Never Alone

A Killian Kendall Expanded Universe Short Story

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

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Blurb:

Sixteen-year-old Jacy Elliott has always felt like an outsider. When a sudden flash of foresight saves a stranger from a fatal accident, he’s left questioning his sanity. A simple family-history assignment then unravels hidden truths, old wounds, and long-buried connections. Pushing past his mother’s evasions, Jacy uncovers a lineage he was never meant to know — and a bond with a stranger that feels inexplicably ancient. Never Alone explores chosen family, identity, and the first glimmers of an extraordinary gift.

This story takes place approximately three years before A Change of Worlds.

Author Bio:

Josh Aterovis is the award-winning author of multiple LGBTQ+ novels blending mystery, romance, suspense, and the supernatural, including seven novels and multiple short stories in the acclaimed Killian Kendall Mysteries series. His work explores themes of identity, chosen family, grief, healing, and queer resilience, often centering flawed but deeply human characters navigating extraordinary circumstances. Known for emotionally grounded storytelling and vivid atmosphere, Josh’s books have earned a devoted readership among fans of queer fiction and genre-bending narratives.

In addition to his work as a novelist, Josh is an immersive theater creator and producer with Submersive Productions in Baltimore, Maryland, where he develops original, site-specific experiences that blur the line between audience and performer. His storytelling across both page and stage is driven by a passion for creating meaningful, transformative experiences that invite audiences to connect, reflect, and imagine new possibilities.

Chapter 1

Sometimes, I lie awake at night thinking about how our lives are shaped by external forces beyond our control. I don’t just mean the big things. Sure, a comet crashing to earth obviously causes an extinction level event. But often, it’s more like the rivers that carved the Grand Canyon — a series of little, seemingly unrelated events that come together to alter the course of your life.

Those individual points might be hard to recognize at the time. Things that seem unimportant in the moment might gain significance only in retrospect.

Other times, there’s no mistaking a life-altering incident. You know as it’s happening that things will never be the same.

And sometimes, circumstances out of your control and specific decisions combine to create a cataclysmic event.

I was sixteen years old when my cataclysmic event occurred.

It was also a series of seemingly unrelated events...but they were all building toward one thing. I just didn't know it at the time.

The first incident came on a Saturday afternoon in September, when summer refused to loosen its grip on Maryland. The heat was thick and heavy, the kind that made the air shimmer above the pavement and drove people indoors to huddle by their air conditioners, curtains pulled tight against the glare.

I was stuck behind the counter of Scoops, a local ice cream parlor that happened to thrive on this kind of misery. The place had been buzzing all day with sweaty families wrangling sticky-fingered toddlers, teenagers on awkward dates, and parents bribing their kids with sprinkles just to keep them from melting down. By mid-afternoon, the crowd had thinned enough that I could actually hear the hum of the freezer cases. My manager had vanished into the cramped back office to tackle inventory, leaving me to man the counter alone.

That was when the door swung open, a bell chiming above it, and two teens wandered inside. I recognized the girl immediately — she was in a couple of my classes, though for the life of me, her name slipped my mind. She was striking, in that polished, put-together way that made her impossible not to notice. Her skin was smooth and dark, her curls pulled back with a scarf patterned in jewel tones.

She pushed a pair of oversized sunglasses up on top of her head. Her style was always impeccable, even in the swampy heat — short cut-off jeans showed off her long legs, a plaid sleeveless top tucked in just so, and sneakers that somehow managed to look brand-new despite actually being vintage. She had this aura of confidence, almost too much for high school, and a reputation to match. Her sharp tongue could cut like a razor when she was bored or unimpressed, and most people tried to stay on her good side because of it.

She looked out of place in the ice cream parlor — the squeaky-clean linoleum, the humming coolers, the faint perfume of waffle cones drifting through the air — but it was the boy trailing a step behind her who really caught my attention.

He looked like he’d stepped out of some sun-drenched ad campaign. He was tall but he moved with a dancer's grace, his dark hair falling in waves that looked almost too deliberately tousled to be natural, and beneath the heavy fringe of impossibly long lashes his deep brown eyes gave him an intensity that struck me immediately as both alluring and a little dangerous.

His shorts were cut scandalously high, even shorter than the ones the girl wore, and they revealed legs that were not only long and lean but also tanned to a warm golden brown that suggested hours spent outdoors. A loose tank top clung to his broad shoulders, showing off the lean muscle in his arms, toned without being bulky, and the merest hint of the side of his pecs — with an occasional flash of a brown nipple.

I was certain I’d never seen him before. Someone like that didn’t just fade into the background. If he’d walked the halls of my school, I would have remembered.

