Burned: Destiny Falls, #1

By Shaw Hart

This story starts with a funeral. 

Sutton Tate's whole life just got turned upside down. Her mom is dead, leaving behind nothing but an apartment full of memories and a letter with a bucket list of things she hopes Sutton will do in the next year. The first thing on the list? Spend the summer with a great-uncle that she's never even heard about in the tiny town of Destiny Falls, Michigan.

She's reluctant but it's just going to be a few months. She'll work at the Mystery Cabin, the tourist trap that her uncle owns, make a little bit of money and try to connect with the last bit of family that she has left on this earth.

Then she gets to Destiny Falls and it's nothing like she expected.

Her uncle is keeping her on her toes, there is always something to do around the shop, and the Mystery Cabin's handyman, Teller, just might be the man of her dreams. Throw in the sleazy mayor's son and some new girlfriends, and Sutton just might have a summer that she'll never forget.

When the summer is over, will Sutton give up her dream of a fancy job in a big city and her five year plan? Or will she have finally found the one thing that she can't walk away from?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shaw Hart
• Release date: Apr 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223350484

Book preview

Chapter One

Sutton

This story starts with a funeral.

My mom’s to be exact.

Just thinking that thought still makes me flinch. I swallow hard, trying to erase the image of her pale, lifeless form, dressed in her prettiest dress, the one that I picked out two days ago, lying in the casket only a few hours earlier.

She had brain cancer, stage four, and by the time they had caught it, there was nothing that we could do to save her. She had never even told me that she was sick. By the time I was done with my last semester of graduate school and had come home, it was too late.

I remember walking into our apartment, so thrilled to be home for a few weeks before I headed out to the East Coast to find a job. I had walked in and stopped short, shocked at the sight of my mom sitting in her favorite chair in front of the TV. She had lost so much weight, was so gaunt, her skin so pale, that it almost looked translucent.

She had given me the news then and I had spent my first night back home crying on her shoulder. A week later and I was practically living in the hospital with her. A few days after that and she was gone.

I’m so sorry for your loss, dear.

I’m startled out of my thoughts and I turn to see Mrs. Merkle, one of our neighbors, standing there with a pitying look on her face. Normally that look would have my spine snapping straight and my chin lifting in anger. I hate when anyone feels bad for me, but I’ve known Mrs. Merkle for my whole life and I know that she loved my mom as much as I did. She’s just as miserable and heartbroken at losing her as I am.

Thanks, Mrs. Merkle.

She wraps her frail arms around me, the blue veins stark against her pale skin. I should probably take comfort in her. In her familiar lavender and vanilla perfume. In her sweet southern voice.

I don’t feel anything though.

The church is filled to the gills with my mom’s friends, coworkers, and neighbors. That was the thing about my mom. She was so sweet and optimistic that it was impossible not to like her. She made friends as easy as some people breathe. I wish I could be more like that, more like her.

Her funeral and burial have been completed, and the pastor at the church was nice enough to let us hold the reception here. There is no way that all of these people would be able to cram into Mom’s and my tiny apartment.

Mom and I have never been rich. She had me when she was sixteen. A teenage mistake, although she never once said that or treated me as such. She always made me feel loved and wanted. I might not have grown up with a lot, but I had a mom who loved me, who was always there for me.

My dad was from the nicer side of town and he had been a few years older than my mom. His rich family had turned their noses up at my mom when they first met her, and learning that she was pregnant with their son’s baby, their grandchild, didn’t seem to change the way that they treated her or how they looked down on her. It was expected that he would marry someone from another wealthy family, not someone like my mom and so he abandoned her and me.

He was never in my life. Not even when I was a baby. I had tried to reach out to him once but was shot down. Hard. I’ll never forget how he had stared down his nose at me when I showed up on his doorstep. He had told me to get off his property and slammed the door in my face. I guess his illegitimate child was an embarrassment to his real wife and kids. I never tried to reach out to him again.

My mom had worked as a receptionist for a local doctor’s office for as long as I can remember. The pay was modest, but it kept a roof over our heads and food on our table.

Mom never went to college. Even if she could have afforded it or gotten scholarships, what would she have done with a toddler in tow? Childcare is crazy expensive and she couldn’t afford it after her parents disowned her.

My grandparents were really old school. Having a kid out of wedlock was an embarrassment and something to be ashamed of. Having one when you were still a kid yourself was even worse.

I think that’s why it was important to both of us that I get my degree. Maybe it was growing up poor but I was always driven to succeed. I worked my butt off in high school to be able to get a scholarship and to get into a top-tier university.

I graduated with honors and got accepted into Wharton Business School for my MBA. I just got my degree and was all set to interview for a position with a company that I interned with last summer but I came home to be with my mom before I started the next chapter of my life.

That was weeks ago. I was supposed to already be in Boston, working at my new fancy job and living in my new apartment. Instead, I’m still in California.

I’ve got a few weeks to box up our lives here before I have to move back out east and try to find another job. Luckily my college professors know of a few places that are hiring and they’re willing to write me letters of recommendation.

Just a few weeks to sort through everything. A few weeks to grieve before I’m just supposed to move on with my life.

It doesn’t seem like nearly enough time.

Whole lifetimes don’t seem like enough time to ease this ache in my chest. To fix my broken heart.

Some churchgoers brought in casseroles and crockpots filled with food and Dr. Barton, my mom’s boss, hands me a plate. His watery brown eyes are sad and I can see him studying me and trying to determine my mental state. I wonder what he sees. I wonder if he can tell that I’m close to losing it.

