2. Kristin
KRISTIN
We trudged across the crusted January snow toward the house, each step crunching in the still air.
Henry was strapped to my chest in his carrier, his little face red from the cold and the newness of his life.
At twelve weeks old, he cried like he hadn’t yet forgiven me for ripping him from his warm, weightless home, into a heavy and cold world.
Behind us, Hailey followed, begrudgingly of course, as if each footstep offended her.
I didn’t blame Hailey for her mood. We’d pulled her from the only place she’d ever known and dropped her in the middle of Wisconsin.
Anyone would’ve been angry. But it wasn’t as if things had been going well for her either.
Her grades had been slipping, and she’d started missing more and more school, always claiming she was sick.
She’d closed herself off from me and her father in ways I didn’t know how to reach.
Something had been off long before the boxes were packed, long before I started insisting we weren’t safe.
I hoped a fresh start might help her too.
“Whose car is that?” Hailey gestured to the faded faux-wood-paneled station wagon parked in the circular driveway.
“Must be the Realtor’s,” Patrick said, wrestling two suitcases over the uneven brick. “She arrived this morning to let the movers in.”
The steps leading up to the porch were worn in the middle and slick with a thin layer of ice.
Moss clung to cracks along the edges, bright green even in the dead of winter.
The front door was a bruised brown color, and it loomed between two stone pillars.
The doorknob was rubbed raw around the edges, as if too many anxious hands had twisted it over the years.
At the door, Patrick hesitated. “Should we knock?”
I adjusted Henry, my lower back already complaining. He made a soft, unhappy noise against my chest.
“It’s our house,” I said, though the words felt strange in my mouth. I gripped the cold knob and eased it open. The hinges gave a long, aching creak, and from inside, a woman’s voice floated out, soft and hurried.
“No, I can’t. It’s too late. I’m sure they’ll be fine—”
I shot Patrick a look.
His eyebrows went up as he whispered, “Is she . . . talking to herself?”
It hadn’t sounded like someone talking to themselves so much as responding to a question.
I pushed the door open wider, and the great room unfurled before us.
It was open concept with brushed floors and huge windows stretching across the back wall.
The winter light sliced through them with a sharpness that gave the illusion of warmth.
Outside, the three-acre pond was a flawless sheet of ice, and a single pitch-black Canada goose sat perfectly still on it.
The Realtor jumped as we came in, nearly dropping her papers. “You startled me!” she said, her voice too bright and rehearsed. “Come in! I was just checking the fireplace!”
I scanned the room full of moving boxes and furniture from our townhome in Chicago, expecting to find the other person she was talking to, but there was no one else here.
“I’m Lanie with Shelby Realty,” she said, stepping forward, hand extended.
“It’s so good to finally meet you in person.
” Bright-red lipstick dotted the fronts of her teeth.
She wore a navy pantsuit with fabric that shone at the elbows and knees, and a string of faux pearls hung around her throat.
The chipped paint on several beads betrayed their authenticity.
I shifted Henry higher in the carrier and shook her hand as best I could.
“Nice to meet you,” Patrick echoed.
“Kristin and Patrick, right?” Lanie said, her friendliness dialed up even more.
We both nodded.
“And . . .” She glanced between us at Hailey, who hovered in the doorway like she already had one foot out of it. “This must be your—”
“Hailey,” my daughter said flatly.
I opened my mouth to introduce Henry, but he chose that exact moment to let out a short, indignant cry.
“This is Henry,” I said, patting his butt to try to stave off his screams.
“Surprise addition,” Patrick added with a grin, as though he felt the need to justify our children’s age gap to her.
Lanie’s smile tightened. “Children are such blessings,” she said in the tone of someone repeating something they’d been taught.
Hailey drifted away like she seemed to always do now, disappearing down the hallway that led to bedrooms, a bathroom, and a set of basement stairs. Doors opened and slammed as she searched for the room she’d claimed as her own during the online 3D tour.
“The movers were prompt, and I did my best to guide them as to where the boxes and furniture belonged based on our virtual walk-through,” Lanie said, steering the conversation back to business.
“Oh, and before I forget, the garage door motor isn’t working.
It kept . . . stopping on me this morning.
” She paused, eyes flicking toward the hallway.
“And since the house was sold as is, you’ll need to have someone come out to fix it. ”
Patrick’s smile thinned. “Right. We’ll take care of it.” His voice carried a faint note of unease, as he was more comfortable with a textbook than a toolbox.
Not being able to park in the garage for a while in the Wisconsin winter was not ideal, especially with a baby, but it was a small thing, a fixable thing. Nothing worth dimming the moment over.
“Good, good,” Lanie said, brightening her expression. “Now, the kitchen was remodeled in 2018.” She tapped the counter with her fingernails. “Quartz, stainless steel, soft-close cabinets. The island was expanded to add a second sink, so it’s perfect for entertaining. And just look at that view.”
I was already looking. The pond loomed beyond the patio, close enough that it could have been a part of the house.
The ice was dark and dull, a worn mirror beneath the pale sky.
