Prologue

Lilac Fehr hesitated outside the hospice room. A sense of finality hung in the atmosphere like an invisible veil thickening the air, making it harder to breathe. Her grandmother, Rose Fehr, was the matriarch of the family. Storyteller, moral compass, glue, and one of her best friends, Rose had lived a long, fruitful life. At ninety-three, she’d more than earned her rest, but the departure still felt as if it came too soon.

The woman on the other side of the door wasn’t the same one who sewed all her Halloween costumes, and passed down family tonics and herbal remedies. She was a soul in transition to the next plane of existence. Resting her head against the cool wood of the door, Lilac took a deep breath. She and her family agreed to take shifts. This was her time and she couldn’t afford to waste a moment.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her grandmother had been slipping in and out of consciousness over the past few days, so they’d known the end was near. Still, the call from the nurse explaining her hands and feet were growing cold made the good-bye real. The sight of her feisty, funny, and bold grandmother lying so still in the bed, twisted her guts into knots and thrust her heart up into her throat.

She lost so much weight over the past month. Gaunt and skeletal with thin white hair, she was a fraction of her former self. Tears welled up in her eyes as she moved to take the seat beside her and take her grandmother’s cool hand in hers.

“Hey, Grandma, it’s me. There’s no one else here but us flowers,” Lilac whispered, using the silly phrase they’d shared between them like a secret password. The only girl born in a family of boys in two centuries, she shared a very special bond with her father’s mothers. A sassy slip of a woman who lived life on her terms didn’t mince words and remained an active force in the church and the community until recently. Lilac looked up to her as a mentor.

She’d spent too much time over the past two years working to make a living and trying to be noticed at the Daily. The small-town paper wasn’t The New York Times, but it was a big deal in the small town near Chattanooga, Tennessee. Writing had always been a passion that came easily. Curious by nature, she leaned toward the journalistic side of word usage.

The research and interviews fed her voracious appetite for knowledge. She was good at her job, but it was hard to get noticed when your competition was sleeping with the Editor-in-Chief. It was no secret Alex Ryan was getting ahead on her back. It was her mode of operation since high school when she used her good looks to get out of and into things. Still, she pressed forward, sure the long hours, acceptance of any story given her, and skill would create an opportunity to get her noticed. She’d taken every story that came her way.

The fluff pieces, the boring weather pieces, and beyond. So many late nights were spent in the office picking up other’s slack. All for what? Holding her grandmother’s hand, she regretted the time invested. You always think you’ll catch up with the ones you love later, but there’s no guarantee. She bowed her head and cleared her throat.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you here. You’ve always been my biggest supporter. I don’t think I would’ve pursued journalism if it wasn’t for you. I would’ve taken the safe route, taken up accounting or business so I’d be safe, secure, and utterly bored out of my mind. It was the first time I rebelled against my parents. I think that tickled you pink, honestly.” She laughed. “You always pushed me to stretch myself and move beyond my boundaries. I owe so much of the woman I’ve become to your influence.” Her voice wavered. “I love you to the moon and back, Grandma. I know you’d say it’s a celebration because you’re on the grandest adventure of all, but we’re sure going to miss you down here.” Lilac cradled the delicate hand and said a silent prayer for strength and endurance.

How do you say good-bye to your best friend? A Commonwealth of history, skill, medicinal remedies, lore, legends, and recipes would be leaving with her. Had they written everything down? Could she recall all the lessons imparted to her over the years, or would it be lost? The best way to remember someone is to live your life in a way that shows their influence on you. She didn’t want to dishonor her by letting her memory die with her body. She would do her damnedest to make sure she continued to live on.

Daggers sliced her heart as she imagined the lonely hours working late in the office that should’ve been spent soaking up everything she could from her grandmother. The struggle to survive, try to move forward, and stay motivated were crushing her like a pile of bricks on her chest. For too long she’d been choosing the right way to do things and it had gotten her nowhere. Disgusted with her choices and her life, Lilac let the tears flow.

Chapter One

Lilac

Bracing her hands against the counter in front of the sink, she stared at her reflection in the oval-shaped mirror. Two days ago they’d buried her grandmother in the family plot beside her grandfather. A day later they gathered for the reading of the will. Seated in the stiff back black leather chair, she was unprepared when life as she knew it changed.

With the reading of a paragraph, she inherited her grandmother’s home and a healthy lump sum of money. It took her breath away. Money meant options and choices. But those decisions needed to be ones that would make her grandmother proud. Otherwise, she’d feel bad. Tired, red-rimmed dull brown eyes peered back at her from the mirror. All the newly gained fortune couldn’t replace what she’d lost.

