Book 1: Knotted in the dark

I pushed the front door open with my shoulder and stepped inside. The late-afternoon quiet of the house settled around me the way it always did at the end of a long week. Keys went on the little table by the entrance. Work bag slid off my arm and landed with a soft thud against the bench. My boots felt heavy after a full day in the field, the soles still carrying a faint trace of mud from the preserve trails. I toed them off one after the other and left them by the door.

Phone was already against my ear.

“—no, Mom, the professor’s not that bad, he’s just weird about deadlines,” Lily said. Her voice had that slight outdoor echo, like she was cutting across the quad between buildings.

I walked into the kitchen, bare feet quiet on the tile, and started flipping through the mail I’d grabbed from the box outside. Electric bill. Thick HOA newsletter. A couple of coupons for the grocery store two streets over. “Weird how? Like actually mean, or just the usual academic-ego speech?”

“The usual. Yesterday he went on this whole thing about how ‘the natural world doesn’t care about your feelings.’ Half the class just stared at him. We’re stuck doing a group project on local wetland species and I might’ve mentioned that my mom literally does that for a living. The whole table went quiet for a second.”

I smiled a little, sorting the junk into the recycling bin under the sink. The kitchen still smelled faintly of the coffee I’d made that morning, mixed with the clean lemon scent of the counter spray. “You didn’t have to name-drop me.”

“I didn’t say your name. Just ‘my mom’s a wildlife biologist.’ Close enough.” A soft laugh, then her voice dropped a notch. “Miss you, though. Dorm food is still garbage. Soph’s been living off those cheap ramen packs again like it’s a personality trait.”

“Tell your sister to buy actual food. I’ll send her money if she needs it.” I moved out of the kitchen and into the living room. Late sun was coming through the big front windows, laying long gold rectangles across the hardwood and the couch. The throw blanket the girls always fought over was still draped over one arm, a little wrinkled from the last time they’d been home. “Work’s been steady. Spent most of today out near the north side of the preserve. We’ve been tracking that fox family again—three kits this year. One of them’s got a slight limp on the back left. Might be nothing, but I’m keeping an eye on it. If it doesn’t clear up by next week I’ll call the rehab center.”

“You sound tired.”

“End of the week. They always feel longer.” I kept walking, phone warm against my cheek, past the low bookshelf that still held the twins’ old field guides mixed in with mine. “Miss you both. The house gets too quiet when you’re not crashing in your rooms every other weekend. I keep catching myself listening for the sound of the upstairs shower or the fridge door slamming at midnight.”

Lily made a soft sound on the other end. “We’ll be home for the long weekend next month. Promise. Soph already switched her shifts so we’re both free.”

“Good.” I reached the wide sliding glass doors at the back of the living room and stopped for a second, just looking out. The backyard sat quiet under the slanting light—green grass still a little damp from the morning sprinklers, the small pool flat and blue, a couple of leaves floating near the far edge. Patio chairs angled toward the water like they’d been left mid-conversation. I slid one of the heavy doors open. Warm evening air pushed in, carrying the smell of cut grass, the faint sharp chlorine from the pool, and that dry late-summer heat that always settles over the neighborhood around this time.

I stepped out onto the patio barefoot. The concrete was still holding the day’s warmth. “How’s the roommate situation holding up?”

“Better, actually. She finally stopped blasting music at two in the morning. And there’s this new guy on our floor who keeps offering to ‘help with biology homework.’ Soph thinks he’s kind of cute. I think he’s trying way too hard.”

I leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and let out a quiet breath of a laugh. “Trust your gut on that one, kiddo.”

The conversation kept going easy after that. ...