I’m posting from Hedge House, a nearly completed first draft. Finishing it is going to be my project for Camp NaNoWriMo this month. I’m not quite sure whether to classify it as paranormal or urban fantasy; the two of them tend to blur together a lot for me.
I’m picking up from last week
“None of it was your fault.” Somehow Jacob seemed to understand what she meant.
“But I was too late. I – I wrote her a letter, but I should have–”
“She got it,” he said, his voice pure comfort for her soul. “She was so thrilled. She told everyone that you were coming home.”
“But I was too late…”
“No. It’s not too late. Come home, Cara. We’ll hold off on the funeral until you can come home.”
Somehow, her grandmother’s house had always been home; no matter where she had lived, every dream that had involved “home” had been set there.
“I–” A thousand thoughts exploded in her mind but her voice was clear and certain. “I’ll be there.”
Her boss and her mother would not be happy, but she didn’t care. She needed to go home.