be in Victoria Falls, starting over with a stranger who happens to share my DNA.
I just hope she’s nothing like the person Mom’s face suggested she was whenever her name came up. Because losing my parents was devastating enough. I don’t think I can survive being unwanted, too.
***
Sharp knocking forces my crusty eyes open. I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep, but my phone beside my pillow says it’s 8:59 a.m.
Mrs. Rodriguez promised to be here at 9 a.m. sharp, and I hate that she’s not a liar.
After kneeling on my suitcases in order to zip them shut, I carry them downstairs.
When I open the front door, Mrs. Rodriguez gives me a sideways look. “Ready to go, Alice?”
Besides relieving myself and then putting on a fresh T-shirt and sweatpants, I didn’t do any personal grooming in the bathroom. My wild hair begs to break free of the loose bun I tossed it into. I lost my toothbrush in all the packing, but at least I have a stick of gum to chew.
Over my shoulder, I turn to look at the eerily empty living room. My stomach churns, and my eyes blur with tears I’m not ready to shed.
“Let’s go,” I whisper.
Mrs. Rodriguez loads my suitcases into her government-issued sedan while I lock the front door for the last time. The key feels heavy in my hand as I slip it under the flowerpot for the realtor, as we arranged.
“It’s about a ninety-minute drive to Victoria Falls,” Mrs. Rodriguez says as we pull away from the curb. “Beautiful country on that side of the mountains. So close, yet so very different from here.”
We pull out of the driveway, and I feel the twist of guilt at not saying goodbye to the Patels. I just can’t. They’ve been so good to me, and it’d be like losing the most important people to me all over again.
My neighborhood disappears in the car’s side mirror.
The familiar streets where I learned to ride a bike.
The corner market where Mom bought ingredients when she was in a pinch.
The park where Dad tried to teach me to throw a frisbee, which I still can’t do.
All of it getting smaller and smaller until it’s gone.
For the first thirty minutes, the drive is easy, watching farmland stretch on both sides of the highway, dotted with red barns and grazing cattle.
Mrs. Rodriguez makes conversation about my new school, droning on about how Ashworth Academy has an excellent arts program.
She even goes so far as to say, this could be a fresh start.
I make appropriate response noises, but my mind keeps drifting to the last time I saw my parents alive.
They were loading the van in our driveway, arguing good-naturedly about whether they’d packed enough backup cake stands.
Mom wore her lucky catering apron, the blue one with tiny whisk patterns Dad had given her for their anniversary.
I was lying on the couch with a migraine that was more fictionalized than I let on.
Mom kissed my forehead and told me they’d be back before I knew it.
“I should have gone with them,” I whisper without meaning to.
“What’s that, Alice?” Mrs. Rodriguez glances at me, gripping the steering wheel.
“Nothing. Just... thinking.”
As we climb higher into the mountains, the landscape transforms. Rolling hills give way to steep ridges covered in dense forest. The trees press close to the road, their branches creating a canopy overhead that blocks out most of the sky.
It’s beautiful, but in a wild, untamed way that makes me feel small and exposed.
And then I see them.
Dark clouds gather on the horizon, thick and heavy with the promise of rain. My chest tightens immediately, and I grip the door handle so hard my knuckles turn white.
“Looks like we might hit some weather,” Mrs. Rodriguez says casually, as if she’s commenting on the scenery instead of my worst nightmare.
The clouds roll in faster than seems possible, casting everything in dark shadows of grey and navy. The first heavy raindrops splatter against the windshield, and I can’t breathe.
Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.
“Pull over,” I gasp, but it comes out as a whisper.
The rain tumbles faster, drumming against the roof of the car like angry fists. Mrs. Rodriguez turns on the windshield wipers, and their rhythmic thumping matches the frantic beating of my heart. The mountain road curves sharply ahead, disappearing around a bend that I can’t see past.
Just like the road my parents took that day. The shortcut through the mountains was supposed to save time but cost them everything.
“Pull over!” I say louder, pressing my hands against my chest where it feels like my ribs are cracking.
