Page 137 of Made for Mayhem

The door shut behind us with a click that settled heavy in my chest. Junie’s hand slipped out of mine the second we stepped off Violet’s porch, and she took off up the gravel road toward Ty’s house without looking back. Her rain boots kicked up dust that hung thick in the last slant of sunlight, and then the clouds swallowed the sun whole. Piggie chased behind her, hooves moving faster than I’d thought possible for such a little pig.

I followed slower, dragging my feet. An hour ago, the valley had looked drunk on summer, all bright colors and hazy sunlight. Full of life, of possibility, of a future.

Now, it was like the weather mirrored my emotions. Storm clouds piled black against the peaks, moving fast and out of control. The temperature dropped ten degrees in the space of a heartbeat, and the wind carried the sharp smell of rain.

Ty walked at my side, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders curved inward. Neither of us spoke, not sure what to say. Sandra’s voice still echoed in my skull, light and bureaucratic and kind: you’re free to relocate to Chicago.

Free.

Like I could just walk away from it all. From the pain of losing my sister. From the house she loved so much. From the life she’d built here. From the new friends who’d shown up for me even though I had nothing to give. From the father Junie had chosen for herself. From the man who saw me better than anyone ever had.

No matter how much it hurt to see Violet everywhere around me, I couldn’t do that to any of them. I just had to survive this bone-deep pain, too.

Junie reached Ty’s porch first, climbed the steps two at a time, and disappeared inside without a word. She left the front door open, and I hesitated for a second, already feeling the depression pull me under once more. Inside, a bedroom door slammed shut, and I looked down to Rowdy standing at my feet.

Ty paused at the bottom step, looked up at the sky, then at me. “I’ll get the animals in,” he said, voice flat. “Storm’s coming fast.”

I nodded, throat too tight for words. Too tired to do anything but let them hate me.

He headed for the barn. I stood there for another useless second, wind whipping my hair across my face, then forced my feet up the steps and into the house.

Rowdy stood at my side, the only one who wasn’t mad at me.

I kicked off my shoes, then padded down the hallway toward Junie’s room. I raised my hand to knock on the closed door, then let it fall.

What was I supposed to say?

I’m trying so hard, and it still isn’t enough.

I want to fix everything, but I don’t know how to fix myself.

Every choice I make feels like the wrong one, and I’m terrified I’ll be the reason we all fall apart.

I couldn’t say any of it. Not without making things worse.

I went back to Ty’s room instead, sank onto the bed, and pulled my knees to my chest. Rowdy climbed up beside me and laid his head across my feet. I scratched behind his ears without thinking, staring at the tray where Junie’s half-finished friendship bracelet still lay, purple and pink threads tangled like everything else.

She’d dumped the beads out earlier, sorting them by letter, but I couldn’t look away from the numbers.

One. Violet’s death.

Two. Junie’s sorrow.

Three. Ty’s pain.

Three bad things, then one good thing, right?

But everywhere I looked lay chaos and sadness.

Maybe the good thing wasn’t coming this time.

Maybe I didn’t deserve it.

Thunder rumbled, followed by a crack of lightning, drawing my attention to the open window. The curtains snapped in the wind, carrying the smell of the summer storm. I got up to shut it, leaning into the frame when the sound of something fluttering drew my eye to the dresser.

The corner of a folded letter peeled away from the tape on Violet’s urn, hesitating for a beat before the wind caught it. It drifted off the dresser, carried across the room in an uneven arc, brushing the air just long enough for me to realize what it was before the latch clicked shut and the storm was locked outside again.

The letter wavered, then settled on the floor at my feet.