Lethal Weakness (Project Obsidian #1)

Chapter One

Linden

“Mommy. I have a snack?”

“When we get settled inside, honey.”

“Why?” Avery’s one-word question- that single syllable- forces a breath through my nose. It’s never asked just once.

“Because we need to unload the car. All your snacks are packed away.” I pull past the driveway next to the correctly numbered mailbox, checking my mirrors before backing slowly up the overgrown, weed-infested gravel drive.

“Why?”

“Because it’s our first day in our new house.” The little white cracker box that is our new rental looms in my rearview mirror. The siding is graying and mildewed, and the concrete porch steps are hardly holding themselves together.

A reflection of my life.

“Why?”

“Avery… Give mommy one second.” I reverse until my trunk is near the crumbling pavers that lead to the front porch, shift into park, and take one long, deep breath.

Our new home.

“Mommy.”

One more deep breath.

“Mommy.”

I exhale upward, blowing my wispy self-cut curtain bangs out of my eyes. “Yes, honey?”

“I get out now?”

“Of course. Mommy just needed a second. Are you ready?” I turn around in my seat to look at my sweet baby girl and give her my best enthusiastic smile.

Three and a half years old, blonde hair, and filled with sunshine. The light of my life. The only reason that I can keep going.

“Ready, ready!” She giggles, tugging at her immovable car seat straps. She just started forward-facing in her car seat despite my reluctance because this new-to-me used car was too small to keep her rear-facing comfortably.

I spent hours trying to make it work because her safety means everything to me, but none of my Google searches or parenting blogs could help me this time.

I never understood the pull to be a mother. Not because I didn’t like kids. I was a part-time nanny throughout college, and loved it. I was just never eager to start a family. Not opposed, just not ready. But when the blue lines showed up on my dollar store pregnancy test, my entire world changed.

And now I know how it feels to have your entire heart walking around outside of your body. My entire life is hers, and it doesn’t feel at all like the sacrifice I thought it would be. It’s a privilege to get to raise such a wonderful little girl.

All I want to do is keep her safe and happy.

“Mommy!” She giggles.

“Sorry, I’m coming.” I jump out of the car to get her unbuckled, and she smiles sweetly at me, kicking her feet. I only want her to get the best version of me, even when the days feel impossible. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Momma.”

“Grab your purse, and wait on the steps. I need to grab some bags from the trunk.”

She snatches up her glittery sequined purse from the floorboard and skips behind me to the back of the car, hovering just inside my personal bubble instead of following my previous instructions.

Our trunk is stuffed with all we have. Two suitcases and a few boxes. All of Avery’s toys are still in the back seat, and my most prized possession is the brand-new air mattress that’s in the passenger seat.

“Mommy.”

I left everything behind that I couldn’t lift, or afford to fight for if it comes to it. That includes everything that was locked away in my ex’s wall safe without my consent.

“Mommy.”

“Yes?” My head tips towards her, but she’s looking distractedly across the chain-link fence that separates our driveway from the neighbor’s, so I resume my hoisting of bags out of the trunk.

This is a desolate, dead-end road. Not purposefully. The pavement simply stops about 200 feet down the way, with nothing but a grassy field in front of it like one day the workers went home, and no one bothered to show up the next day.

The three houses across from me are in even worse shape. One is probably vacant based on the broken windows in the attic and the knee-length grass. The other two belong to elderly women, and I only know that because my new landlord owns those properties too.

The house next to me on this side of the street has a different owner, and the rest of the town is a mile in the non-deserted direction. But even they aren’t doing great.

There isn’t even a dollar store here in Twinflower. Just a bar, a general store that doubles as a gas station, and… Well, I’m not sure. Whatever else there is isn’t very significant.

“Mommy, is he your friend?”

“What?” My head swings in her direction this time, and I see what she is looking at. Or, rather, who.

The neighbor, a man standing rigidly behind the raised hood of a worn-down GMC truck, is looking directly at us.

The top half of his face is hidden under a baseball cap, but even so, I can tell he’s glowering. Or at least, watching us without a lick of friendly curiosity.

The hairs on the back of my neck tingle, and it is the only sign I need to wrap my arm around Avery’s little shoulders and tug her towards our new front door.

“Mommy, my stuff!”

“I’ll come back out. Let’s get you a snack, now.”

Even without looking back, I can sense his stare on my back like daggers.

Sweat moistens my neck as I struggle with the door because I’m not used to the lock and which way to turn the key, but once we’re inside, I finally breathe.

I wasn’t exactly expecting a warm, neighborly welcome, but I also hadn’t heavily considered who we were moving next to.

I didn’t have time to weigh any other options.

This is all I could afford, and I barely convinced the landlord to give me the keys. This has to work, because we can’t be chased out of another home. We have nowhere left to go.

I take my time getting Avery settled at the kitchen table with an emergency pack of fruit snacks from my purse.

Luckily, one of the only perks of this rental home is that it is partially furnished, if you consider a kitchen table, plastic patio furniture, and a couch from the 70s furnished.

Doesn’t matter because I’ll take what I can get.