For reasons I couldn’t explain, I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away from him as they moved toward the counter. My pulse picked up, a mix of curiosity and something sharper, something I didn’t want to name.

Thankfully, neither of them looked my way. They were too wrapped up in their own world, voices low and clipped, locked in some private argument that made the air between them buzz like static.

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal,” the girl was saying.

“All I said was that I didn’t want to meet him,” he snapped back. “You’re the one making a big deal out of this.”

“Two chocolate chip cookie dough shakes,” she ordered, still without looking in my direction. “Why don’t you want to meet him?” she demanded.

As I scooped the ice cream, I continued to shamelessly eavesdrop. Hey, if you’re going to have a loud argument in a public place you should expect to be overheard.

“Why do I have to give you a reason?”

“Because I’m your best friend. You owe me that at least.”

“I don’t own anybody anything, Jazz. You should have never told him I would go out with him without at least talking to me first.”

Him calling her Jazz triggered my memory. Her name was Jasmine.

“But I did," she said. "And now I look like a damn fool.”

“God, don’t be such a drama queen.”

“I’m the drama queen? If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black! I just don’t understand. He’s such a nice guy.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t a nice guy.”

“Then why won’t you go out with him?”

“Because I don't want to. Can we just drop this? Please?”

They lapsed into an uneasy silence. Since there was no melodrama to eavesdrop on, I seized the chance to start blending the milkshakes. The roar of the machine filled the room while I thought about their conversation. It sounded like she was trying to set him up with somebody. A guy.

Which meant…he was probably gay. Or bi.

Which meant I had a chance.

In my dreams.

I’d known I was gay for a while now — or, at least, I was mostly sure. Definitely more interested in guys than girls, though it was all theoretical. Even at sixteen, my aunt still thought I was too young to date, and even if she hadn't forbidden it, who would I have dated?

I’d never so much as hinted about my sexuality to anyone. Especially not to my aunt who'd taken in my brother and I when our parents died in a motorcycle accident when I was six and my brother was four. She wore her religion like armor. Definitely not the kids in my church youth group, who’d have quoted scripture at me until I drowned in shame or died from boredom. And not to anyone at school, where I drifted along the edges of things with no close friends.

The blender rattled to a stop, and for a second, the silence pressed in again. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder — and froze.

He was watching me. His gaze was direct, bold, lingering in a way that felt both curious and appraising, like he was sizing me up.

Heat rushed into my face, blooming hot across my cheeks. My head snapped forward so fast my neck twinged. I focused furiously on the very important and difficult task of pouring milkshakes as if my life depended on it. My heart thudded in my ears.

He probably knew I’d been listening. I wanted to sink through the floor, vanish behind the counter, anything to avoid facing him again.

But there was no escaping it. I had a job to do, and they were paying customers.

“It’s because he’s chubby, isn’t it?” Jasmine snapped just as I was turning around with their finished shakes.

The guy let out a long, beleaguered sigh. “Look, your cousin just isn't my type, okay?”

Then, as if flipping a switch, he turned his attention on me. His lips curled into a slow, smoldering smile that made my knees feel like they’d forgotten how to function.

“But you are,” he said, his voice low and deliberate.

His eyes locked onto mine, holding me captive for a charged beat before they drifted downward to my nametag. He took his time reading it, then looked back up, grin widening.

“Hi, Jacy,” he said, savoring my name. “You’re delicious.”

If I hadn’t set their cups down already, I’m pretty sure I would have dropped them. My brain had sputtered to a stop, and I couldn’t seem to remember what came next. I looked around, but he was definitely talking to me. I mean, my name was Jacy, after all.

I’d never really given much thought to how other people perceived me. Objectively, I knew I wasn’t ugly, but I’d always assumed I was invisible, or at least forgettable. I was the Native kid in the off-brand clothes from that poor family. Thin bordering on skinny, average height, black hair falling to my shoulders, with dark eyes and high cheekbones.

Michael, my younger brother, liked to say I looked like a walking stereotype. We were Native American — or Indigenous, as I preferred. My mom was Mocatan and Dad was Nanticoke, both tribes local to the Eastern Shore of Maryland, though we hadn't been raised in the culture...at least not since my parents died.

But this stranger, this impossibly hot guy, was telling me I was delicious. Was he just messing with me?

I stood there, frozen and stupid, until Jasmine finally knocked sharply on the counter, her eyes narrowing.

“How much do we owe you?” she asked, speaking slowly, almost as if she were addressing an especially dim child.

I snapped back to reality and fumbled through ringing them up, my hands shaking so badly I almost pressed the wrong buttons.

“I’ll get it,” the guy said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slim, designer wallet.

