Page 3 of The House on Forgotten Hill

Her breath trembled against my cheek.

“I need to tell you … to tell you …”

“Tell me what?”

“Your father … he didn’t die in an accident,” she whispered.

I pulled back, certain I had misheard her. “What?”

She looked me right in the eyes. “He was murdered. Don’t go … Don’t go …”

2

For the next several weeks, I gave little thought to anything beyond what needed to be done. There were arrangements to make, accounts to close, and belongings to sort through. I met with the funeral director, spoke to my mother’s attorney, and answered phone calls from relatives who wanted to know how I was doing.

I told them I was fine because it was easier than telling the truth.

The truth was I had no idea how I was doing.

I felt numb, like nothing mattered anymore.

Like I was living a life not worth living.

Some mornings, I woke and forgot she was gone. I would hear a noise somewhere in the house and think my mother had stopped by and was moving around in the kitchen. Or I would reach for my phone, intending to call her, only to remember I couldn’t call her because she was dead.

She was dead, and I was alone.

Her final words followed me everywhere, taking up almost all the space in my mind. I heard them while standing in line at the grocery store or folding laundry or while I was driving to the attorney’s office to discuss her estate.

Your father didn’t die in an accident.

He was murdered.

Don’t go …

Don’t go …

She’d died before she was able to finish the sentence.

At first, I tried to convince myself she had been confused. Perhaps she had mistaken a dream for a memory or perhaps she didn’t know what she was saying at all. It wasn’t the first time she’d said something odd in those final months, but when she’d said it, her words were so certain.

In my mother’s will, she left me everything she owned. The house was modest, and there was still a small amount owed on it, but she had also left behind savings, investments, and a life insurance policy I hadn’t known existed. Once the attorney explained just how much I was due to inherit, I was shocked.

The money was more than I had expected.

Not enough to make me wealthy, but enough to give me choices.

For the first time in years, I didn’t have to think about what I could afford to do. I could think about what I wanted because the only person I had left to take care of was me.

And so far, I was doing a lousy job.

I had spent most of my adult life moving from one obligation to another.

College.

Work.

Marriage.