“I’ll be right back, honey. Make sure you’re chewing good,” I remind her, unnecessarily. She’s always been a cautious eater. I’m the one usually forcing her to eat more.

My head stays tipped towards the ground once I’m outside, and I hustle to my car. As far as I’m concerned, our new home is an island, and the chain link between the glowering neighbor and us is the Great Wall of China.

I don’t want to invite any unwelcome hostility into our new domain. I need positive vibes only.

But with only two of our suitcases rolled to the porch and three boxes still in the depths of my old Pontiac, the air shifts in a way that any woman who has lived through hell understands.

That inexplicable feeling you get when storm clouds snuff out the light of the sun, or when you start holding your breath around a man that was supposed to be a protector, but was really an antagonizer.

The type of man who throws eggshells at your feet and then smacks you around for stepping on them.

“Moving in?” A deep voice comes from over my left shoulder, near the fence, making me flinch so hard I smack my head on the inside of the trunk.

I hesitate with the box that’s in my hands because I don’t know this man. I rest it against the lip of the trunk before turning to face my new neighbor, but I don’t loosen my grip on it.

A heavy cardboard box is more of a weapon than nothing.

“I am,” I answer before fully looking at him. And, when I do, I’m glad, because I think I’m rendered speechless.

Even without the shadows of his truck surrounding him, he’s as brooding as I thought. The brow that I suspected was furrowed earlier definitely is, and he’s looking at me like I’m trespassing.

I’m not, but for some reason I have the urge to apologize for being here anyway.

He’s clean-shaven despite wearing dirty work pants and an old T-shirt. His hat has definitely seen better days, but his hair looks clean. It’s dark and long enough to be tucked behind his ears.

“The owner of this house said he was letting it go to the bank,” he says stiffly, his chiseled jaw barely moving as if he was reluctant to use it.

He can’t be that much older than me, and yet he seems like he’s lived on earth a lot longer than I have. Seen a lot more.

But that’s probably the case for most people who aren’t trapped in one box after another.

“Hoping you’d get more peace and quiet with a vacant lot next door?” I guess, trying to ease the tension that seems to be building across the fence line.

“Something like that,” he answers after a brief awkward silence.

Despite my desire to keep my island isolated, speaking when spoken to is a survival tactic. And being polite might be my only way to avoid hostility in our new home.

“It wasn’t listed on any rental sites, but I found an old ad on Craigslist that the owner forgot to take down. I begged him to let us move in, but don’t worry, we won’t bother you.”

He grunts, “Unlikely,” as he turns away, walking back towards his truck that looks like it could be someone’s grandfather’s. It’s old and rusty, with a bulky bed topper that has those narrow windows on the sides that seem unnecessary.

His house is nearly a mirror image of mine. Cracker box house. Shitty driveway that runs along this mangled fence, except he has a garage attached to his house.

Seems fitting because he also has two more vehicles besides the truck he is working on, and they look like the definition of fixer-uppers. His yard isn’t trashed, but it isn’t well kept. His house’s exterior is in about the same shape as mine.

A low-income neighborhood doesn’t bother me when I grew up in poverty. Having people near me who hate me is what I’m not a fan of. It’s exactly what I’m running from.

* * *

The two big windows in the kitchen are also a small perk of my new little home.

One that shows the backyard, where I can watch Avery play if I ever get brave enough to let her play without me hovering over her.

And the other lets in so much natural light throughout the day; its rays are doing wonders to keep my depression at bay.

Darkness can’t hit you if you keep moving in the light.

I spent the first few days here cleaning every corner and crevice in this place. It might not be luxurious, but it’ll be clean every inch where my daughter plays. Eats. Sleeps.

The small bedroom is filled with her toys and the new, very old, TV that plays VHS tapes I scored at a garage sale. I got her eight seasons of Barney for a whopping four dollars.

It’s been the highlight of my week.

Aside from Avery being such a trooper. She has adjusted well to our new living situation, and I am so proud of her.

I struggle every minute, wondering if I’m doing my absolute best for her, but she is such a happy girl, and I know deep down she is a reflection of what I’m pouring into her. Even when I feel like I have nothing left to give.

“Mommy, I help?” Avery asks as she pushes one of the kitchen chairs to the sink, where I’m washing dishes.

“Sure, I’d love help.” I smile when she sticks her hands into the soap bubbling up in the sink.

She spends more time playing with the suds in the water than she does helping me wash the dishes, but I don’t mind.

I enjoy the simplicity of the music playing out of my trusty Bluetooth speaker in a home that’s safe. And not feeling the urge to look over my shoulder. This new chapter is all about keeping joy in our hearts. Especially hers.

“Mommy, what you looking at?”

I rip my stare from the window above the faucet, and smile at her. “Nothing, sweetie. Nothing.”

She goes back to playing in the water, and my gaze returns to the view beyond our simple backyard.

Rolling grassy hills that stretch between Twinflower and its sister city, Noddingbell. The hills that belong to one family.

The family that bled this town dry to let their town flourish, so they could put their name on every building and billboard.

The Scott family.

The owners of the expansive mansion that sits at the tippy top of the hills behind my demure home.

The family that looms over me.

My in-laws.