He counted out some bills and handed them over, his fingers scraping slowly over my palm as he did. The touch lingered just long enough to make my heart stutter.

That same slow, confident smile returned. “Keep the change.”

“I don’t know why you do that,” Jasmine hissed as they turned toward the door.

“Do what?” he asked innocently, shooting me one last glance over his shoulder.

“Mess with poor boys’ heads like that,” she grumbled.

“Don’t start,” he said, a warning in his voice, but there was a spark of amusement there too. "You're just mad I won't take Jayden on a pity date."

The door closed, cutting off the rest of their bickering. I watched them leave, my stomach twisting and my mind spinning. My pulse hadn’t slowed, and I felt the lingering heat of his attention on my skin. I was rattled, shaken, and maybe just a little thrilled.

Someone else stepped up to the counter, and I mechanically took their order, but my eyes never left the two of them as they walked across the parking lot.

I turned to scoop some butter pecan, trying to force my mind to focus, when a sudden prickling ran down my spine. My instincts screamed, and I spun back around.

Jasmine had stopped walking, and the boy was slowly backing away from her, gesturing angrily with one hand. My stomach dropped as I realized he hadn’t noticed the curb behind him.

Time seemed to stretch. The next moment, he stumbled into the road just as a bright red car going far too fast came barrelling toward him.

I watched in frozen horror as the car hit him at full speed. He was thrown into the air like a rag doll. For a horrifying second, I imagined the sickening thud as his body slammed to the pavement, unmoving.

A strangled scream tore from my throat, and the ice cream scoop slipped from my hands, clattering across the floor. My pulse was racing, my breath caught in my chest.

The customers at the counter stared at me with alarm, but they didn't even react to the accident just outside. How had no one else noticed? How was this happening right in front of me?

I leaped over the counter, bursting out into the sweltering heat. My feet skidded on the asphalt as I came to a halt. They were both there, standing in the middle of the parking lot, still arguing.

Had I hallucinated the entire horrifying scene?

I rubbed my eyes, heart pounding, trying to make sense of it. But when my hands fell, the same scene was repeating. He was backing away, gesturing angrily, the curb looming.

A chill ran over my entire body, hair standing on end.

“Hey!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “Watch out!”

He stopped mid-step, both of them turning toward me. The red car flew by harmlessly behind him, missing him by mere inches, but my mind barely registered the vehicle. My eyes were locked on his.

“What?” Jasmine demanded, irritation clear in her voice.

I stammered, floundering for words. “I…you…be…careful?”

My cheeks burned, and I felt dizzy with embarrassment.

He raised one eyebrow, a slow, sultry smile curling his lips. “I think I know how to cross the street,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “But thanks for the reminder...daddy.”

My face went hot enough to feel it through my scalp. I’d never been so mortified in my life.

He continued watching me, that same infuriating smirk in place. “If that was your attempt at flirting, you might want to work on your technique. Not saying it’s not working...just that there’s definitely room for improvement.”

I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Great. Now he thought I was an idiot. Maybe I was. I still couldn’t figure out what had just happened.

Without a word, I spun on my heel and stormed back inside, ignoring the very confused and annoyed customers.

I couldn't ignore my manager, however. She was waiting for me behind the counter, arms folded, eyes narrowed. “What was that about?”

“I...” The word caught in my throat. Once again, I had nothing.

What was I supposed to say? That I’d just had some kind of freak psychic vision where I saw a guy get mowed down by a car so I bolted outside to stop it from happening? Even I didn’t believe it, so why would she?

“I thought I was going to be sick,” I blurted finally.

And honestly, it wasn’t far from the truth. My stomach was still rolling.

Her expression softened. I must’ve looked as bad as I felt, because instead of arguing, she pressed the back of her hand to my forehead. “You are clammy. Maybe you should just go home for the day, get some rest.”

Relief swept through me. I nodded quickly, tugged off my apron, and handed it over. “Thanks.”

“Drink some water,” she called as I escaped out the door, but I barely heard her.

“What are you doing home early?” Aunt Daisy’s sharp voice met me the second I came through the back door.

I sighed. Aunt Daisy wasn’t cruel, just...brusque. Efficient. Not the kind of motherly figure who fussed over you when you were sick. Life had made her that way. When my parents were killed in a car accident, struck by a drunk driver, she'd taken us in, even though she and Uncle Harley already had four kids. Then my uncle died of lung cancer after a long, painful struggle, leaving her a single parent raising six kids alone on just a teacher's salary.

Yeah, maybe she was strict, but that was how she kept us in line. Her rules didn't really bother me that much anyway, but then again, I rarely got in trouble. Michael claimed I was the “good” one, but our cousins were all pretty well-behaved too. Michael was the only rebellious child, which meant he got the brunt of the punishment.

