Chapter 2: The Sound of Brass<\/p>\n
On December 23rd, the Maine coastline was a portrait of hostile beauty. The sky was the color of bruised iron, and the ocean hurled itself against the rocky cliffs below the beach house with a violent, rhythmic booming. Inside, the house was dark, save for the flickering amber glow of the massive stone fireplace in the central living room.
\nI sat in Grandma Ruth\u2019s worn leather armchair, a thick wool blanket draped over my knees. Next to me, sipping black coffee from a thermos, sat Sheriff Callahan. He was a bear of a man, an old friend of my grandmother\u2019s, with a thick silver mustache and eyes that had seen every petty squabble and brutal tragedy this coastal town had to offer.
\n\u201cYou sure about this, Nora?\u201d Callahan asked, his voice a low rumble over the sound of the wind.
\n\u201cI\u2019ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Sheriff,\u201d I replied, my fingers tracing the edges of a thick, manila envelope resting in my lap.
\nBy noon, the crunch of heavy tires on the gravel driveway announced their arrival. I stood up, moving to the edge of the window, staying hidden behind the heavy velvet curtains.
\nFour pristine, luxury rental vans rolled into the driveway. The doors slid open, and the circus began. Out poured twenty-three relatives, decked in matching crimson cashmere sweaters, dragging designer suitcases, oversized coolers, and mountains of perfectly wrapped gifts. They moved with the swagger of conquering royalty returning to their winter palace.
\nAunt Patricia stepped out first, adjusting a fur-lined collar. She marched up the wooden steps to the expansive wrap-around porch.
\n\u201cNora!\u201d she sang out, her voice sharp and bright, attempting to pierce the heavy oak front door. \u201cOpen up, darling! It\u2019s freezing out here, and the caterers will be arriving with the tenderloin soon!\u201d
\nI didn\u2019t move. I didn\u2019t make a sound.
\nBeside me, Sheriff Callahan stood tall, his hand resting casually on his utility belt.
\nOutside, the fake cheer began to curdle. \u201cNora!\u201d my father barked, pounding a gloved fist against the wood. \u201cStop playing games. Open the door right now!\u201d
\nStill, I waited. I wanted to see how far they would go. I didn\u2019t have to wait long.
\nThrough the frosted glass of the door, I saw my cousin Blake\u2014a thirty-something real estate broker with slicked-back hair and a notorious temper\u2014push his way to the front. He was carrying a heavy canvas bag.
\n\u201cShe\u2019s probably asleep, the lazy cow,\u201d I heard Blake mutter, loud enough for the wood to barely muffle it. \u201cMove aside, Mom. I called a guy in town.\u201d
\nFrom the driveway, a smaller, unmarked truck pulled up. A man in Carhartt overalls stepped out, carrying a heavy-duty Makita drill.
\nThey hired a locksmith.
\nMy breath caught in my throat. They hadn\u2019t even waited five minutes. They hadn\u2019t tried to call my phone. They had preemptively hired a man to break into my home, assuming their sheer numbers and familial title gave them the divine right to shatter my locks.
\nSheriff Callahan\u2019s jaw tightened. \u201cWell,\u201d he whispered, a dangerous edge to his tone. \u201cThat changes things.\u201d
\nI listened to the metallic clack of the locksmith setting his drill bit against the antique brass lock of Grandma\u2019s door. The high-pitched whine of the motor spun up.
\nIt was time.
\nI stepped forward, gripped the heavy iron handle, and threw the door open just as the drill bit touched the metal.
\nThe locksmith jumped back in shock, dropping his tool. The entire family, gathered on the porch like a flock of expectant vultures, froze.
\n\u201cGood afternoon,\u201d I said, my voice eerily calm, carrying over the howling wind.
\nAunt Patricia\u2019s shocked expression instantly morphed back into a plastic smile. \u201cNora! Finally. We thought you were\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cI know what you thought,\u201d I cut her off. I stepped out onto the threshold. The freezing wind whipped my hair across my face, but I didn\u2019t flinch. \u201cYou thought you could drill through my front door because waiting in the cold was too inconvenient.\u201d
\nBlake sneered, stepping forward to shield the locksmith. \u201cCome on, Nora. Don\u2019t be dramatic. You weren\u2019t answering. We have perishables in the van. It\u2019s tradition.\u201d
\nI looked at the mountain of luggage, the expensive coolers, the children already running toward the fragile sand dunes, crushing the protected sea grass beneath their boots.
\n\u201cTradition,\u201d I echoed, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. \u201cTradition is just a ghost story you tell yourselves to justify taking something long enough to mistake it for ownership.\u201d
\nMom pushed her way to the front, her face pale beneath her heavy makeup. \u201cNora, sweetie, what is wrong with you? Let us in. We\u2019re your parents.\u201d
\n\u201cYou were my parents every Christmas you forgot to invite me, too,\u201d I said evenly. \u201cBut you didn\u2019t seem to need a locksmith to find me then.\u201d
\nMy father\u2019s face flushed a deep, angry purple. \u201cI will not stand on this porch and be lectured by an ungrateful child! Move out of the doorway.\u201d He took a menacing step forward, attempting to physically intimidate me into stepping aside.
\nThat was when Sheriff Callahan stepped out from the shadows of the hallway, towering over me, his badge catching the dull gray light of the winter sun.
\n\u201cI\u2019d suggest you hold your ground right there, David,\u201d Callahan rumbled.
\nThe sight of the uniform acted like a physical blow. The family physically recoiled.
\n\u201cYou called the cops on your own family?\u201d Lauren shrieked, clutching her designer handbag to her chest like a shield. \u201cAre you insane?\u201d
\n\u201cNo,\u201d Callahan answered for me. \u201cRuth did.\u201d
\nThe wind seemed to hold its breath as twenty-three pairs of eyes widened in terror.
\n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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