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  To my grandfather: I still miss you.

  To Khourtniey, the Tripod, Jen, Lisa, and the girls: I couldn’t find better PICs if I tried.

  Thanks for never hesitating to tell me you told me so.

  PROLOGUE

  December 9, 2009

  The wind howled around me, flinging cold rain this way and that. Frigid drops stung my face and hands. The vinyl awning overhead shook and rattled in time to the thunderclaps echoing from every direction. Energy crackled in the air as lightning splintered trees miles away. The resulting clamor forced Reverend Don to shout just to be heard above the fury of the storm. Even so, I only caught every third or fourth word of the prayer he offered.

  I didn’t need to hear what he said anyway. There were no prayers to raise the dead. I knew because I’d tried. I’d begged, pleaded, and prayed to every god I could think of over the last four days, and none of my efforts changed a single thing.

  My mom still lay in the gleaming wood casket in front of me. And I still couldn’t breathe. I’d tried that for the last four days, too, but my breath felt lodged in my throat. It burned when I inhaled. It burned when I exhaled.

  Was that normal?

  I wasn’t sure.

  I lifted my eyes from my waterlogged, black shoes as Reverend Don continued shouting. He bowed his gray head over his Bible, his shoulders hunching against the driving rain pummeling us from all sides. The few mourners who’d braved the storm alongside my dad and me to attend the graveside service huddled in groups beneath useless umbrellas, soggy tissues clutched in their shaking fists. Mascara ran in rivulets down more than one face, but whether from the rain or tears, I didn’t know.

  I couldn’t remember if I’d put on mascara before leaving the house, but I did know any smudges beneath my eyes were from rain. I hadn’t cried yet, and I didn’t know if that was normal either.

  I didn’t think it mattered one way or another though. My life stopped making sense the moment I’d opened the door to the state trooper on Saturday, and every hour since had flung me further and further from normal. Who cared if I cried now or later?

  My mom was dead, and tears wouldn’t change that.

  Besides, if I let myself cry now, I wouldn’t stop. I’d keep on until I ran out of tears, and I couldn’t do that. I needed to keep moving forward. One step at a time. Sprinkle dirt over her coffin. Thank her friends for coming. Pack my things. Transfer colleges.

  The list seemed endless, but if I stopped long enough to think now, I’d fall apart. Eventually, I’d run out of things to do, I knew that, but I didn’t know what to expect when I did. When I had nothing left to plan or store or do … is that when I cracked? When I shattered like Humpty Dumpty?

  As a murmur of “Amen” went up from Mom’s friends and co-workers, I almost hoped I did get to fall apart then. Being strong and brave hurt. Especially when I just wanted to hit my knees and scream until I passed out.

  But when do we ever really get what we want, anyway?

  Dad’s hand tightened around mine, and I glanced in his direction. He stared straight ahead, his brown eyes fixed on Mom’s casket. I followed the path his gaze had taken, only to realize he wasn’t looking at her casket at all. His eyes were trained on the far side of the cemetery, at the line where the plots stopped and the trees started.

  I squinted through the rain, trying to pinpoint what held his attention.

  A lone wolf hunkered beneath the trees.

  A wolf?

  I blinked, certain I hadn’t seen an animal at all, but I had. A wolf, or the domestic relation anyway, sat in the shadows of the trees, staring in our direction. Even from a distance, he looked as sad as I felt, and I wondered if he’d lost a loved one too.

  Do animals feel loss like us? Do they grieve, too?

  I hoped not.

  As the wind picked up around us, the animal’s eyes met mine. He didn’t move for a moment. He just sat there with his sad, wolfy eyes locked on mine. And then he lifted his muzzle skyward and howled.

  Goose bumps broke out along my skin as his mournful wail ripped through the cemetery. Reverend Don’s voice, the sniffles and muffled sobs of Mom’s friends, even the crash and clatter of thunder and lightning faded.

  The lump in my throat dissolved, and I could breathe.