“I felt sick at work, so they sent me home,” I explained.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious as always. “Then you’d better go up to your room,” she said briskly. “I don’t want some virus spreading through the house.”

I didn’t argue. Alone time sounded like exactly what I needed. I trudged upstairs and closed my bedroom door behind me with more relief than guilt.

Being the oldest had its perks. I was the only one with their own room. Michael, fourteen, shared one small bedroom with our cousin Raphael, fifteen, while the three girls — thirteen-year-old twins Gabrielle and Ariel, and Dina at ten — were crammed into another. My space felt like a sanctuary by comparison.

I collapsed face-first onto my bed and finally let myself replay what had happened at work, trying to make some sense of it.

Except there was no making sense of it. I hadn’t seen the future. That wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

And yet...

Something had happened. I’d felt it — the hair rising on the back of my neck, the way time seemed to fracture for just a second. That wasn’t imagination.

Maybe my brain was just imagining possibilities, like when you picture dropping a glass before you actually do. Maybe it was a coincidence that a red car had shown up at the exact moment. That had to be it.

I told myself that over and over until I almost believed it.

It didn’t matter anyway. I’d never spoken to Jasmine before, and chances were slim I’d ever see him again.

That thought left an unexpected ache in my chest.

Not that it mattered either way. Even if I were allowed to date — which I wasn’t — there was no universe in which I could date a guy. Aunt Daisy would absolutely lose it.

While they'd always been religious, after Uncle Harley died, she’d thrown herself headfirst into being a born-again Christian. Now church was our second home. We were there three times a week, no excuses. Michael fought her on it every single time, but she always dragged him along.

For my cousins, church was just the air they breathed. But Michael and I remembered before. We remembered powwows with Mom and Dad, the pride in their faces when they told us our culture mattered. Dad had been a champion dancer when he was younger, before we were born, and he’d wanted us to grow up knowing who we were.

All that had ended with them.

Aunt Daisy had found comfort in religion. Michael rejected it. And me? I just...kept my head down. I’d never been one to rock the boat.

I dozed off thinking about Jasmine's hot friend and didn’t wake up until someone tapped on my door.

“Huh?” I grunted groggily.

The door opened, and Michael stuck his head in. “Daisy wanted me to see if you want dinner.”

Michael often called our aunt by just her first name when she wasn't around. They had a strained relationship most of the time. She'd overheard him once and grounded him for a week for being disrespectful. It hadn't fazed him in the least.

I blinked at him for a second before his words sank in. “Yeah, I guess,” I said, sitting up.

He pushed the door open and came in with a plate piled with food. “Thought you might, so I made you a plate,” he said with a grin.

“I can’t eat all that,” I protested.

His grin grew wider as he held up two forks. “I know. I’ll help.”

I laughed. He was at that age where his stomach was basically a bottomless pit. He could pack away ridiculous amounts of food and still look around for more.

“She still doesn’t want me around the rest of the family?” I asked as he climbed onto the bed with me.

“Nope. As far as she's concerned, you're patient zero and she’s not taking any risks. Apparently, I’m an acceptable loss.”

I laughed again. Aunt Daisy and Michael were always butting heads. It wasn’t that he was a bad kid, just stubborn, determined to do things his own way. I kind of admired that about him, even if he was my little brother. I only wished I had the guts to stand up to bullies the way he did.

“So,” he said with a mouthful of chicken, “are you really sick or did you just want to get out of work early?”

I chewed my food while I considered my answer. Michael was probably my closest friend, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to tell anyone about what had happened. I swallowed and decided to stick to the truth but avoid the details.

“I’m not sick like the flu or something, but I had some sort of...episode. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just said I don’t know.”

“I mean, like, did you have a seizure or something? A fainting spell?”

I raised my eyebrows. “A fainting spell? I’m not a Victorian lady, Michael.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re avoiding my questions. What happened? Did you get diarrhea and shit your pants?”

I spit a mouthful of chewed peas everywhere. “No!”

“Pop a boner in front of a crush?”

“Michael! No! Nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

“I just... I don’t know. It was weird. I thought something happened. Like, I thought I saw something happen, but then it didn’t actually happen, but then it almost did happen.”

Michael stared at me like I was speaking Hungarian. “What the hell are you even saying?”

I laughed again. “I don’t know. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

He stared at me for a few moments, then shrugged. “Whatever. Are you going to eat that mac and cheese?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, okay! Don’t get your panties in a twist, Nostradamus. But I get the last piece of chicken.”

