Chapter One

“The house, Mo? Of all the decisions you’d make on your own, selling the house—really?”

Mo, cradling her phone between her ear and shoulder, pushed her lanky frame through a crowded hotel elevator before responding, “It’s a seller’s market, Bud. Stop freaking out.”

“A seller’s market?”

“We live in Palo Alto, California. It never stops being a seller’s market. I’m just glad we decided to get all of those renovations done back in 2015. Everything from setting up the sale to closing went smoothly. Not a single person was scammed. So relax, dude.”

“That isn’t my issue, and you know it,” Bud Pepperidge practically yelled in her ear, causing her to fumble with her phone. “This isn’t like you had an unused beach house or were finally getting your act together and selling your sailboat. That pile of sticks and stucco was y’alls—I mean, your home. Where are you gonna live?”

This was not the conversation Mo wanted to have on her way to another lonely hotel room. If she had even a semblance of control over the universe, she would have avoided telling her old friend at all. But selling a home she had owned for over a decade was a huge step. Mo knew the new homeowners would not know what to do if a giant teddy bear of a man like Bud showed up, confused and shouting, on their doorstep. Even if it would have bought her the precious alone time she had been yearning for.

“Mo?” Bud interrupted her thoughts just as she reached the last door at the end of the long hallway. “Are you even fucking listening to me?”

Mo shuffled her bags in an attempt to free up a hand, her work laptop dropping from underneath her arm onto the floor with a crack. “Shit. I’m sorry, I’m a bit preoccupied. I have a one-on-one with my supervisor in…” Mo checked her watch, the long hand sitting firmly on the three. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

“Jesus Christ, man.”

Mo ignored him, tapping her card against the reader while simultaneously snatching her poor laptop off the grubby carpet. The door popped open with a few familiar electronic clicks, and her eyes adjusted to take in the less-than-inviting decor, indicative of any run-of-the-mill beige hotel room. She moved her bags just inside the entryway before reaching back to lock herself inside. Mo’s laptop must have remembered the Wi-Fi to this particular hotel, as the Slack video call jingle made her jump forward.

“God, I hate that sound,” Bud droned in her ear. “Nothing productive comes from it. So…are you, like, in trouble?”

“Eh, I don’t know and I don’t care,” Mo responded lackadaisically, placing her laptop on the hotel desk before popping in one of her wireless headphones. “I’ll even let you listen in.”

With a press of her fingerprint to the small unlock scanner, her home screen popped up, bright and familiar. Too familiar. An ache spread across her chest. Even after all this time, Mo had failed to change her computer’s background photo. Her right hand quickly danced across the touchpad to answer the Slack call before maximizing the window to fill her screen.

“Are you really having a meeting with me still on the phone?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Reeves.” Her boss’s voice, stern and plain, crackled electronically through her computer’s less-than-stellar speakers. “You’re late.”

“Neal,” Mo sighed, her arms reflexively crossing over her chest. “Sorry, the move took a tad longer than I thought.”

“What move?” Neal questioned as Mo watched the older, paler man fingerstyle his thinning salt-and-pepper hair to better cover his balding head. “Forget it. I don’t have time to be playing games with you. Do you remember that discussion we had about a year ago…with Victoria?”

Mo closed her eyes, already tired of this conversation. “Victoria Goodman from billing or Victoria Taylor from HR?”

Neal’s annoyed sigh was emotive enough for Bud to mumble, “Oh, you’re like actually fucked.”

“Winchester Bank Financial prides itself in being the leading financial institution for Americans, whenever and wherever they are.” Neal adjusted himself in his seat, pride beaming from his crooked lips. “An integral part to every Winchester client experience is our state-of-the-art fraud protection, making sure that their money stays safe and accessible.”

“I’ve seen the commercials.”

“You, Mo Reeves, used to be one of the best fraud investigators on our team. Even fresh out of college, the data you could collect and analyze—breathtaking. You were a three-man team wrapped up in a one-woman show.”

“Thanks.”