Mrs. Rodriguez finally notices my distress and quickly pulls into a scenic overlook. “Alice? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I fumble with the door handle and stumble out into the rain, gasping for air that won’t fill my lungs. The panic attack hits with full force, tunneling my vision as I struggle to breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. That’s what the grief counselor taught me, but it’s not working.
The rain soaks through my clothes in seconds, cold and relentless. Above us, thunder rumbles like an angry beast, and I sink to my knees on the wet asphalt.
This is how they felt. Driving through the storm, maybe scared, maybe trying to call me to say they were okay but couldn’t get through because of the weather. This is what killed them.
“Alice!” Mrs. Rodriguez crouches beside me, her voice cutting through the storm. “I think you’re having a panic attack. Do you remember the breathing technique Dr. Timms taught you?”
I force myself to look up at her kind but worried eyes, and nod through the constriction in my throat. She counts with me—four breaths in, hold for four, four breaths out—until the world stops spinning and I can stand up again.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as we get back in the car, both of us dripping wet. “Storms... since the accident...”
“No need to apologize, Alice. We’ll take it slow.”
But taking it slow doesn’t make the mountains any less foreboding. As we drive closer to Victoria Falls, the landscape becomes more dramatic. Towering evergreens line the road with occasional glimpses into deep valleys that could swallow you whole.
The towns we pass through get smaller and smaller. A few have names I recognize from my parents’ stories about catering mountain weddings, but most are just dots on the map.
“Almost there,” Mrs. Rodriguez says as we turn off the main highway onto a winding road that climbs even higher into the mountains.
We pass a sign that reads: “Victoria Falls - 15 miles” in elegant script, and my stomach churns with more than car sickness.
“Your aunt lives out of town,” Mrs. Rodriguez says. “Only about two miles to go.”
This is really happening.
In two miles, I’ll meet the aunt who cut my mother out of her life for twelve years.
In two miles, I’ll start over in a place where no one knows me or remembers my parents.
The rain has stopped, but the clouds still hang low and threatening. We drive through a valley filled with evergreens so tall they seem to scrape the sky, and then the road curves sharply to the right.
“There it is,” Mrs. Rodriguez says, and I follow her gaze to see a house perched on a ridge overlooking the valley.
House is definitely the wrong word.
It’s a mansion, but not the kind you see in movies with white columns and manicured gardens.
This place looks built for somebody who wants to hide from the world.
Dark stone walls rise three stories into the air, partially covered in ivy.
Arched windows with heavy, wooden shutters that stare down at us like eyes.
Wrought-iron gates surround the property. They stand open, but that doesn’t stop them from feeling ominous. It’s like they’re waiting to snap shut and trap whoever ventures inside.
A long gravel driveway winds through the grounds, which are wild with weeds and unkempt plant life on the verge of death. Okay, so my aunt doesn’t take lawn maintenance seriously.
Mrs. Rodriguez whistles low under her breath. “Well. Your aunt certainly has done well for herself.”
As we pull up the driveway, I spy the massive front door made of dark wood that looks able to withstand a siege. Windows glow with warm light from inside, but all I can imagine is eyes watching our approach.
The house sits alone on its ridge, surrounded by miles of forest. The nearest building we passed was at least ten miles back, a gas station that looked like it was from the 1980s. Apparently this place is fifteen miles from town, but it looks cut off from the entire world.
Mrs. Rodriguez turns off the car engine, and the following silence is heavy and expectant. No sounds of traffic, neighbors, or civilization. Just the whisper of wind through the trees and the distant warning call of fleeing birds.
“Ready?” she asks, but it’s not really a question.
Ready or not, I have to go in.
With a dry swallow, I stare up at the house that’s supposed to be my new home. What kind of person lives here? My aunt must be the antithesis of my mother, because Mom wouldn’t take one more step towards this unruly monstrosity.
Mrs. Rodriguez thinks this home is a sign of wealth. To me, it looks like the three-story walls of a recluse. And I have a sinking feeling that whatever caused the fight between my mom and Aunt Miranda twelve years ago was just the beginning of the story.