I don’t know him as well as Mrs. Merkle but he’s always been nice to me and good to my mom. He hired her when she was just seventeen. He let her bring me to work with her when I was young and he always invited us over to his place for the holidays. He was like the grandparents that you see on TV, the one that I never really had.

How are you doing, Sutton? he asks me.

His voice is brittle and more wobbly sounding than I remember. He’s getting up there in years and I know that my mom mentioned that he might retire soon. I wonder if he’ll do it now instead of hiring and training a new front counter girl.

I’m alright, Dr. Barton. How are you doing?

Oh, I can’t complain, he says, sounding weary.

I don’t have it in me to make small talk right now, so instead I just take a bite of the macaroni and cheese on my plate. My stomach revolts but I force myself to swallow it down. I can’t remember the last time that I had something to eat. I’ve been by my mom’s side for her final days and then too busy making arrangements to be bothered to think about feeding myself.

You know, your mom was really proud of you. She would go on and on about how well you were doing in school and how you got that internship at that fancy investment firm in Boston last year. She loved you very much, he says, his kind eyes meeting mine and I swallow down another bite of macaroni and cheese.

My throat burns and I know that I need to get out of here soon. I absolutely hate crying in front of other people but I know that I won’t be able to keep the tears at bay for much longer.

Thanks, Dr. Barton. For everything, I say quietly but I can still hear the crack in my voice.

I swallow hard, setting my plate aside and nodding once at Dr. Barton before I turn to leave. I see Mrs. Merkle out of the corner of my eye but I just need to be alone. I beeline for the church’s front door, keeping my head down until I’m outside.

I take deep breaths as I try to get my emotions under control. I just need to make it a little bit longer. Just a few more minutes and then I’ll be back at our apartment. I can fall apart then.

My car is parked right out front and I hurry to dig my keys out of my purse. My hands are shaking so bad that it takes a few tries for me to fit the key into the lock and open the door. Pinpricks sting the back of my eyes and my throat burns as I collapse into the driver’s seat.

I start the car, turning on the headlights and I look up. My eyes lock on the fresh plot of dirt in the cemetery behind the church and I can’t contain the sob any longer.

My mouth opens on a cry and the tears spill over the brim of my eyes. My shoulders shake with the strength of my cries and it feels like I’m folding in on myself. The ache in my chest spreads, numbing my arms and legs before it spreads to everywhere, leaving me an exposed nerve.

What am I going to do now? How do I move on from this?

I try to push those thoughts from my head. I don’t have an answer for them. I just want to get home. If I can just make it home, I can curl up in a ball and cry. Forget about the world and hopefully crash for a few hours.

I brush my cheeks of a few stray tears and take a deep breath. The apartment isn’t far from here but with the late-night traffic, it will probably take me close to half an hour to get home. I’m about to shift into reverse when there is a knock on my car window.

I jerk in my seat, my head swinging to take in the stranger standing there. He’s wearing a dark suit with a black and white paisley tie. He looks to be in his mid-forties and I recognize him from inside the church. I just thought that he was a friend of my mom’s, one that I didn’t recognize.

I buzz my window down a crack and he gives me a small smile.

Miss Tate. I’m Art Lawrence. Your mom’s lawyer. I’m so very sorry for your loss, he says, his voice low and smooth. In his defense, he does actually look sorry, but I don’t want to deal with this right now. I just want to go home.

I was hoping to catch you so that we could schedule a good time to go over her will, he says.

Her will?

Yes. She did leave everything to you, but there are still some things for us to go over. Can you come by my law offices in the next few days? he asks, taking a business card out from his pocket.

Lawrence, Melton, and Pritchard is printed on the top of the card with an address downtown listed below.

Yeah, I can come in tomorrow. Maybe around noon? I ask and he nods.

That’s perfect. I’ll see you then, Miss Tate.

He waves once before he backs away from my car and heads over to a newer model Audi. I watch as he starts it and glides out of the parking lot. I shove the card into my purse as I shift my old Malibu into reverse and putter out of the lot after him.

By the time that I get back home, the sun has set fully and the moon is really the only light. I don’t remember the neighborhood being this bad but most of the streetlights are broken or burned out. I don’t know how I didn’t notice how old and worn the building looked either.

The bricks are faded and chipped in some spots. I head up the front steps, tripping before I remember that they’re uneven and cracked in some spots now. The bulb over the front door is dying and it’s so dim that I have to use my phone to figure out where the keyhole is.

The old wooden staircase is sagging in the middle of almost every step and I keep close to the walls. The last thing I need is to fall through the steps.

I make it up to the second floor and pass by Mrs. Merkle’s door. I need to figure out a way to get her out of this place. It’s not safe for her to live here. I don’t think it’s safe for anyone to live here.

I unlock the apartment door and her scent hits me. It’s like a slap in the face but it’s also comforting. For just a second, I can pretend that she’s still here. That I’m coming home and she’s going to pop out from around a corner to make sure that I made it home alright.

Then I remember and the itchy feeling starts behind my eyes once more.

I leave the lights off. I know this place like the back of my hand and I can find my way to my old bedroom even in the pitch black. Even after I left, my mom never changed anything. Too sentimental, I suppose.

I make my way through the small living room and kitchen area and into the hallway. My room is off to the right but as I stop between our two doors, I find myself turning to the left and pushing into her room.

I haven’t been