“Used to be.” His voice was now seething. “Your productivity over the past four years has declined. It’s so bad that I’ve had to take some of your client load and distribute it amongst other investigators, some of which don’t even have the luxury for remote work. A reward which you have squandered. When you, Victoria, and I sat down a year ago, you made a promise to be more present and productive at work, and frankly, that has not been the case.”

“Okay,” Mo replied dully, her fingers already hovering the cursor over the end call button. She knew she had become a terrible employee, and she didn’t need Neal getting any more satisfaction out of firing her then he already would be.

“I have spoken with Victoria, and I am annoyed that she wants to give you another chance. Even after you have proved, time and time again, to not have pulled yourself out of your…funk.”

“Funk?” Bud questioned protectively in her ear.

Neal blew air through his nose before leaning closer to the camera. “Victoria thinks you need more bereavement. But I…I talked to upper management. My condolences for Annie’s suffering, but the dead wife shtick isn’t going to cut it anymore.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bud bristled. “Who does he think he is—”

But Mo’s own heart was too numb to care about Neal’s snide comment, so she stayed silent, hoping he would hurry up and get to the point.

“I’m sorry, but Winchester Bank Financial has decided to part ways with you. We will be sending a severance check, along with your last paycheck, for your…unfortunate circumstances.”

Mo could hear Bud’s continued yelling in her ear, but her mind refused to translate it into anything beyond white noise. Neal, whose lips she could see were moving, was probably also adding some sort of half-assed thank-you or maybe even another insensitive jab. Anger would be instinctive, but instead she felt nothing but relief. Another responsibility lifted from her heavy shoulders.

So instead of fighting it, Mo just gave another simple, “Okay,” before ending the call.

The window minimized, leaving behind the previously ignored background. The brightness of the photo made her eyes strain, but she kept staring. She was suddenly entranced, feasting on every detail like it was water and her eyes hadn’t drunk in weeks. The only thing she wanted to do was stand up and climb inside, just to relive the moment the photo had captured. But Bud’s annoyed jabbering was still rattling around in her ear, while a tiny voice in the back of her head was reminding her that photos were just memories.

“I’ll call you later.”

“Wait a second—” Bud tried to reason, but Mo ended the call.

Now alone, Mo leaned back, fully taking in the details. It was her favorite wedding photo of her and Annie, blissfully happy on the bow of Mo’s sailboat. Mo recognized the unadulterated glee that was evident across Annie’s attractive features. Lightly olive skin, strong cheekbones, soft lips, and blue eyes one could drown in for hours. Annie’s straight, dirty-blond hair was styled in an intricately braided bun, fallen wisps lightly touching her athletic shoulders. Mo smiled as she remembered how beautifully the bone-white mermaid wedding dress hugged Annie’s body, the feeling of silk chiffon as she held on to her. The memories continued to flow in, and she briefly closed her eyes, remembering each moment like it was happening all over again.

The feeling was unfortunately short-lived and Mo’s eyes opened, straying to her own face. The boyish butch grin was accented by her hazel eyes focused fully on Annie in a dopey but loving gaze. A wind-worn blush stained her pale complexion, highlighting the large number of freckles she had scattered across her lean cheeks and nose. She kept her light, almost blond, brown hair short. Well known for allowing it to lie styled in a lazy fluff on top of her head, she kept the sides cut in close. Mo had always been extremely lanky, her five-foot, ten-inch frame barely filling out the tailored black tux she was sporting. After a while of studying the photo, it was apparent that Annie’s focus was on the photographer, but Mo’s was on Annie.

Annie had always been the center of Mo’s world.

Abruptly, Mo reached forward and slammed the monitor down hard, pushing away from the desk. She stood, tumultuous emotions rapidly welling up in her sinuses. But she didn’t feel like thinking about Annie right now. Instead, Mo turned toward the window, pulling back both sets of shades to reveal a view of downtown San Jose. The city was pretty unremarkable compared to Palo Alto, but this hotel had a view that was far more sentimental. Besides, a good amount of space between her and Bud was ideal too. All Mo wanted was to be alone.

