Page 21 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

I escape to my bedroom that is horribly empty except for the hammock and pillows. All of my stuff fits easily in our closet, so there are no piles of clothes or backpacks strewn about. My brothers have left and now Slade is gone too. Because he killed someone.

I sit down on the hammock and shift into my raccoon form. Even burrowed in my clothes, the hammock is colder without my brothers here. I think of how warm it was to sleep in Slade’s arms. He was so gentle and kind during our night together. I can’t imagine him hurting anyone.

I’m sorry.

That text message haunts me. He wouldn’t have apologized if he was innocent, right? He would have explained himself or told me he didn’t do it. He wouldn’t have confessed to the cops either.

You deserve someone better than me.

Slade tried to warn me, too. I’m such a fool.

The door to the bedroom opens and Tin steps inside. He and I have never been that close. When we were kids, Silver divided his time between Link and me, while Coin and Tin stuck together. He softened Coin’s hard edges, and Coin stood up for Tin, who has never been as sharp as the rest of us. School was difficult for him. He did much better at Aunt Emerald’s animal sanctuary, teaching skittish dogs how to love people again.

He gently scoops me up and sits on the hammock. For a long time, he doesn’t say anything, he just holds me and runs his fingers through my fur. I don’t know if Mom told him about Slade, or if he thinks I’m upset about our brothers leaving. Either way, it’s nice to be held by someone who doesn’t expect any kind of response from me. He just rocks back and forth on the hammock in silence.

At some point, I fall asleep. When I wake, Tin is gone. Not just his body, but his smell. I shift back into my human form and go wandering around the house, hoping I’m mistaken. But all his stuff that he’d gathered in a pile by the front door is gone, too.

It’s all too much. My brothers are in every picture frame. Our bedroom is nothing but empty without them. And when I step outside to get away from it all, I see Georgina’s house, where I gave myself to Slade because I was so damn scared of being alone.

I slide my phone out of my pocket. There’s one place I can always go when I feel sad or lonely. It’s a sanctuary for a lot of creatures. Aunt Emerald knows exactly how to take care of animals and people who are down on their luck.

She answers on the second ring. “Hey, Quin. How are you doing?”

“Could I come stay with you? Just for a little while.”

“Of course. My door is always open.”

11

SEQUIN

The drive to Aunt Emerald’s sanctuary is an hour into the middle of nowhere. The land on either side of the road is flat and dry with only the occasional sagebrush to break up the sea of brown. Our mom’s old Volvo doesn’t have Bluetooth, so I turn on the radio to the oldies station she loves.

The turn-off to the sanctuary is a dirt road. The tires kick up too much dirt for me to keep the windows open. I sweat like a pig in the hot car as I follow the winding road up to my second favorite place in all the world. From a distance, I can see the big red barn where the horses sleep and the rag-tag collection of trailers where the rest of the animals live. The last trailer to come into view is Aunt Emerald’s. It’s green with a deep porch that has wooden chairs Coin made for her at Uncle Dagger’s woodshop. When we were kids, Link called it the Christmas house because of the bright red door and the hundreds of golden wind chimes hanging from the awning. The house always had an aura of magic. Mom would always insist that he should call it a Winter Solstice house, since Christmas trees originated from the Pagan holiday, but she never managed to change the nickname.

I drive past the fenced pen on the corner of the property where the dogs play in the cooler hours of the morning and park next to Aunt Emerald’s truck. It’s as deep green as her house. She emerges from her home with a warm smile on her face. The bangles are gone from her wrists, and she’s only wearing studs in her ears, so she must be working. It isn’t safe for her to have loose jewelry around some of the animals.

I climb out of the car. For a moment, I just stare at the barren land around Aunt Emerald’s place. There’s something peaceful about the desert. The blue Texan sky is brighter out here, and there’s no noise but the howl of the wind and the tinkle of her wind chimes.

“Hey, Quinny,” Aunt Emerald says.

I smile. She hasn’t called me that since I was little. “Hey.”

She holds out her arms to me without another word. I burrow into her embrace, even though it’s hotter than hell. I need comfort more than I need to cool down.

“How ‘bout you come inside, and I’ll pour us both some iced tea?” she suggests.

“Okay.”

I follow her up the old wooden steps. Cool air rushes at me when she opens the front door. It feels like heaven. I step inside, and the beauty of Aunt Emerald’s living room fills my heart with wonder. Hundreds of crystals reflect light around the room. Most of them are in the five curios tucked between the antique velvet armchairs and sofa, but they’re also on top of the piano and displayed on the coffee table. Like mom, she has a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s much smaller and, therefore, not jeopardizing the structural integrity of the house. But my favorite thing about Aunt Emerald’s home is all the spoons. She has collector’s spoons from all around the world hanging on the walls in every room. She bought them during her travels when she was younger.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back,” she says.

I sit down and let myself melt into the high of being surrounded by so many shiny things. The pain in my heart is almost bearable here. Almost, but not quite.

Aunt Emerald returns with two glasses of iced tea. She hands one to me. I take a big gulp of the cold liquid. It’s the exact same iced tea Mom makes—raspberry with a hint of lemon. Aunt Emerald sips at her glass too. She doesn’t say a word, she just lets the silence stretch between us. She does the same thing with frightened dogs. She doesn’t go near them or try to pet them, she just sits there and waits for them to come to her.

“I did something really stupid,” I finally say, when I can’t stand the silence any longer.

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