Winks & Windows (Calysto’s Cove #5)

Prologue

Brinn

There’s something happening next door, but I can’t make myself get out of bed to look.

I’ve fallen into the trap of Saturdays. I don’t have to get up for work. I don’t have a dog to walk or a cat to feed. I don’t have anyone to see or anything to do. I can just stay here all day. I can come back here if I need to get up. There’s nothing for me outside of this bed. Sure, there’s nothing for me in this bed, either. But that is less overwhelming than the other option—going downstairs to face all the things I can’t avoid.

I live in a house full of things I can’t bear to look at anymore; all the little knickknacks I hated and now feel guilty about hating—they’re all I have left of Josh. There’s a half-full box on the dining room table that hasn’t moved in two years. When I came home from the funeral, I realized that if I kept packing, there would be nothing left of him. I haven’t been able to look at it since.

So, I won’t go look out the window. It’s pointless. It’s easier to stay in bed where it is familiar and safe.