  I didn’t feel peaceful or better or anything remotely close to unburdened. I felt … wrecked. As if listening to his call shook loose a little grief that had been building for the last few days. Everything inside, all of the hurt and fear I hadn’t allowed myself to think about, expanded. Grief swept through me like a tsunami, leaving nothing untouched.

  A tear slipped down my cheek, followed by another.

  The wolf’s howl lingered in the air around us for long moments before the storm renewed its assault. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the sound of his howl faded into the screeching wind.

  The animal turned his head in my direction, looking right at me again. Yellow eyes locked on mine, burning through me, speaking to me.

  My heart twisted painfully in my chest, the truth hitting me like a ton of bricks.

  My mom was never coming back. Not ever.

  My vision blurred until the wolf looked like little more than a watery spot far off in the distance. “I love you, mama,” I whispered, hoping she’d heard me.

  The animal sat there for another moment, watching me, and then he slipped back beneath the shadows of the tree. I watched him go through tear-filled eyes, my heart aching in ways I couldn’t even begin to describe.

  Reverend Don loomed in front of me as I reached up to wipe my eyes, his wrinkled face a mask of sympathy and support. He extended one of his hands in my direction, his Bible clutched to his chest with the other.

  I glanced over at my dad, but his eyes were closed, and his head bowed. A line of moisture worked its way down his cheek, and I knew that even if Mom hadn’t heard me, he had.

  “Arionna?”

  I hesitated, not ready for what came next. I was only nineteen … why did I have to say goodbye to her now? How was this fair? I looked back at her coffin, and then at the broken expression on my dad’s face. My hands trembled in my lap.

  Dad reached over to squeeze my fingers. “Love you, Ari,” he whispered.

  I rose from my seat, a sob building in my throat.

  Chapter One

  January 3, 2010

  The sun peeked through the open shades in my room, burning away any hope of sleep for another night. I’d been at my dad’s for less than twenty-four hours, and already I slept less than I had the last few weeks at home. I didn’t have much hope that things would start getting better any time soon.

  As I’d come to learn intimately though, life goes on whether we’re ready or not.

  I wasn’t ready, but I still had to get up, get dressed, and survive the coming day. Each moment hurt in a thousand different ways, but that didn’t matter either. The world wouldn’t stop spinning just because my heart shattered, and life wouldn’t freeze because I needed a break. Time marched on, and I had to go with it whether I liked it or not.

  I didn’t like it. At all. But I’d only fallen apart once since Mom’s funeral, so I figured I came out ahead in one battle, at least. Knowing I had to be at campus to register for classes at 8:00 a.m. kind of destroyed any solace that might have come with the thought though.


  Facing a new semester now seemed unimaginable, but like so much else, that didn’t count for much anymore. Neither did the fact that, more than anything, what I wanted was to fall asleep then wake up in my old room, in my old house, with Mom right down the hall.

  “Good luck with that,” I muttered to myself, rolling from the bed. I couldn’t just go to sleep, then wake up to find her alive and well again. Life didn’t work that way, and neither did death.

  I figured if I told myself that often enough, eventually I’d start coming to terms with her death. So far, I hadn’t come anywhere close to acceptance. I still hovered somewhere between shock and denial. Kübler-Ross would have been so proud.

  I bypassed the closet, grabbed a hoodie and jeans from the dresser, then headed straight to the bathroom down the hall. My eyes burned as the overhead lights flooded the small room with unnatural fluorescence. I ignored the sensation as best I could and grabbed my toothbrush from the rack. I’d become accustomed to the dull throb in the last few weeks, and didn’t have the energy to waste time whining about it now.

  I brushed my teeth, grimacing internally as I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My golden skin appeared washed out and strained tight across my cheekbones. My eyes were red-rimmed and hollow beneath, the bright hazel color as washed out as my skin. My lips were red and swollen where I’d bitten them in a worthless attempt to stifle my sobs, and my hair was in no better shape. A few auburn wisps curled angrily around my face. The rest looked like a big rat’s nest. In short, I looked like hell.