With a quick turn she grabbed a pillow from the bed, tossing it onto the armchair that sat in the corner of the room. Then she pulled the chair right up to the window before sliding over and down the arm, plopping onto the cushion with a crinkling sound. Mo propped the pillow behind her head and looked down at the afternoon rush, her position giving her just enough of an angle that she could see the other side of the main street. The hustle and bustle brought her a meager helping of calm, as the people down below had no inkling of her existence.

They didn’t know why she picked this hotel.

They didn’t know why she sold her house.

They didn’t know why she lost her job.

They didn’t know Annie.

“Shit,” she breathed, closing her eyes altogether.

Mo needed to go down and grab her valuables out of her Subaru Outback, unpack her things into the dresser, maybe even venture out for food and drinks for the mini fridge. But her usual exhaustion had set in, so she stayed where she was. Her brain slowly pulled her to sleep, even as she tried to avoid her mind’s eye’s unyielding focus on Annie’s passionate gaze.

* * *

A loud knock shot Mo forward in her chair, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dim lighting of the hotel room. She had slept past sunset, the only light illuminating the room the neons from the street outside. Blinking rapidly, she sat up fully, rubbing her face before letting out a long yawn. Another even louder knock came from the other side of the door.

“What?” Mo groaned loudly, still trying to pull herself up into a comfortable position.

“Imogen Laurel Reeves,” Bud’s thick Appalachian accent bellowed through the door. “Unlock this door and let us in!”

“How in the—” Mo whined, untangling her lanky limbs from the chair to cross to the door. With a few clicks, she pulled it open and was met by the worried faces of her friends.

“Come in, I guess?”

Mo opened the door wide and Bud trudged through, flipping on the light before his wide frame waddled quickly down the hallway. Another woman followed him in, and Mo smiled down at her with apology, knowing she was probably way more disappointed in Mo than Bud was.

“Hi, Opal.”

“Hello, stranger,” Opal lamented before turning to close the door behind them all. After it locked, she slid into Mo’s arms for a deep hug. “You smell like sleep.”

“That means you smell like shit,” Bud commented from her desk chair.

Mo turned to her old friend. His usually short, well-kept, dark-brown curly hair and matching Gandalf-style beard were disheveled. It seemed like he had been running his fingers through them nonstop, ruining any style he would normally wear. Bud was at least two shades paler than his normal pasty white. And his face, usually rounded and friendly, was pulled taut into almost horizontal lines. Even his work shirt, a deep-blue Dickie’s style button-up, was buttoned incorrectly, highlighting his mandolin-shaped belt buckle and extremely stained, worn jeans.

“Don’t listen to him,” Opal said, her voice lighter now. “He’s grumpy.”

“I have every right to be grumpy.”

“Yes, you do, babe.”

“Damn right.”

“Such a Taurus.” Opal chuckled lightly, finally pulling away from the hug.

Mo looked down at her friend, seeing nary a change. Opal always seemed to be in a Zen-like calm. Her brown skin, warm with red-orange undertones, was accentuated perfectly by her bright brown eyes and sharp features. Opal’s midnight-black hair was colored with an aqua ombre, styled beautifully into box braids that were pulled up into three separate buns on the crest of her head. Normally, Mo would be able to see the various tattoos that adorned Opal’s collarbone and arms, but she was wearing one of her long-sleeved logo tees, Hecate Tattoo displayed across her chest. Opal rarely wore pants, so she had matched her top with a pair of butt-enhancing black jean short shorts, the pockets hanging below the jean fabric decorated with constellations. An interweaving ivy tattoo led down Opal’s right leg, disappearing beneath her white, shin-high Doc Martens.

“I’m sorry he dragged you all the way out here.” Mo sighed, meeting Opal’s eyes. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“I doubt that.” Opal smiled softly.

She glided farther into the room, immediately grabbing the chair Mo had just been sleeping in, turning it to face the side of bed. Bud inch-wormed the desk chair along the ground until his knees met the end of the bed. Once his task was complete, he patted a space between them for Mo.

