When I stretched and rolled over, the antique bedsprings squeaked and protested as they always had. My old quilt smelled faintly of lavender laundry detergent and I wondered when my father, who still wore the same coat and drove the same truck he had all my life decided to make the change from the same old laundry detergent to something that smelled of flowers.

Today we'd celebrate his birth. I'd make a feast and we'd have the simple cake from Mindy's bakery and...

I opened my eyes and looked around the room, searching for the remnants of a nightmare I couldn't quite remember, but it had something to do with Mindy. And it was bad. Really bad. Nightmares plagued me all my life, but nothing like this. I couldn't put my finger on the details, but the feeling of pure, pulsing terror came back with enough force to set my heart pounding. My head throbbed dully in time with my pulse.

"Get a grip, Jess," I murmured, throwing the covers off. Cold air slammed into me. As a kid, leaving that warm nest of blankets to step into the unheated room was the hardest, most painful part of getting ready for school. Some part of me came to embrace it, though. Once I mustered the will to yank the covers from my body, the chill dragged me away from sleep and cleared away the cobwebs left by sad nights and unsettling dreams.

This dream lingered, like the smell of smoke after a fire.

With the quick rhythms of practiced motions repeated countless times, I tugged the sheets and blankets on my bed tight and tucked them in around the edges before laying my suitcase flat and finding the last clean change of clothes I had left. I'd have to do laundry at some point. Hopefully, I could sneak a load in while my father did his chores out in the barn.

I stood there, holding my jeans in my hand and frowning at the little bundle of rumpled clothes. I'd have sworn I brought another pair of jeans.

A light tap at the door pulled me away from my thoughts. "Come in."

The door creaked open a few inches and Jake stuck his head in. His floppy brown hair was held back in a bandana. He grinned at me. "Happy Let's Pretend We Like Dad Day."

"Stop it!" I clutched my clean clothes to my chest and worried our father might have heard him, but I couldn't entirely stop the grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"Don't worry, he's gone."

"Where?"

Jake came all the way into my room and plopped on the end of my bed. The springs groaned under his weight. "I guess there was a big fire at the church last night."

His words sent a shiver down my spine that shook me hard enough to make my teeth clack. "Geez. Ghost walked over my grave or something," I said. "I hope nobody was hurt."

"Dad said he thought Hobbs was inside when it happened."

"That's awful." I said it because it was the right thing to say. All my life I'd been somewhat ambivalent about Reverend Hobbs, but that didn't explain the revulsion I felt at the sound of his name, especially not under such dreadful circumstances. "That's the second horrible fire story Dad's had since I got here."

"Well, you know Dad," Jake said. "Always a ray of sunshine."

I rubbed my eyes hard. Clearing sleep's cobwebs away seemed harder than usual for some reason, and my headache made it hard to think. "I'm going to take a shower. If Dad's gone, I'll use all the hot water."

Jake laughed. "I'll rat you out."

I glared at him. "You wouldn't dare."

"You'd be amazed how daring I can be. I've done all sorts of things you'd never even dare dream of."

"Yeah, I bet." I snorted. "And how'd all that work out for you?"

"About like you'd expect," he said.

His words resurrected the ghost of a memory. It hovered in a dark corner of my mind, too translucent for me to see clearly. "Did we get drunk in the barn last night?" If I thought about it, I could almost taste the stale bourbon on my dry tongue.

His heavy brows arced. "If you got drunk in the barn last night and didn't share, I'm very disappointed in you."

Shaking my head, I turned to go into the bathroom. "I just need a shower. I had the craziest dreams last night."

"Dude, me too," he said from behind me. "Of all the stupid things, I dreamed about Crazy Dan Tanner."

It wasn't until I was rinsing conditioner from my hair that I thought maybe Dan Tanner had a place in my dreams as well. Rather than that information clearing my thoughts, it made them thicker and more tangled.

By the time I finished, dressed, cleaned up after myself, and made my way downstairs, Jake already had half a dozen golden brown pancakes stacked on a dish beside the stove.

The fragrance was like the nectar of the gods. "That smells amazing."

"Dig in. If you were so drunk last night you can't actually remember for sure whether or not you were drunk, you need some sugar and carbs to burn off the alcohol."

My purse hung from one of the hooks by the door. Passing up food for the time being, I went in search of my phone. Aiden was probably frantic. I hadn't been in touch for more than twenty-four hours. He'd never been a controlling guy, but he tended to worry when I fell off the grid for too long. I fished around in the clutter of my bag with my fingers. Keys, lip balm, my wallet, a tampon, but no phone. I asked Jake if he'd seen it.

"Yeah. I stole it while you were passed out drunk and took a bunch of nudes. Sent them to all your movie star friends."

"You're hilarious." I sighed and snatched the plate he held out for me.

"You probably dropped in in the car or something."

"Yeah. I guess."

"Eat your food. You can look when you're done," he said.

"Fine." The truth was, as much as I did want to check in with Aiden, the smell of the food was calling me, so I plopped down and dug in, pausing only when I heard the crunch of tires on gravel.

Our father stomped into the kitchen and froze when he caught sight of us.

Instinctively, I scanned the room for anything out of order. Were there crumbs on the floor? Had Jake spilled something? Had we inadvertently used the wrong dishes or dipped into some ingredient that was supposed to be saved?

"What'd you see over there?" Jake asked.

As if startled by his son's voice, my father flinched. Or maybe it was my imagination. "The building's a total loss. Hobbs is dead."

I thought of the little old lady who'd always been puttering around, dusting window sills and arranging altar flowers. "What about Alma James?

My father's attention jerked to me. "Why would you ask me about Alma?"

"I just know she was there all the time. I hope she's okay." Did I hope that? A powerful dislike that I couldn't really justify swelled in my heart.

"She's fine." Dad set his boots carefully on the tray and hung his heavy brown Carhart jacket on the hook next to my purse. "It's been a long night. I'm going to bed." Saying no more, he took off toward the hall.

"Dad," Jake called out and our father stopped with one hand on the doorframe.

"Happy birthday. We were going to celebrate today," Jake said.

Our father looked back and forth between us and, if I didn't know better, I'd say he was on the verge of tears. "I'm sure I won't sleep all day," he said, and then he thumped up the stairs slumped like a man carrying an immense load.