Page 7 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

Chapter

Five

CORDELIA

I’ve often heard it said that grief changes a person. I didn’t realize they meant physically.

Even before I roll out of bed, my body doesn’t feel right. There’s a strange ache in my skin and bones. It’s the kind that almost always precedes illness, but this seems different. Worse. Like someone flayed me then stretched my skin over a canvas that’s too big.

I suppose that’s what I get for staying at the bar well past midnight.

Drowning by moonshine. Such a tragic, Appalachian way to ignore the world falling apart.

I stumble toward the kitchen, expecting the sweet, sweet nectar of the gods to be waiting for me.

This is the first and most important part of my good day arsenal.

I can get through taking care of morning business while mostly asleep, but nothing else is going to happen without a hefty dose of caffeine.

The only thing I smell in the air is stale herbs.

That realization is a slap in the face. I never went to the grocery store yesterday.

Instead, I got hammered at The Flame with my new friend who dropped me off around midnight and then went on her merry way.

Back to her parents’ place, since they welcomed her home with open arms.

The rest of my current reality hits like an avalanche, because there’s not enough moonshine in the world to make me forget why I’m standing in the middle of this tiny, old kitchen.

Granny is gone. I’m still here.

My chest caves in as loneliness like I only thought I knew settles onto my weary shoulders. Nothing—not even coffee—is going to heal this hole in my heart. Granny was the only parent I’ve ever known.

I hope she’d be proud of me for taking a chance last night, even if I got way drunker than I should have.

Slinging jokes back and forth with Neveah as fast as Wallace refilled our drinks was a better way to spend my time than reading.

It’s jarring to realize that the most steadfast human contact during my life aside from Granny has been…

Duke. I’m more acclimated to torture than to companionship.

I don’t bother hoping that this new friendship will last. They never do. Not even outside of Utopia.

I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. I have a job to get back to. Can’t really expect Neveah to be willing to carry on a long-distance friendship when she’s making plans to get her life back on track, too.

“You’ve gotta get some actual work done today, Delia,” I grumble to myself.

My ears are ringing from a massive hangover, and my voice sounds like I did shots of sand last night. I definitely have my work cut out for me to get the day started on the right foot.

If I’m going to muster up the energy to sort through at least one room fully today, then sustenance isn’t optional.

I don’t even bother changing into fresh clothes before stumbling out the front door.

A steady rain greets me from a bland, gray sky.

At this rate, I’ll look like a drowned rat by the time I reach town.

I don’t care. If Utopia wants to judge my appearance, then they can have at it.

My only goal is to get some coffee in me.

I need it more than ever, since I’m not even functional enough to manage my own limbs as I walk into town.

I practically stumble onto Main Street like I’m still drunk.

I might be. My arms and legs feel too long and unwieldy .

I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating the respectful nods and murmurs of “good morning” from the few neighbors who are also braving the elements.

At least they’re not messing with me the way Duke would.

“Morning, Duke,” someone says in passing from beneath the shelter of an umbrella.

I laugh to myself.

God, I need to shove that miserable man out of my brain.

I bypass the grocer for Flaky. Miss Ada’s ready-made coffee might be more expensive, but I’m desperate.

The second the bell over her bright green shop door dings my arrival, I know I’ve made the right decision. The rich aroma of roasted beans, the perfume of warm butter and cinnamon, and the din of quiet yet pleasant morning conversation makes me feel a little closer to getting my shit together.

Right up until Miss Ada glares at me over her pristine glass display case that’s seriously tempting me to buy more than a cup of joe. “Duke Castellaw. I done told you that you’re not welcome here anymore.”

Okay. That’s cool. Not entirely unexpected.

I’ve moved onto the stage of grief that psychologists would classify as a total mental breakdown.

I’m sure drinking like a fish last night didn’t help matters.

The entire shop has gone so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

My rain-slick skin heats unbearably as all eyes turn to me.

Miss Ada continues to glare. At me. When she reaches for the broom that’s tucked into the corner behind the counter, I slowly back out the way I came.

I don’t currently possess the mental faculties to deescalate this situation.

Grocery store instant coffee it is, I guess.

