Chapter 1
Celine
I’d come to Vermont for peace. A fresh start.
Not to burn down our new house on day one.
But my kids and I, we had a knack for creating catastrophe.
I’d survived the drive, the move, and my children’s meltdowns, but standing alone on that porch was what finally made my knees shake and my throat tighten with a sensation dangerously close to relief.
With a heavy dose of exhaustion thrown in. By the time I waved off Chloe and Gus, I was running on fumes and borrowed hope.
While I was relieved to be moved in and thankful we’d driven up a day early to get things unpacked, I was anything but settled. I felt untethered. Hovering somewhere between escape and imprisonment. Between departure and arrival. Between the safety and peace I craved and the life I’d left behind.
I stood on the porch and waved as they drove away,smiling even as my heart sank into my stomach. As the sound of Gus’s tires on gravel faded, the late August haze settled around me. Vermont. It was warm and green, and the world here felt softer, like it hadn’t yet learned how to hurt me.
It was beautiful. Fewer pine trees than I was used to, but I’d adjust. I could adjust to anything. I’d learned that lesson the hard way. The air smelled like wildflowers and river water. It was far preferable to the scent of fear and antiseptic and musty courtrooms I’d become far too familiar with lately.
In the front yard, relishing the peacefulness of the moment, I took what felt like my first deep breath in years.
This was the right choice.
I’d been repeating it to myself like a mantra all day.
We’re safe now.
Maine didn’t feel safe anymore.
My former home. Where I’d spent my entire life.
Every street corner held shadows of him. Every grocery aisle a familiar face. Even staying Downeast, far away from all of it, gave me no relief.
Turns out trauma can even ruin geography.
Chloe had offered us her giant lakefront house in Lovewell, but it was too close to where it all happened. We’d never move forward if we were constantly faced with pitying looks and the ghost of my kids’ father lurking around every corner. Not to mention my ex-in-laws, who had vowed to make my life miserable while their son was too busy in prison to do the job properly.
We’d gone south, to Portland, last year. I’d gotten Julian a spot in a therapeutic kindergarten program at a specialty autism school.
It had been wonderful. And expensive.
But he’d thrived.
And he still was. The decision to leave was painful, but I needed a job and a fresh start. And given that he required far fewer supports than when he was younger, I was feeling good about a mainstream school. When we’d visited at the beginning of the summer, the kids had loved the area, especially the big park and coffee shop downtown. We’d ordered a dozen flavors of donuts and sampled them “for science” before taking selfies at the covered bridge. Maplewood was familiar, yet different. Small town New England, but with a quirky charm that I thought only existed in cheesy Netflix rom-coms.
The people here were friendly. Maybe even a little too friendly. Lots of hellos and several gifts of zucchini and maple syrup. I’d received welcome texts from the other teachers at my new school along with a surprising number of offers to help us move and get settled. It felt unnervingly like walking into a warm hug I wasn’t sure I deserved.
I turned and surveyed the house. It was as advertised—quiet, rural, and secluded. Though it was nicer than I had anticipated. Far nicer than what we were used to. And the rent was laughably cheap. Callie, the school principal, surely had something to do with that part. When I’d told her I wasn’t sure it was logical to uproot the kids and that I couldn’t afford a big enough home for the four of us on my own, she’d laughed me off, insisting that she had the perfect place. And somehow, she was right. It was magically available at the right time and the rent was within my budget. I was still wary. I’d grown up in a small, tight-knit New England town in Maine. In Heartsborough, we weresuspicious of outsiders; we weren’t securing them prime real estate. Maplewood, on the other hand, went far above and beyond to welcome new arrivals.
This home was a gift from the universe. I’d rent from Satan himself if it meant access to a kitchen like this one and the fancy Wolf stove.
The poor landlord. Josh, I think? With his quiet voice, surly attitude, and giant shoulders, had probably rented to us under duress. From the interactions I’d had with townsfolk so far, they were all adamant that this was where I should live. So the idea that he really wasn’t keen on having tenants made me feel bad. But not bad enough to find another rental. Hell no, this place was gorgeous. And it had a tub.
A freestanding, claw-foot tub in the primary suite. A tub like that wasn’t a luxury; it was salvation. The farmer who owned this place might be grumpy, but his taste was impeccable.
I hadn’t seen a woman around so far, but he must have a wife. Only someone familiar with the intricacies of motherhood and the stress that comes along with it—and probably some experience with witchcraft—would think to put a tub under a picture window, then hang a chandelier above it. A smart woman. One with kids, who understood the need for a really kick-ass tub. Or maybe broody, broad-shouldered Josh was secretly a romantic interior design savant trapped in the body of a bearded mountain man. Hard to tell.
Our first meeting had not gone as I’d planned, and it hadn’t gone exceptionally well either. But I pivoted quickly. I’d gotten used to that. Julian had a tendency to upend even my best-laid plans. Our first interaction had been chaotic and somewhat mortifying. Especially since I hadn’t beenwearing a shirt. If first impressions mattered, then introducing myself while in a sports bra and Crocs saidunstable, sweaty mother of three who was flirting with a nervous breakdown.