The goose hadn’t moved an inch. It occurred to me that its color was all wrong, and like us, it was completely out of place.
Henry shifted, and I pressed a hand against his back, trying to calm him.
“We can’t believe our luck,” Patrick said, his voice a little too loud, echoing in the room. “This amount of space, the view, and the studio potential for Kris. All at a price we assumed was a typo. It seems too good to be true.”
Studio. The word twisted in my gut. My easels and canvases were still packed in the vehicle.
The unfinished commission piece sat vivid in the front of my mind—a painting that never felt right, no matter how many times I’d reworked it.
I had promised my client I’d finish it soon, and that was a month before Henry was born.
Lately, every time I tried to paint, my hands shook; not enough to notice, but enough to make everything come out wrong. But I hoped new surroundings would be just the creative spark I needed.
“Well,” Lanie said, “it has been on the market for quite some time.”
My attention snapped back. “Really? Why?”
Patrick had taken charge of the move before I fully understood that it was happening.
One minute we were talking in circles about safety and space, about what might help me feel better, and the next he had a job offer and a listing pulled up on his phone.
This house had surfaced out of nowhere, like fate had placed it on the market just for us.
Or at least, that’s how he framed it. By the time I wondered if I’d pushed too hard, it felt like walking it back would mean admitting I hadn’t known what I needed at all.
I’d said unsafe so often it had stopped sounding like fear and started sounding like fact.
And facts were something Patrick couldn’t argue with, so he solved the problem I wouldn’t stop naming.
“Location, mostly,” Lanie replied too quickly.
“It’s an incredible property, sure, but not everyone wants to be this far from civilization.
Plus, the acreage and the age of the home limits the buyer pool.
Not many men are equipped to tend to fifteen acres of land and the needs of a seventy-year-old house. ”
Patrick let out a nervous laugh. “Looks like the local handyman is gonna become my best friend.”
Lanie chuckled. “Exactly!”
A scream shattered the moment.
My heart lurched. Henry jolted awake and began crying. Patrick and I sprinted down the hall, knocking into each other’s shoulders as we raced to the aid of our daughter. My arms squeezed Henry to stabilize him.
“Hailey?!” I shouted over the piercing screams of the baby.
We burst into the last room on the left, the bedroom she had chosen from the 3D floor plan.
Hailey stood in the middle of the empty room—phone held high.
“There’s no. cell. service!”
“For Christ’s . . . sake . . . Hailey,” I managed to get out between pants. “We thought you . . . fell through the floor . . . or were being murdered or—”
“By who? The dust mites?” Hailey scoffed. “This place is a dead zone.”
Patrick was straining to keep from yelling in front of the Realtor. “Hailey, that was incredibly inappropriate! You almost gave us both heart attacks, and you aggravated your brother. Plus, it’s not safe to make your mother run. So save the screams for when you’re actually in danger.”
“I am in danger! My social life and enjoyment are on the brink of extinction,” she said, shaking her phone as if it were an Etch A Sketch that needed to be reset.
Lanie poked her head into the room, her smile wobbling as she tried to play off the awkwardness of the situation. “Ah, yes. There’s no cell service here. Being this remote, you’ll need satellite internet.”
“I’ll add it to the list,” Patrick said with a nod, standing upright.
“Add writing my obituary to the list too, Dad,” Hailey snapped.
I shook my head, and we stepped out of Hailey’s torture chamber. “Unpack your stuff,” I said. “Maybe it’ll distract you from your imminent ‘death.’”
Hailey tossed her phone on her mattress and rolled her eyes with such commitment I considered calling an exorcist.
Out in the great room, Lanie cleared her throat as she glanced between us and the front door. “Before I head out, here are your keys.” She placed them in Patrick’s hand, then hesitated. “Oh, and the gate out at the end of the driveway has a manual lock, if you ever want the extra security.”
Patrick shook his head with an easy smile. “I doubt we’ll need it. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Right,” Lanie said. “Still, it’s there if you want it.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and backed toward the entryway. “If you need anything, just give me a call. Or . . . well . . . whenever you get internet service.”
She managed a small laugh that didn’t quite land, then headed out. Not rushing, exactly—just moving with the kind of brisk purpose people use when they’re trying very hard not to look like they’re hurrying. Henry whimpered against my chest, cooing himself back to sleep.
We stood at the window and watched her car go up the driveway. It curved around the pond and then slipped out of view.
Patrick squeezed my waist. “How’s it feel to be a Wisconsinite?”
“Technically,” I said with a smirk, “we’re still Fucking Illinois Bastards . . . at least until the locals decide otherwise.”
He smiled back. “Kris, we’re residents now. That means we’ve been upgraded to ‘Illinoisans Who Are Trying to Change for the Better.’”
My smile wavered as my gaze drifted past him to the window.
Patrick kissed the side of my head. “It’s quiet,” he said. “We need quiet.”
I clung to the promise of a fresh start and a place where I could finally breathe. But as the house settled around us with a slow, heavy creak, a thin shiver threaded through me. It wasn’t fear, not exactly.
Still, I leaned into Patrick and whispered, “Yeah, quiet’s good.”