If it meant another year with her Gran, she’d give it all up in a heartbeat. Too bad life doesn’t work that way. Things had to change. She peered over at the violet vial that would mark her first act of rebellion since her teenage years. It would serve as an outward reminder that the old Lilac was gone, and the new one was front in center.

“This is for you, Grandma Rose.”

There was something freeing as she unbound the thick plait that circled her head and combed her fingers through the curly locks. Grabbing a wide-tooth comb off the counter, she began to work her way through the mass of coarse hair gently. The bleaching of a small section the night before had gone off without a hitch. Now it was time to replicate the process on a larger portion of her hair. She saw her future in that clear bottle full of dark liquid.

She planned to live a life free of concern for society and their thoughts on her or her actions. It was time to be the bold, confident, and poised woman who knew what she wanted and went after it. That persona had been buried and stunted for far too long. Dressed in an old college T-shirt and sweat pants, she applied the bleach to the bottom portion of her strands.

This was more than a make-over, it was a rebirth of self.

After application, she s

et the old school white timer for twenty minutes and began to plot. On Monday when she went back to work she’d lay down the law. If she waited, she might talk herself out of it. That can’t happen. She removed her blue gloves with a snap and strolled into her room with purpose. Opening her laptop instrument, she booted the machine up, held her breath, went to her email, and took a plunge requesting a meeting with her Editor-in-Chief, Peter, upon her return to work Monday morning.

He responded swiftly, offering his condolences and granting her an audience as soon as she arrived. Nerves and excitement combine like vinegar and baking soda, fizzing in her belly. At thirty-two she was reexamining her life and taking huge risks. What if he called her bluff? She had enough money to last her a while, but this was the only paper in town. I could work freelance. It was risky, but staying where she was as she had been was a soul death sentence.

When a knock sounded at the door, she frowned. I’m not expecting anyone.

She rose and walked to the front door. A quick glance out the window made her grin. Cece. Her best friend since kindergarten, Cece Rawlings was always there when she needed her.

She opened the door and immediately found herself engulfed by a massive hug.

“I just came by to check on you. Good Lord, what is that stench?” Cece pulled away and wrinkled her upturned nose. “What are you doing to your hair?” Narrowing her almond-shaped dark brown eyes, she placed her hands on hips.

“Bleaching it.”

“All right. Only half?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Well, I only plan on dyeing that much. You know, for the colored tips look?”

“Uh huh. I don’t think I ever remember you dying your hair before,” she said slowly.

“I haven’t. I did research the proper technique and did a strand test, though.”

“Of course you did.” Cece stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “May I ask what brought on this sudden need to dye your hair?”

Tears welled in Lilac’s eyes as she shook her head. “I couldn’t stand looking at myself in the mirror anymore.”

“What? Why?”

“’Cause I spent too long paralyzed by fear, self-doubt. I kept my head down like a good little worker bee, and it got me nowhere.”

“Whoa. Where is all this coming from?” Cece wrapped her arms around Lilac’s waist.

“Losing Grandma made me open my eyes and realize how much time I wasted. I put so much off. Our Girls Nights are all but non-existent. I haven’t taken a vacation in two years, and I can’t even stomach how much time I missed with my family chasing a dream I’m no closer to achieving. Why? Because I don’t do work on my back and I haven’t demanded change to know if it’s a possibility.” Her shoulders shook, and she rested her weight against the woman she trusted wholeheartedly.

“A lot has happened in a short amount of time. You need to give yourself a chance to process it all. Don’t beat yourself up over things you can’t change.”

“No,” she sniffed, “waiting is the last thing I need. It’s time for some action.” She swiped at the tears and cleared her throat. “I have a plan.”

“Okay. What is it, and how can I help?” Cece asked.

“I’m going to demand more. Peter knows I’m the best reporter there, and I’m not blowing my own horn. I work the longest hours and turn in meticulously researched and properly edited work every time. It’s why he has me look over articles before they go live. It’s time he promotes me and gives me more than fluff pieces and crap no one else wants to report on.”

“You’re serious,” Cece said. A wide grin split her cupid’s bow lips.

“I can’t be who I was. That woman was not happy or progressive. She was stuck in a prison of her own making and very naïve. I have to build a new life, one Gran would be proud of, or all she’ s given me will have been for nothing.” Her voice cracked.

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