It was several days later when the next life-altering event took place. Funny how something so huge can sneak in under the disguise of ordinary. At the time, it couldn’t have seemed less significant. Just another school assignment: Research your family history and write a ten-page paper about your findings. We were supposed to interview older relatives, track down names, stories, and traditions — build a family tree that stretched back as far as possible.

Piece of cake, right? Yeah, I thought so too.

My first stop turned out to be like hitting a brick wall.

“Hey, Aunt Daisy,” I said as she stood at the kitchen counter, dredging pork chops through flour and dropping them into an egg wash. “Do you know much about Dad’s family?”

Her hands stilled for half a second before resuming their rhythm. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I know his parents died before I was even born, but what about the rest of them? Siblings? His grandparents...anybody?”

She shook her head. “No, I don't think he had much family by the time Rose met him. He was an only child. I think there was a great-aunt somewhere. Never met her. She’s gone now, I’m sure.”

“No cousins or anything?”

“Not that I know of.”

So much for that side of the tree. I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Okay...well, what about your family?”

“What about them? You know Grandma. You remember Grandpa. And you’ve met my sisters.”

The sisters were legendary in our family, more for their feuds than the flowers they were named after — Daisy, Violet, Rose, Lily, and Iris. Mom had been squarely in the middle, and the peacebroker of the bunch. Without her, the surviving sisters barely spoke except at Christmas dinners, weddings, or funerals. And they still managed to argue every time.

“Yeah, I know about them,” I said, pushing. “But what about your grandparents?”

“What about them?”

I blinked at her. “Who were they? What were they like? What were their names?”

"Grandma Allen's parents were Gene and Margaret Prior. They were good people. Farmers."

I jotted that down. It was something at least.

"And what about Grandpa Allen's parents?"

Her jaw tightened. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't know."

"You never met them?"

"No."

"Did they die when you were little?"

She slammed the tongs down a little too hard on the counter. “What’s with all these questions?”

“It’s for a school project,” I explained, trying to keep my tone light. “We have to go back as many generations as possible.”

“Well, you’ve gone back as far as you can.”

"But—"

"Jacy, I'm trying to make dinner. Leave the past in the past. Just do the best you can."

That tone meant the subject was closed. Permanently.

I tried one last desperate angle. “But what about my grade on this project?”

For a moment she said nothing, just pressed breadcrumbs into the pork with more force than necessary. Then she exhaled sharply through her nose. “They can’t fail you if you just don’t know.”

But I did know — at least enough to read the truth in her hesitation. She knew something. She just wasn’t going to tell me.

My curiosity, already awake, flared into something sharper. If she was hiding it this hard, it had to matter.

I wanted to keep digging, but I also knew better. With Aunt Daisy, pushing too far only made her dig in deeper. For now, I let it drop. Out loud, anyway.

Inside, though, the questions were only multiplying.

I turned to find Michael leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and a mischievous gleam in his eyes. I knew that look all too well. It was the same one he’d worn when he convinced me we could raise money for a game console Aunt Daisy said we couldn't afford by selling our cousins' toys in a “yard sale.” We had a table set up on the front lawn before she even noticed. We were both grounded for a month.

Or the time he talked me into skipping youth group to hang out at the mall instead. That stunt had cost us two months.

So yeah — nothing good ever came from that look.

“What?” I asked warily.

He flicked his gaze toward Aunt Daisy, then back to me, and shook his head with exaggerated innocence. “Nothing.”

I rolled my eyes and squeezed past him. Naturally, he followed me into my room and shut the door behind us.

“Why wouldn’t she tell you about her family?” he asked, lowering his voice like we were plotting a heist. “That was weird, right?”

“Yeah. It was,” I admitted.

He rubbed his hands together like a cartoon villain. “Then we need to go over her head.”

“Huh?”

“She’s hiding something. But you know who else would know? Grandma.”

I groaned. “Michael, every time I go along with one of your schemes, I get in trouble.”

He grinned, unabashed. “But we always have fun, right? And besides, just don’t let her find out.”

“She always finds out.”

“Not always. She has no idea I hang out with David.”

That gave me pause. David was Aunt Violet’s youngest son — same age as Michael — and the two of them went to school together.

“I didn’t even know you hung out with David,” I said.

“See? It can be done.”

I chewed my lip. “What if Grandma tells her?”

Michael sighed dramatically, like I was the slowest student in class. “Has Grandma ever narced on us? Ever?”

“Well, no...”

“Not even that time she caught us shoplifting candy from the convenience store.”

“Caught you shoplifting candy,” I corrected.

He smirked. “Details. Point is, she still didn’t tell on me.”

