Chapter 3 #2
And because he wasn’t an idiot, he knew that one set of those memories was pretty traumatic.
“Violet?”
I remembered he’d asked me a question and was waiting for a response. “Everything is fine. Classes are easy thus far. Nothing exciting to report.”
“You sure?” he pressed. Daddy was overly protective and trusted few people, so I knew he was always worried. He was a man who loved hard, clung harder, and feared losing his family to something he couldn’t fight.
I pasted on a soft smile, gentle enough to ease him back. “I’m sure. I’m okay, Daddy. Thanks for checking.” My throat burned with the lie, so I cleared it and turned to watch trees blur past the window.
We rode mostly in silence away from Shademore, away from Atlanta, back north towards the quiet and rural woodlands of my youth—back towards home.
After a while, I asked, “How’s Uncle Charlie and his hellspawn son?”
Daddy snorted as we turned down the road towards the house. “Hellspawn indeed. They’re fine. Sorry Rowan answered my phone the other day instead of me.”
“It’s fine. He’s just. . . Rowan.”
Daddy laughed. “Yeah, that’s a word for him.”
Uncle Charlie had been in our family’s life since I was nine, and his presence had always been a calm and welcoming one. After he’d adopted Rowan, the two of them spent most of their time at the Shaw household. It didn’t take long for us to become a two-family unit, more often together than apart.
I already knew the answer, but I asked the question anyway. “Is Mom working this weekend?”
Daddy chuckled, low and amused. “Not when she heard you wanted to come home. She’s invited everyone over for a barbecue.” He glanced sideways, catching my reaction. “I hope that’s okay?”
I hummed, more to myself than him. Of course, it isn’t okay. A full house meant no space, no privacy, no easy way to discuss money without every ear perking up. Still, I forced my lips into something resembling pleasure.
“I guess it will have to be. Can we drive by the barn first, please? Check on things?”
He arched his brow, but nodded. “Sure. Most everything’s been squared away, but we can check.”
We drove in silence after that, filled with things I didn’t want to say and questions he wanted to ask but couldn’t force out.
Gravel popped under the tires as he turned towards the barn.
The building rose against the forest backdrop like something from a postcard: majestic, weathered red wood catching late sunlight.
I climbed out, stretching, breathing air that hit sharper here, clean and grounding in a way campus never was.
“I got to ride Hyacinth yesterday,” I said, unable to keep the smile off my lips.
“Oh, yeah?” His voice warmed. “How’s that hellbeast handling school accommodations?”
I laughed. “It shows in his flanks.”
“I’ve never known a more gluttonous animal,” Daddy said. “Make sure you remind that stablemaster to stay mindful of Hyacinth’s diet, or else you’re going to be waddling instead of galloping.”
“Speaking of that stablemaster. . .” I trailed off, unsure how Daddy would react. “I rode Hyacinth bareback and got caught by Aaron again.”
He smirked. “Violet, be more careful. Aaron seems like a good man from my few conversations with him, but he can’t condone breaking school rules.”
I bristled at his words, feeling society’s bindings tether me to consequences and expectations. What I would give to just be free and not controlled for a moment.
“I know, Daddy. I can’t say that I didn’t pull at his heartstrings a little, telling him how I’d ridden bareback as a child—"
“Don’t remind your mother about that. She nearly lost her mind seeing you on the beast’s back without a saddle.”
That pulled another laugh from me as we walked towards the barn, gravel crunching under our boots.
The bright yellow wood groaned as Dad pulled the door open, sunlight streaming into the dim interior.
Dust swirled in the light, catching on rough workbenches lining the barn wall.
The faint hay smell that clung to everything wafted around me.
Inside, the place felt familiar and foreign at once. Beehives sat quietly along the far wall opposite the workbenches. Wildflowers that once colored the outside field had withered back into the soil. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Daddy walked over to a hive, running his hand along one, his face softening. “You remember how you were the one who wanted these? That presentation you gave us all about how bees help the land and the plants?”
“The Necessity of Bees Towards the Sustainability and Biodiversity of Their Ecosystems,” I said with a smile. “Yeah, I remember.”
He laughed and slapped the beehive. “That’s the one. You’d gotten all dressed up and called a family meeting to give us that PowerPoint. God, you couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven.”
I traced my fingers over the worn table edge, wood scarred from years of tools biting into it. “Yeah. . . I was brilliant even then, wasn’t I?”
“Brilliant and fearless. Definitely humble,” he said with a grin. “Marching right up to the bees without a suit until I nearly lost my mind yelling.”
I smiled and turned towards the greenhouse window overlooking dormant garden beds.
Years of memories filled with love, Hyacinth, and family.
Then for a heartbeat, I felt that other me: nine years old, crying in a warehouse, broken in ways I didn’t know how to fix.
My chest tightened, and I shoved the thought down before it could choke me.
Daddy’s voice pulled me back. “You okay?”
I forced a small nod. “Yeah. Just lost in old memories.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, nerves curling low in my stomach. This was why I’d asked him to come here first. To remind myself that I was still me, raised by a family who loved me and that I was here in this present, not trapped in some nightmare from another timeline.
But I wanted to hunt my own monster. I wanted to bring Edward Fitzgerald down and stamp justice on his soul. And for that, I needed the one thing my father had access to: my money.
The word felt dirty, but it pressed against me like a weight. I hated myself because I wasn’t asking for books or food or rent. I was asking for something I couldn’t explain without dragging him into the shadows of my first life.
I looked at him again, his broad frame bent over the hive, his large hands handling the boxes with care.
This was my father, who had fought to hold our family together, who had burned and broken and rebuilt just so I could have a home to run to.
I should feel safe with him, but anxiety coiled as I wondered how he’d react to my request.
I drew in a breath, holding it until it ached. I couldn’t ask for the money yet. Not here, surrounded by the love he’d built for me. I couldn’t ruin this moment of us together in the barn that still smelled like honey and woodsmoke—while I could still pretend I was just his little girl.
“Show me the greenhouse additions,” I said softly, forcing a smile. “Before Mom starts wondering where you’ve misplaced me.”
He chuckled, shaking his head, and motioned towards the door. But the tension in my chest stayed, heavy and waiting. The money conversation would have to come later, when the weight of what I needed it for wouldn’t shatter the peace between us.