“Get over here, Beanstalk. We are having us an intervention.”

“Wait, how did y’all find me?” Mo asked before finally kicking off her sneakers. Then she crossed over the spot he requested, choosing to sit against the headboard instead. “I definitely did not tell you where I was staying.”

“I installed parental tracking software on your phone.” Bud grinned deviously.

Mo turned to Opal, who laughed slightly before adding, “You love a good Marriott. Besides…” Opal tilted her head toward the window. “This is where we always stayed when you and Annie played at Whose Boots.”

Mo’s eyes reflexively closed. Whose Boots was the best country-western bar in the Bay Area. Mo and Annie had played together in multiple country and folk cover bands over the past decade, and Whose Boots was Mo’s favorite venue. “I’m far too sentimental, huh?”

“Yeah, you’ve always been a big ol’ sap. Also, I smooth-talked the guy downstairs. That security risk of an employee gave me your room number. You’ve obviously been compromised. Sounds like you should probably just leave.”

Mo let out a guttural groan. There was no way she was going back to Palo Alto tonight. Or ever again, for that matter.

“I want you to come home with us. I set up a spare place near the living room with dividers, and I took some extra time to make it all pretty and shit. I even put a TV in there so you can watch The L Word, Wynonna Earp, and, uh…whatever other lesbian shows they got streaming.” Bud put his hands out in a welcoming motion, and Mo glanced at him to see the first sign of hope in his eyes.

“No.”

“Oh, come on, we’d love to have you stay,” Bud whined, his eyebrows tilting in aggravation. “It’ll be like old times.”

“I definitely don’t mind,” Opal added softly. “As long as you are cool with me coming in and out at odd hours to work with clients downstairs.”

Bud and Opal lived above Hecate Tattoo, Opal’s all-female, Black-owned-and-operated tattoo parlor right in the heart of the college part of Palo Alto. Their loft-style place was on the small side, but it had tall industrial ceilings and an entirely open concept. After nights of bar hopping, Mo and Annie had crashed there numerous times. But no matter how comfortable she felt in their home, it was still located in Palo Alto. And Mo just couldn’t bear Palo Alto anymore.

“I can’t.”

“The hell you won’t,” Bud half yelled, half begged. “You just got fired from your job, dude.”

“Yeah,” Mo agreed, punctuating it with another sigh. “And I fired my therapist.”

“What?”

“Bud,” Opal cooed softly, reaching out for her husband’s hand. “You’re going to have an aneurysm.”

“Good, then we can hire Mo to take care of me—in Palo Alto—at home.”

“I sold Annie’s Prius too,” Mo added, ignoring Bud’s outburst. “Oh, and, like, all the furniture. All I have left is down in the Outback or in the suitcases over there.”

“What about Like Clockwork?” Opal questioned softly, her well-chosen words actually reaching Mo. “You’ve not been to the boat in a while.”

“I’m gonna sell it too. I called the harbor master, he’s gonna ask around to see if anyone is interested.”

“But you bought that thing for like a hundred dollars and a bottle of twenty-one-year-old scotch,” Bud said. “That’s such a good story.”

“The story won’t go away just because I sell her,” Mo reminded him, her hands coming up to rub at her eyes again.

“But you sailed it down to Big Sur for—”

“It’s okay. Change is good.” Opal cut him off, obviously trying to play mediator.

“We looked inside the Outback before coming up here,” Bud said with a new burst of conviction. “Opal pointed out Annie’s backpacking equipment. You’re too much like me and never wanted to hike. Did you sell all of your things but keep hers?”

This comment hit a nerve. “My steel guitar is out there too.”

“So is Annie’s acoustic,” Bud added, his eyes laser focused on her. “Good thing the parking is validated, I’d hate to see you lose it all.”

“I was gonna bring it in, I just—” Mo stopped midsentence. Her need for her friends to leave so she could be alone again was growing inside her chest.

“We could just leave and go back—”

“No,” Mo yelled, a lot louder than she intended.

Bud jumped a little, his face falling as he studied her. Finally, he let out a big sigh, “Alrighty then, have it your way. We’ll go get it all.”