“I don’t know…” I hedged. The truth was, he was wearing me down and he knew it.

“Look,” he said, eyes gleaming with triumph in sight, “do you want to learn the truth or not? Don’t you want to know what the big family secret is?”

“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll talk to her.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have at least an hour before dinner. That’s plenty of time.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Because I know you,” he said, poking me in the shoulder. “If you’ve got too much time to think, you’ll talk yourself out of it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“Jeez. Okay. I’m going.”

His grin spread ear to ear. He knew he’d won.

He trailed after me as I headed for the garage, as if he was afraid I’d chicken out if he didn’t watch me every step of the way.

“I’m going out for a ride,” I called to Aunt Daisy. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“You’d better be. We’re not waiting for you.” She still sounded peeved. I knew it wasn’t an idle warning.

In the garage, I pulled the tarp off my pride and joy — Dad’s old Honda CB250. The black paint still gleamed like new, though the bike was nearly an antique. Some of my happiest memories were of clinging to his back on winding roads, the roar of the engine drowning out everything but the thrill of being with him. After he died, I'd inherited it but it sat in a corner of the garage like a ghost, until I finally convinced Aunt Daisy to let me claim it at fifteen.

I couldn't even drive it then, and it didn't run even if I could have, but I taught myself how to bring it back from the dead, one busted gasket and YouTube tutorial at a time. By sixteen, I had my license — and a motorcycle that represented more than just a tiny glimmer of freedom.

“Okay, I’ll let you know what I find out after dinner,” I told Michael as I buckled my helmet.

“You’d better,” was all he said as he turned and went back inside.

I drove myself over to Grandma’s house. She was your typical grandmother type, complete with wrinkles and shoulder length white hair. I’ve always thought she was quite beautiful. She carried herself with a kind of elegant grace. She lived alone in a small well-kept house on a quiet tree-lined street. Grandpa had died a few years ago from a heart attack.

“Jacy! What are you doing here?” she asked when she answered the door.

“I had some questions I wanted to ask you for a school project.”

“Little old me?”

She ushered me inside, and we sank into a big, comfortable couch in her tidy living room. The whole house radiated an easy warmth, a quiet sense of peace that always seemed to settle over me as soon as I stepped through the door.

“What’s this all about?” she asked after we were seated.

“We have to create a family tree going back several generations, and I was hoping you could help me fill in the blanks.”

A shadow fell over Grandma’s face and her expression became more guarded. “What blanks?”

“Well…all of them, to be honest.”

“What has Daisy told you?” she asked delicately.

“Almost nothing,” I answered. “She told me the names of your parents, but then clammed up when I asked about Grandpa Allen's parents. She said I should leave the past in the past.”

Grandma sighed. “That sounds like her. She never could seem to understand that we have to learn from the past to avoid making the same mistakes in the future.” She reached over and patted my hand. “I’d like to tell you the things you want to know, but your aunt and I have struggled with our relationship over the years. We’ve found a sort of peace in recent years, and I’d hate to do anything to upset that.”

I nodded, but my face must have betrayed my disappointment.

“However,” she said with a small smile. “I know someone who wouldn’t hesitate a second to go behind her back.”

I raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Why don’t you talk to Lily?”

I blinked in surprise. Aunt Lily was the youngest sister, and to say she and Aunt Daisy didn’t get along would be putting it mildly. Out of all her sisters, Aunt Daisy seemed to especially dislike Lily — and the feeling was mutual. I never knew why. At family gatherings, they went out of their way to avoid each other, their hostility humming just beneath the surface. It wasn’t the usual sibling rivalry. It felt heavier, sharper, like there was some weird history between them no one wanted to talk about.

“She could help me?”

“She’s done a lot of genealogy work. She probably knows the family better than I do.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Why would you? She and your aunt are like oil and vinegar. Always have been, but it definitely got worse after…” She stopped short, then asked, “Do you know where she lives?”

I knew what she hadn’t said — after my parents died. Everything had gotten worse then. Mom's absence was still a raw wound in the family, a hollow space they all carried and rarely acknowledged aloud.

“No, I’ve never been to her house.”

She stood up and left the room for a minute. When she returned, she was carrying a small notepad and a pen. She sat back down and began to write. After a few seconds, she ripped off the page and handed it to me. I looked down to find detailed directions to Aunt Lily’s house.

“You could have just given me the address,” I said. “You know I have GPS on my phone, right?”

Grandma shook her head. “You kids and your gadgets these days. You rely on them too much. What would you do if you lost it? You couldn’t find your own backside without that thing telling you where to go.”

I barked out a surprise laugh. “Well, thanks.”

“Do you think you’ll go today?” Grandma asked.