  I didn’t particularly care enough to bother with make-up.

  I turned from the mirror and dressed before heading downstairs with nothing more than water on my face. I wandered from room to room, examining my new home in the silence of dawn. I didn’t know what to make of the house.

  The two couches in the living room were deep, dark, and comfortable. Dad even had one of those massive televisions hanging on one wall, with a row of DVDs alphabetized on the low shelf below. Everything else gleamed, antique and gently worn, but polished. The house wasn’t familiar per se, but I’d been expecting the big unknown. The reality seemed less overwhelming. It was … Dad. The place even smelled a little like him: sugar, spice, and the citrus tang of furniture polish.

  That made me feel a little better, but not by much. I still felt a little like Cinderella after the ball. Midnight gonged on the clock, and everything I’d been given disappeared.

  I’d lived in a little town outside of Smyrna, Tennessee, in the same two-story red brick house, on the same street, with the same neighbors, for as long as I could remember. Everything there made me feel comfortable and safe, but none of it belonged to me anymore.

  Mom was dead, and I couldn’t afford the mortgage on our house. Dad couldn’t pay it for me either. He still owed on the quirky Victorian he’d called home for the last two years. The place belonged to me now too, but even though I’d unpacked my things as soon as I arrived, I still felt like a visitor here. Would that feeling ever go away, or was I doomed to the no man’s land of guesthood for the rest of my life?

  I didn’t really care one way or another. I just wanted to make it through the day without falling apart, and then curl up in the bed. I figured if I lay still for long enough, eventually I’d fall asleep. And, in my book, restless escape would be better than no escape at all. But still, knowing that I’d settle in eventually, and that things wouldn’t hurt so much forever, would have helped.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Dad greeted me when I wandered into the kitchen. He sat slumped over the newspaper, a cup of coffee steaming beside him. He looked as tired as I felt, with bruises under his bloodshot brown eyes. His dark hair stuck out everywhere, and his clothes looked like he’d slept in them.

  “Morning,” I mumbled. I poked my head into the refrigerator to hide the tears burning at my eyes and grab a bottle of water. Mom and Dad had been divorced for two years, but they’d always been close. I hated that he struggled with her death as much as me. It didn’t seem fair that both of us were broken.

  ”Did you sleep alright?” he asked as I closed the fridge, my stomach churning at the thought of anything more solid than water.

  “Not really.” I forced a smile. “Maybe I’ll sleep better when I get back from campus.”

  He frowned, his face a mask of concern and sorrow. “You know you don’t have to register for classes today, hon. You can take the semester off, hang around the house … .”

  I was already shaking my head before he trailed off. “I need to go back. I need something to do.” I felt like I was cracking apart beneath the weight of grief and self-pity. I didn’t need three more months to wallow.

  “I understand.”

  I gave him a wobbly smile, grateful for his easy acceptance. I didn’t have the energy to explain how much I did not want to sit around the house, feeling sorry for myself, for any period of time. I’d kind of figured he understood that better than anyone else. We were a lot alike, and lengthy explanations had never been necessary for either of us. Still, I appreciated the confirmation.

  The paper rustled as he folded it up. He laid it on the table before turning back to me. “Good luck today, Ari. I’ll be here afterward if you want to talk, ‘kay?”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I whispered, averting my eyes when tears welled once more. I wanted to hug him, but if I did, I’d start sobbing. I cleared my throat instead and headed for the front door, ready to get the day over with as quickly as possible.

  A fine sheen of dew still covered the grass as I rolled through the small town with the heater on high. I noticed nothing else on the short drive to ASU-Beebe. My mind was a million miles away.