The room went mostly silent, the only noise the shuffling sounds created by Bud and Opal as they took a few trips to the car and back. Once finished, Mo watched as Bud opened her suitcases carefully. He began folding her clothes, putting each piece away in a drawer, pointedly skipping anything Mo packed that was Annie’s. After a few more moments, Bud found Annie’s jean jacket tucked protectively at the bottom of her main suitcase. His fingers lightly glided over the patches across the back before he found the one he was looking for. It was a band patch, Annie and the Strings, from back when Bud was the drummer in their cover band. Bud studied it a bit longer, finally bringing it to his lips to kiss it lightly. Mo couldn’t help but smile, even as her chest tightened painfully.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings.” Bud sighed, his eyes still on the patch. “It’s just…”

“Well, that’s ominous.”

“I just—” Bud cleared his throat, putting the jacket lightly on the bed. “I think it’s time.”

Opal, who had just been quietly observing Mo, turned all her attention on her husband. This made Mo sit up in the bed, even as her brain screamed at her to ask them to leave.

“It’s time…for me to move in?” Mo asked, her eyes darting between her friends. “Because I thought I said—”

“Kinda. I think it’s time to move on.”

“From California?” A lump formed in Mo’s throat as she continued to search their faces for answers. “I’m confused…”

“No.” Bud sucked air past his teeth. “Annie.”

The lump blocked her throat completely, and her left thumb came up to rub at the spot as her vision blurred. How could Bud ask that of her? She scoffed and cleared her throat, almost incredulous that he would even suggest such a notion. She wanted to find words, to release all her feelings in a rage-filled scream. To let him know how disrespectful that was. But instead, she stayed silent, diverting her eyes down to the bed.

“Annie and you, well, y’all were definitely made for each other. Hell, you took care of Annie all the way through to the end. There wasn’t a moment where you faltered. And honestly, you’ve done nothing but torture yourself every day since she died. I think it’s time to put yourself first. God, Mo, you just have lost so much time.”

Blinking hard, Mo bit her lip to keep hold of the energy building behind her eyes. She didn’t want to break down, especially not now, cornered and defenseless. After a few more tense moments, he started folding again, and Mo moved her focus to her hands, hoping he would just drop the subject altogether. But that was too much to ask from someone like Bud.

“What ya think?”

“I—” Mo blew a raspberry before putting her hands in the air. “What do you want from me?”

The drawer shut suddenly, a concerned Bud now lumbering toward her. But Opal put out a hand to stop him, choosing to take control of the intense moment and crawl up next to Mo on the bed. With a gentle touch of her hand on the side of Mo’s knee, Opal offered, “I mean, I have an idea.”

Bud put each of his large hands on either hip, his face softening at her words. “What’s that, babe?”

“Maybe,” Opal started, her voice hesitant. “You should go on a trip?”

“A trip?” Mo whined slightly, the whiplash of this conversation getting to her.

“Sure. Maybe somewhere more…” Opal looked out the window, pursing her lips in thought. “More adventurous than an old country-western bar.”

“Okay…”

“I know you never really had interest in backpacking with Annie and I, but she absolutely loved Redwoods National Park. There is a creek there, Redwood Creek, it runs vertically through the park.”

“Can she even do that?” Bud questioned. “I think her coming to the loft—”

“The water levels drop as summer goes along,” Opal cut him off, squeezing Mo’s knee. “May was challenging enough for her without being unsafe for the two of us.”

“You want me to go to a national park?” Mo met Opal’s gaze, hoping her facial expression was sending home how ridiculous that request was.

“Could be one of them grand gestures,” Bud added. “Kinda like they do for people to find closure in the movies?”

“You don’t have to backpack it, but you could maybe make a trek up there. Pitch a tent, check out the redwood groves, find your peace along the creek side.” Opal squeezed her knee again. “It’s just an idea.”

“I—”

“I think you should go for it!” Bud exclaimed, clambering up onto the bed and into Mo’s space. “Annie woulda loved for you to become one with the trees. She always said the closest you got to nature was what splashed up on you from the bow of your boat.”