“Probably not,” I told her. “I need to get home for dinner.”

“But you will go see her?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Good. I don’t like how Daisy has cut you off from your family. It’s time for you to reconnect with your heritage.”

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Lily will tell you what you need to know. What you do with it is up to you. Now, you should probably get going so you won’t be late for supper.”

“But, Grandma—”

She gave me a look that I’d seen many times from Aunt Daisy, and my protest died in my throat.

“Okay. Thank you again for Lily’s address.”

“You’re welcome. Just don’t let your aunt find it. She’d recognize my handwriting and I’d never hear the end of it.”

It was Friday after school before I managed to get to Aunt Lily’s house. Grandma’s directions turned out to be quite easy to follow. Lily lived in the country in a big two-story white farmhouse. She had a huge lawn with towering pecan trees scattered around. As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed a large barn in back.

I was out of the car and halfway to the front door when a large, wooly white bear came barreling around the corner. At least that’s what I thought when I first saw it. I quickly realized it was just an enormous shaggy dog, but I wasn’t sure if that was any better.

I froze in place, trying to remember the advice for dealing with dogs. Did you stand your ground or run for safety? I seemed to remember something about making yourself look bigger, but that was going to be a tall order since this creature looked like he outweighed me by at least thirty pounds.

When he caught sight of me, the colossal canine came to a shuddering halt. He eyed me uncertainly from beneath a heavy fringe of hair for a few moments. He must have concluded that I was no threat however, because his entire rump — he didn’t seem to have a tail — started to wiggle back and forth as he lumbered over to me, mouth agape in a friendly doggy grin. I rubbed his head and was surprised to find that his fur was quite soft.

“I see you’ve met Elmo,” a voice said, causing me to jump.

I looked up to find Aunt Lily watching us with a crooked smile. Looking at her, it was hard to believe she was related to Aunt Daisy. Lily had this effortless cool about her. She was in her thirties, with long straight dark hair pulled back into a braid that hung almost to her waist. She was a little taller than me — even barefoot, as she was now — and wore a plain, white T-shirt and jeans streaked with what looked like mud mixed with splotches of paint.

At the sound of her voice, the dog — who was apparently named Elmo — amped up his wriggling, looking back and forth between us as if he couldn't decide who to smother in slobbery kisses.

As if she had read my mind, Aunt Lily continued, “Ironically, his name means ‘protector’, but your only worry with him is that he might lick you to death. He’d be the first to run and hide if you posed any real threat.”

By now she’d reached the two of us and she rubbed Elmo’s head affectionately. He beamed up at her with a look of total devotion.

“He’s gigantic,” I said. “What kind of dog is he?”

“Shh,” she said with a wink. “Don’t let him hear you call him a dog. He thinks he’s people. He’s an Old English Sheepdog.”

I’d stopped petting him, which apparently didn’t sit well with him since he suddenly butted me with his huge head, causing me to stumble.

Aunt Lily laughed. “He likes to be the center of attention. Come on back to my studio.”

She started back the way she’d come, and Elmo and I followed. It occurred to me that she didn’t seem the least bit surprised that I was here. I assumed Grandma must have let her know I’d be coming.

She led us to the old barn in the back yard. I was expecting to find a typical dusty barn, but as we stepped inside, I was surprised to find she’d completely remodeled it to be her studio. The space was open all the way to the rafters, where several expansive skylights had been installed, letting in lots of natural light. The floor was polished, poured concrete, and the walls had been covered with sheetrock. The whole place was air conditioned. A large potter’s wheel stood in the center of the room. A table nearby held an assortment of small metal tools that looked like a cross between dental instruments and torture devices. A counter built along the wall held several unglazed pots, a large lump of clay, and various bottles and jars. A shiny metal, barrel-shaped contraption stood against the back wall.

Aunt Lily followed my gaze. “That’s my kiln,” she said. “I was just about to start my last pot for the day. If you don’t mind, I’ll work while we talk.”

“That’s fine,” I said, looking around for somewhere to sit. I found a stool by the counter and brought it closer to the wheel.

Aunt Lily slammed the lump of clay into the center of the wheel and started it spinning. Elmo flopped down nearby and started snoring almost immediately.

“So talk,” she said as she dipped her hands in water and began to shape the clay with her fingers.

“I, uh, had a couple things I wanted to talk to you about,” I said nervously.

She glanced up at me. “Calm down, Jacy,” she said with amusement. “Contrary to what my sister has probably told you, I don’t bite.”

“Did Grandma…?”

“Warn me you were coming? Yes. She said you had some questions for me.”

I nodded. “About our family.”

“It must be pretty serious if you came to see me behind Daisy’s back.”

