Chapter 2

There’s a difference between loneliness and solitude.

Solitude is chosen.

Loneliness? That’s what settles in your bones when your boyfriend leaves you for someone with a smaller waistline and fewer opinions, and your manager fires you for being “too emotional with customers” after a woman screams at you over a tepid latte. Loneliness is the sound of your name not being called, day after day, by anyone who gives a damn.

Today, loneliness comes with a red sticker on a plain white envelope.

It’s the only thing in my mailbox. Heavy with official-looking lettering and a little barcode on the front.

Certified Mail—Signature Required.

I run my thumb along the edge of the envelope and squint at the return address: a law office I’ve never heard of in a town I’ve never been to.

The building groans as I step back into the apartment.

My landlord still hasn’t fixed the door, or the heat, or the leak under the kitchen sink that smells like wet dog and despair. The eviction notice is still stuck to the fridge like a passive-aggressive love note. I should throw it away in a dramatic form of defiance, but I don’t.

I slide onto the couch—a lumpy thrift store find that smells like someone else’s life—and peel open the envelope. The paper inside is thick, creamy, expensive.

To Miss Elunara Stone,

You are the sole beneficiary of a private estate located in Hucow Hollow.

This inheritance includes the deed to four hundred acres of land, a farmhouse, and all holdings within.

Details, including property keys and documentation, are enclosed.

You are advised to take possession of the estate within 30 days.

With respect,

Mr. Silas Everdane, Esquire

Executor of Estate, Hucow Hollow

I narrow my eyes at my name. No one calls me that. I go by Elle, and I have no idea who this is.

Hucow Hollow.

My mouth twitches. That’s an odd name.

There’s a map enclosed, and a set of keys taped to the corner of the letter with a note:

You don’t know me, but this land belongs to you now. Take care of it. It will take care of you in return.

I fold the paper in half and lean my head back against the couch. The ceiling fan stutters in slow motion above me. I laugh. It starts in my throat like a cough, but it spills out, raw and breathless.

I’ve got nothing left to lose.

My job is gone. My ex is gone. And the plant on the windowsill, a stubborn little begonia I bought for fifty percent off and named Rex, is barely clinging to life.

If I lose Rex, it will be my tenth plant I’ve killed, despite it being listed in an article titled, Top Ten Plants That Are Almost Impossible to Kill…I beg to differ.

I glance over at him. His last few leaves are curling at the tips like they’re tired of trying.

“You too, huh?” I murmur. He doesn’t respond, but I like to think he’s commiserating with me.

* * *

Packing doesn’t take long.

My life fits into three boxes and a duffel bag. I cram Rex into the front seat of my fifteen-year-old beater with a towel around his pot to keep it from tipping over.

My hands tremble a little when I turn the key in the ignition, half-expecting the engine to refuse out of spite. But it sputters awake, as exhausted and stubborn as the rest of us.

The letter peeks out of my bag like a secret. Every few minutes, I glance at it, wondering if it will disappear or catch fire or morph into a joke. But it stays.

There’s something strange about the name Hucow Hollow. It has a soft, old-world roundness to it, like something whispered in the back of a fairy tale book. Not the safe ones—the weird ones. The ones with red shoes that dance you to death and witches with sugar houses and rules you can’t break.

I drive for hours. The highway stretches out, peppered with fast food signs and gas stations. Towns shrink behind me. The air changes. Cleaner. Wilder. Even the sky is more vibrant here.

The further I go, the less reception I have. My phone flickers between one bar and no service.

I pull out the map the lawyer included, hand-drawn and marked in faded ink, with winding roads and little symbols I don’t recognize.

Each time I lift my foot off the gas and consider just heading back and looking for another dead-end job, a pull from deep inside carries me on.

The list of things I’m unsure of is longer than the road I’m on. Yet, I can’t stop myself from wanting to know more.