“Annie loved it out there,” Opal said, her wistful smile pulling at the strands of Mo’s heart. “She loved you more, though.”

Before Mo could respond, Opal leaned back slightly, sliding her hand into the pocket of her shorts. She then pulled out a small, cylindrical object that was foreign to Mo. She watched as Opal twisted it slowly in her palm, almost reverently, before offering it to Mo. “This was Annie’s. I found it mixed in with some of my gear and I—I think she’d prefer you have it. Especially if you are going up there.”

Mo took the cold object from her friend, studying it delicately. It was mostly cylindrical, with another smaller circle attached along the side in a lip-like parallel, about an inch in diameter and at least three inches long. The casing was sealed wood, an almost medium ash, with steel edging. Intricate leaves were engraved in the steel, dancing around the outside in a random pattern. The partially circular bottom had a single indented line, and the top sported a small, grip-edged dial over the circle that jutted out from the main body of the piece. Mo had no idea what it was, but before she could ask Opal, her eyes spotted the engraved AR along the top edging, nestled amongst the engraved leaves.

“What do you think?”

“I think…” Mo pulled away. “I want to be alone.”

“We could pack the Subaru for you—” Bud started, his body leaning toward Mo’s.

“No,” Opal interrupted him, standing from the bed before pulling lightly at his elbow. “Let’s go.”

She led Bud from the room, and Mo didn’t move until the door clicked shut. With an exasperated groan, she fell back on the bed. Too tired to turn off the light, she ignored the deep pain of hunger from her stomach. Bud and Opal’s visit had only deepened her melancholy. There was no way she was going to move in with the pair, especially after seeing Bud’s true perception of who she had become. But the thought of a road trip north was not as rewarding as Opal was making it sound. The redwoods had sort of haunted her for a few years now because she knew how much they had meant to Annie. Going there didn’t sound like a beginning—it sounded more like the end.

Maybe that is what it would be. A poetic end to what Mo’s life had become. Her eyes slowly moved around the room, taking in how empty and sterile it felt. It was all too similar to the feeling their home had given her when Annie wasn’t there to fill it. This wasn’t the type of place she wanted to die in. Cold, alone, and without any decent memories of Annie to help comfort her.

But as she considered her friends’ offer, all those post-backpacking talks where Annie had explained every minute detail of Redwood Creek filled her mind. The enormous trees, lush greenery, clear water, wide skies. The descriptors enveloped her soul while a memory of an excited Annie, dirty and tired, sat firmly in front of her. The overwhelming feelings cascaded over her, pulling her center in one direction. Her wife’s lifelong passion could be her savior.

A more selfish part of her was hoping it could be her executioner instead.

Mo cleared her throat then, with a lurch, she reached for her cell phone and quickly dialed Opal. Barely one ring in and Opal’s confused voice answered, “Mo?”

“I think you two are right.”

“I’m sorry? What do you mean?”

Mo cleared her throat, willing her voice to sound more hopeful than tragic. “I don’t know if you knew, but I regret not going on a backpacking trip with Annie. I remember her endlessly describing the redwoods and how much she loved it there. And every time she asked, I promised her that I would go next year. Next year. Next year. I think I’ll do it. I think I’ll go.”

“Awesome.” Opal’s voice calmed rapidly. “Do you want me to accompany you?”

“No, too last minute. And besides, you have a shop to run and clients to please. I’ll be fine by myself.”

“How long will you stay?”

Mo pondered for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “At least a few weeks. Maybe a month. I want to take my time with it.”

“Okay, sounds good. I will let Bud know.” Opal paused for a few moments. “And if you need me, or Bud, we are just a phone call away.”

“I know, and I will call if I need anything,” Mo lied. “Thanks, bye.”

“Bye.”

Mo tossed her phone off the side of the bed, not caring where it landed. She instead held Annie’s little mystery cylinder up above her head, returning her focus to the engraved letters, letting them bounce painfully around in her head.