Chapter One
ABIGAIL MURPHY SAT on the dusty hardwood floor of her grandmother’s former house and reassured her sister Charlotte on the phone. “I appreciate the offer, I totally do, but you have the kids and Will and a small house, so I’m going to stay with a friend.”
“It’s Christmas,” Charlotte insisted. “You should be with family. At least stay with Mom and Dad then.”
She’d rather jab a red-hot poker in her eye. Not that she didn’t love her parents, but Charlotte knew as well as anyone that being around her parents for a few hours was one thing, but to stay in their house was another. They were aging Wiccan hippies allergic to wearing clothes. Abby had no desire to see her father strolling around in his underwear. “You’re insane. They have sex every night. There is no way I’m staying there.”
“Okay, you have a point.” Charlotte moved her mouth away from the phone. “Spit that out. Right now.”
“There’s nothing in my mouth,” Abby said, in amusement, wondering which of her nieces was on the receiving end of Charlotte’s admonitions.
“Cute. It’s Georgia. She just put a fake holly berry in her mouth. But seriously, what about staying with Bree? The baby’s only a few months old. Her house is calmer than mine.”
Abby crossed her legs in the dark, cold room and tried to ignore her icy fingertips and her aching heart. She couldn’t tell her sister that she didn’t want to stay in any of her family’s houses because they were all in happy marriages, and that it would make her loneliness even more pronounced. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be over Christmas Eve for dinner. It’s all good.”
“Are you staying with a guy?” Now Charlotte sounded both curious and pleased. “Are you bringing him to dinner?”
“No. There is no guy.” Really. No guy anywhere. There hadn’t been a guy in her life in a good three years. “I’m staying with Chelsea, my friend from high school.” Total lie. Abby hadn’t even talked to Chelsea in a good nine months. “I’m here to relax, you know, on my break, so stop stressing me out.”
“Sorry, sorry, but I just worry about you. But we’re proud of you for going to grad school, you know.”
“I know, thank you.” Her sisters were proud of her, and being ten years older than her, they had influenced her in a lot of ways. Charlotte had nurtured her, in some ways more than their mother had, and Bree had encouraged her to be herself, to embrace their witch heritage. “I’m really glad to be back in Cuttersville. I can’t wait to see you all. Kiss the girls for me. Don’t kiss Will for me because that’s creepy as hell.” Abby hugged her knees to her chest. “And I’ll stop by tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Love you. Yay, Christmas! I’m so happy!”
Abby laughed at Charlotte’s giddy dorkiness. Her oldest sister had always been into Christmas big time. “Love you, too.”
When she hung up the phone, Abby sat on the floor, her breath visible in front of her. There was no heat on in the house. There was nothing in the house at all from what she could see. No furniture. Nothing but dust and the faint smell of mildew. She’d spent half of her childhood and teen years in this old Victorian house, first when her grandmother had owned it, then when Bree had inherited it after her grandmother’s passing.
Then that jerk off Darius Damiano had unearthed a back tax bill of eighty grand, then offered to buy the house from Bree to free her from the bill she couldn’t pay. Her sister hadn’t really had a choice, Abby knew that, but it had broken her heart to see her grandmother’s house sold. But it would have been okay if it had gone to a family, to someone who would love the house the way her own family had.
But no. Darius had bought it, and he was an eccentric ghosthunting millionaire from Chicago who as far as she could tell, had never spent one night in the house in five whole years. It was so selfish and so arrogant,
ABIGAIL MURPHY SAT on the dusty hardwood floor of her grandmother’s former house and reassured her sister Charlotte on the phone. “I appreciate the offer, I totally do, but you have the kids and Will and a small house, so I’m going to stay with a friend.”
“It’s Christmas,” Charlotte insisted. “You should be with family. At least stay with Mom and Dad then.”
She’d rather jab a red-hot poker in her eye. Not that she didn’t love her parents, but Charlotte knew as well as anyone that being around her parents for a few hours was one thing, but to stay in their house was another. They were aging Wiccan hippies allergic to wearing clothes. Abby had no desire to see her father strolling around in his underwear. “You’re insane. They have sex every night. There is no way I’m staying there.”
“Okay, you have a point.” Charlotte moved her mouth away from the phone. “Spit that out. Right now.”
“There’s nothing in my mouth,” Abby said, in amusement, wondering which of her nieces was on the receiving end of Charlotte’s admonitions.
“Cute. It’s Georgia. She just put a fake holly berry in her mouth. But seriously, what about staying with Bree? The baby’s only a few months old. Her house is calmer than mine.”
Abby crossed her legs in the dark, cold room and tried to ignore her icy fingertips and her aching heart. She couldn’t tell her sister that she didn’t want to stay in any of her family’s houses because they were all in happy marriages, and that it would make her loneliness even more pronounced. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be over Christmas Eve for dinner. It’s all good.”
“Are you staying with a guy?” Now Charlotte sounded both curious and pleased. “Are you bringing him to dinner?”
“No. There is no guy.” Really. No guy anywhere. There hadn’t been a guy in her life in a good three years. “I’m staying with Chelsea, my friend from high school.” Total lie. Abby hadn’t even talked to Chelsea in a good nine months. “I’m here to relax, you know, on my break, so stop stressing me out.”
“Sorry, sorry, but I just worry about you. But we’re proud of you for going to grad school, you know.”
“I know, thank you.” Her sisters were proud of her, and being ten years older than her, they had influenced her in a lot of ways. Charlotte had nurtured her, in some ways more than their mother had, and Bree had encouraged her to be herself, to embrace their witch heritage. “I’m really glad to be back in Cuttersville. I can’t wait to see you all. Kiss the girls for me. Don’t kiss Will for me because that’s creepy as hell.” Abby hugged her knees to her chest. “And I’ll stop by tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Love you. Yay, Christmas! I’m so happy!”
Abby laughed at Charlotte’s giddy dorkiness. Her oldest sister had always been into Christmas big time. “Love you, too.”
When she hung up the phone, Abby sat on the floor, her breath visible in front of her. There was no heat on in the house. There was nothing in the house at all from what she could see. No furniture. Nothing but dust and the faint smell of mildew. She’d spent half of her childhood and teen years in this old Victorian house, first when her grandmother had owned it, then when Bree had inherited it after her grandmother’s passing.
Then that jerk off Darius Damiano had unearthed a back tax bill of eighty grand, then offered to buy the house from Bree to free her from the bill she couldn’t pay. Her sister hadn’t really had a choice, Abby knew that, but it had broken her heart to see her grandmother’s house sold. But it would have been okay if it had gone to a family, to someone who would love the house the way her own family had.
But no. Darius had bought it, and he was an eccentric ghosthunting millionaire from Chicago who as far as she could tell, had never spent one night in the house in five whole years. It was so selfish and so arrogant,
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