I don’t make it two steps out the door before Wallace follows my exit. He thrusts a cup of coffee toward me with a pitying smile. “You look like you could use this. Have you looked in a mirror this morning?”

Since I awoke with what is shaping up to be the worst hangover of my life, Wallace’s voice barely competes with the sound of the torrential downpour around us .

“Thanks,” I mumble, grabbing the offering like the lifeline it really is for me. I’m so grateful for the drink that I let the subtle insult slide. “But to answer your question, no. I haven’t so much as glanced at a mirror.”

Not scrutinizing my appearance before I came into town was probably a good thing.

I’m minutes away from curling into a human ball and rocking myself into a catatonic state.

If I’m blissfully unaware of bedhead or pillow lines crisscrossing my cheeks, then that’s just a bonus in an already shitty morning.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks.

I stare at him in surprise. Wallace is one of the few people who’s acknowledged my existence since I returned to town, but he’s never gone out of his way to be so kind to me in the past either.

Must be his way of honoring Granny’s memory. He did host her wake at The Flame after all, free of charge.

“I wish I could afford to pay you for all you’ve done for me these past few days,” I tell him earnestly. “Thank you, Mr. Wallace. Your kindness has touched my heart. I’ll never forget you.”

I wince. That was probably a little too much honesty. Just because he’s nicer to me than most doesn’t mean he’s interested in the inner workings of my heart.

“Piece of advice?” he murmurs as his gaze drags up and down my body. His smile borders on creepy. Is he struggling to be polite or something…else? “Be careful what you wish for.”

Before I can even form a response to that cryptic statement, he retreats back into the warm embrace of Flaky.

Well, that was weird. I’m not all that surprised that I’m experiencing a psychotic break.

There are only so many changes that a person can handle.

I maxed out on the loss of Granny. Everything else has obviously pushed me over the edge.

If I’m being brutally honest with myself, I should’ve known something was amiss in my brain the second I stood up to Duke for the first time.

The rain suddenly breaks, and the clouds cede their territory to reveal slips of sunlight. I sip my free coffee as I pick my way around the gullies of rainwater leading to the center of town. The wishing well sparkles like it’s covered in diamonds instead of centuries of filth .

I wished for a terrible thing last night.

This Utopian landmark has been a source of lore since long before I was born.

Legend has it that the first white settlers built this stone structure before any other building in town.

It’s not just decorative. There’s actual water in here, even centuries later.

As Granny told it, the indigenous tribe that called these mountains home gifted this sacred spring to the immigrant clans as a symbol of peace, prosperity, and shared hope for a better life.

Of course, seeing as how the European settlers inevitably forced out the original occupants, I’m surprised the thing isn’t cursed.

Regardless of the cold, hard facts, everyone in town swears by the healing powers of the flowing waters and the fortune-changing power of throwing a penny into the well’s depths.

Women who don’t make a match at the yearly Sweetheart’s Dance find their Prince Charming after wishing at this well.

Barren couples suddenly have fruitful loins.

Languishing businesses go from ledgers in the red to eking out a meager living in the black.

A few of my classmates insisted that they only passed tests in school because they wished their solid Fs into straight As.

Then again, it’s also a long-standing tradition that the teachers pass the football players, irrespective of their test scores.

I really, really should not have wasted a single penny on Duke, even if it was for the benefit of all the unlucky women who haven’t been pleased by him.

I should’ve been more selfish with my wish.

I could use a stroke of good luck right about now, starting with finding the mental fortitude to postpone my breakdown until after I get the homestead in good enough shape to sell.

I pivot away from the well, intent on getting on with my day. The sooner I leave Utopia for good, the better.

The sight of the person standing across the town square stops me in my tracks.

Everything about her stance screams strength that I’ve never possessed. Squared shoulders, crossed arms, legs braced wide, the most unflinching expression of conviction I’ve ever seen on a face.

A deep sense of longing coils low in my stomach.

Have I ever appeared so alluringly in control before? I can’t look away from all the barely controlled power rolling off my body in waves.

I jolt as my brain catches up to my own thoughts.

How the hell am I staring at…myself?

My sight goes fuzzy around the edges until the whole world turns dark.