I filled her in on my school project and the way Aunt Daisy had avoided all my questions, how I’d gone to Grandma, and how Grandma had directed me here.

Aunt Lily shook her head. “Why does our family have to make everything so damn complicated.”

As I’d talked, a short, round pot had formed on the wheel under Aunt Lily’s hands.

She paused and looked up at me. “Have you ever been to a powwow?”

I blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Years ago, when Mom and Dad were alive. They used to take us every year.”

“But not since he died?”

I shook my head no.

She pursed her lips in a subconscious imitation of her mother. “Figures. It’s a part of your heritage, but I guess there’s no evidence Jesus went to a powwow, so Daisy wouldn’t care.”

I snorted.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be disrespectful if you’re also religious.”

“I’m…not. Not really.”

Lily cocked her head to one side and studied me. “Really?”

I shrugged.

“That surprised me."

"Why?"

She gave a little half shrug. "Michael strikes me more as the rebellious type."

"Oh yeah, he hates church. He and Aunt Daisy fight about it every week."

"But you’re not that into the whole church thing either?”

“I guess not.”

“You still go a lot.”

“We don't really have a choice.”

“That makes sense. But you don’t buy in?”

I was a little uncomfortable with this line of talk. I shifted nervously. “You could say that.”

“How come?”

I took a deep breath. “It just never seemed…real.”

“Real as compared to what?”

I was quiet for a second as I struggled to pull my thoughts together. This wasn't how I thought this conversation would go.

“I don't know. It's just...it's hard to believe in a god who would take our parents like that. And then watching Uncle Harley die. And Grandpa. It all feels...pointless. Cruel. I don't really want to worship something like that."

She nodded as if what I’d said made sense to her, which was good because I wasn’t sure what I was even saying.

Then, suddenly, she mushed the half-formed pot back into a pile of clay on the wheel.

I gasped. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I can work on this later. You are much more interesting.” She stood up and moved to an industrial sink, where she washed her hands.

I nervously cleared my throat. “With all due respect, Aunt Lily—”

“It’s Lily, not Aunt Lily,” she barked over her shoulder. “I’ve never been your aunt in any real familial sense and calling me that makes me feel old. Go on.”

I took a deep breath and started again. “I didn’t come here to talk about my religious beliefs, and as interesting as it is...or...isn’t, I don’t have much time before I need to get home for dinner.”

Lily laughed as she picked up a towel and dried her hands. “Direct and to the point. I think we’re more alike than your aunt would like to think. Fair enough. You’re here to learn about our family.”

“I know there’s something Aunt Daisy doesn’t want me to find out, but I feel like I have to know. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “I probably understand better than you think. I wasn’t sure I was going to tell you either, but now that you’re here and I’m getting to know you a little better, well, I think you deserve to know. More importantly, I think you’re ready to know.”

Suddenly, I felt nervous, as if something momentous was about to happen. “Know what?”

Lily paused. “Do you trust me?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

She laughed again. “That’ll have to do. You’re going to need to have a little patience with me. If you want to learn about your family, you need to start by understanding where we come from. You need to reconnect with your roots. The Mocatan powwow starts tomorrow. Can you get away to meet me there?”

“Where is it? And what time?” I asked, trying to keep up with her.

“It’s not far from here, at the state park. The opening ceremony is at ten in the morning, but it goes all day. What time can you meet me?”

“I get off work at three.”

“That’s perfect. Some of the crowd will have thinned out by then. Meet me there at three-thirty.”

“How will I find you?”

“It won’t be that hard, but I’ll probably be in the arts and crafts tent. I help run it. Does that work?”

I nodded.

“Great, then it’s settled. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Aunt…I mean, Lily, my paper is due in two weeks.”

“Right. It’ll be a crash course then. But, Jacy, this is a lot bigger than just a paper. Do you understand?”

I nodded and glanced at my phone. “Sure, but, uh, I need to go. I don’t want to be late for dinner and have to explain to Aunt Daisy where I’ve been.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Neither of us want that. Get going.”

“Yeah. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I stood up and shifted awkwardly, trying to decide how to say goodbye. Lily solved my dilemma by throwing her arms around me in a hug.

Elmo jumped up and tried to wriggle in between us. We both laughed.

“He can’t stand to be left out. See you tomorrow, Jacy,” she said with a smile.

Tomorrow. In just one day, I would begin learning about the part of my heritage that my aunt had decided not to teach me. Hopefully, I’d also learn the big secret everyone seemed to be determined to hide.

A feeling of anticipation was building inside me that I couldn’t explain. I had a hunch that something big was coming and nothing would be the same again once it arrived.

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