  Thinking about my mom hurt, but I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her either. I’d done nothing but cry since her funeral, and wiping away tears before anyone saw had gotten old, fast. But grief, I learned, didn’t much care what I wanted. Once the emotion took hold, nothing could get it out again. I could scream and cry and plead and beg all I wanted. Having a meltdown wouldn’t change a thing.

  I just wanted to get off the ride. Was that too much to ask?

  I made it to campus in a matter of minutes and parked beneath a large oak at the edge of the lot. I arrived half an hour early, but students already filled the parking lot. I stalled in the car, not prepared to face them yet.

  My dad taught mythology here, and everyone knew about my mom. I didn’t want to answer any questions about her, let alone from people I’d never met. Talking to Dad hurt enough. Every time he tried to smile at me, I cried. I didn’t want to break down in front of three hundred strangers too.

  “Get on with it already,” I told myself, reaching for the door handle. My hands trembled as I dragged myself from the car before I lost the nerve altogether.

  Cool air bit at me. I turned toward the Registrar’s office, my eyes stinging.

  Several students peered in my direction.

  “Crap,” I muttered and slammed the car door behind me. I hunched my shoulders and headed toward the red-brick building, praying no one stopped me.

  No one said much to me while I registered for classes, but the staff kept shooting me sympathetic smiles and whispers of support. Every time they did, some new pair of eyes focused on me. I picked classes at random, desperate to escape.

  After purchasing my books, I settled on top of a picnic table in the quad, trying to imagine myself at the cozy little college. My last school had been no larger, but it had been different. I’d become accustomed to four stories of glassed-in tedium crammed between a jungle of parking lots and offices. ASU-Beebe was something else altogether.

  The small, brick buildings were nestled amongst massive oaks and scattered over sloping hills. Grass rolled out across the quad, and very little landscaping had been done. The simplicity of the design added to the beauty of the area instead of forcing it into something else. The entire campus smelled of dew and grass, of earth and tree, and all that other natural goodness I always enjoyed. The campus even ha
d its own farm. All in all, very pretty. Exactly as small and comfortable as I wanted.

  I had a feeling I’d fall in love with the place.

  A guy hurrying across the far side of the quad caught my eye while I mulled over the traitorous thought. He was dressed casually in jeans and boots, with a light black jacket zipped up his chest and a beanie cap on his head. Nothing out of the ordinary at all, just another guy in the parade that had already passed by, but something … shifted … as soon as my eyes landed on him.

  A warm breath brushed across my neck, my stomach fluttered … I wanted to revel in the buoyant feelings swirling though me, but didn’t get the chance.

  Longing swept through me like a river, melting everything I thought I knew about myself, and reordering it. Pieces shifted, pulled apart, and came back together in new ways, unburdened by the little things that accumulated over the years. The idiosyncrasies, the pet peeves, the ingrained behaviors and thought processes … all vanished for a moment. A massive hole opened somewhere inside me, deep down in a place I’d never known existed before.

  Everything looked different with that hole there. My line of sight narrowed, dimmed, and then pulsed brightly, as if I saw the world with new eyes and a new perspective. As if I saw me in a new light.

  I didn’t particularly like what I saw.

  Half of me was missing. Not the part that had shattered when Mom died either, but something else altogether. A fundamental part of me … not where it should have been.

  I wasn’t whole, wasn’t right. Why hadn’t I ever noticed before?

  I stared at the guy across the quad, overwhelmed and confused.

  Had the hole always been there? Had I just been too ignorant to notice it, too caught up in the trivialities of the day-to-day to pay attention? Had I piled too much in, pushed too much aside, to feel?

  I didn’t know, but I felt now, and feeling hurt.

  The guy tensed as though he felt my eyes on him, and turned in my direction. He stood no less than a hundred feet from me, too far away to see clearly, but every feature of his face swam into focus as if I’d called his appearance up from the depths of my memory. He was gorgeous, with messy golden hair, strong cheekbones, and a sharp, defined jawline. Even his vivid, emerald eyes and the small scar above his right eyebrow were crystal clear to me.