Standing in the center of the old carpentry shop, Kara Tanner turned around slowly to take it all in. Three stories of brick, slate, glass and iron would be her new home. The contractor she’d hired had converted the first floor into a living area with a large kitchen. Now that the upstairs loft had a full bath, the second floor would be her bedroom. Convincing the previous owner to sell the building to her, plus the cost of the renovations, had wiped out most of her inheritance and savings, but she owned it. As she let the reality sink in, a line from one of Van Gogh’s letters drifted through her thoughts. 

There is safety in the midst of danger.

The grunge lovers from her art college days would have adored the place. Bits of old whitewash still speckled the faded red brick walls. The scratches and scrapes that etched the gray slate floor reminded her of fern fossils. Although the building had stood empty for years, the air still smelled faintly of sawdust. Dust frosted the big windows, adding a hazy glow to the sunlight streaming in. Even with the noise of the movers carrying in the last boxes, the place seemed as quiet as a church. 

Not terrible, only terribly unfamiliar. 

To keep from second-guessing herself Kara had been focused only on moving. Packing up had taken a week, and driving from Chicago to Boston another long day. Since deciding to do this she’d stopped checking her messages and e-mail, as they only depressed her. All of her colleagues had been horrified by her sudden rush to leave town. 

Why Boston? It’s nothing but baked beans, clam chowder, and people who talk like thugs. 

You’re one of the hottest artists in Chicago right now. Who the hell knows you on the east coast?

Better find a shrink when you get there, sweetie, because you’ve lost your mind.

Now, standing there surrounded by everything she owned in boxes, Kara wondered if she had gone a bit crazy. To her Boston felt cramped and small, and she already hated its confusing maze of streets. Everything here seemed to be about sports, which didn’t interest her at all. Her hesitant Midwestern accent must sound as strange to the locals as their tough, quick way of speaking did to her. Yet she’d just trashed her entire life in order to keep her promise to her parents and come here.

Not that Mom or Dad would ever know.

“You need us to haul anything upstairs, lady?” the mover asked as she signed the receipt. “No extra charge.” 

Kara might not love Boston yet, but she suspected the people could be very charming. 

“That’s okay. I’m going to unpack down here.” She tucked a generous cash tip under the board clip before she handed it back to him. “You and your crew have lunch on me today.”

His grin lit up his blunt features. “Hey, thanks.” 

Once the movers left, Kara started working in the kitchen, where she put away the groceries she’d brought with her. It was time for dinner, but she had no appetite, so once that was done she carried a box of books upstairs.

The loft looked too big and empty with just her bed and side table. She’d need some lamps, and a big area rug to put over the slate floor to keep her feet from freezing on cold mornings. Across from the row of steel casement windows a large antique mirror bolted to the wall reflected the skyline. 

As soon as she saw it Kara froze.

Dust hadn’t dulled the glass, but age spots bloomed here and there beneath its surface like silvery lichen. The oak frame looked older than dirt, too. As she walked up to it she felt more alone than ever. Her father had been very superstitious about mirrors, so much so that the only one he allowed in their house was a small pedestal vanity in the bathroom. 

Humor him, Kara darling, her mother would say whenever she griped about it. Everyone has their quirks.

When was the last time she’d taken a good look at herself? Kara couldn’t remember. The mirror showed that her tan had faded completely, leaving her winter-pale. Weight loss had hollowed her cheeks, making her lips look poutier than ever. Her copper-brown hair had grown out so long it had no style left. 

“You look like hell,” she told her reflection.

As Kara stepped back she noticed the colors of the sky, which seemed more vivid than what she had seen outside, as if the mirror were promising a better day.

Would there be any more of those for her here? 

To keep from throwing another self-pity party Kara began unloading the book box. When she took out a heavy bundle wrapped in a shawl she hesitated, and then slowly untied the silk. Over time the massive journal’s leather covers had worn, and its pages had grown brittle. Handed down through every generation on her father’s side since they had come to America, it was her family’s most prized possession.

Kara wished she had burned the damn thing and stayed in Chicago. 

Was this going to be her life now? Could she really live up to her parents’ expectations? To keep her promise to them, she’d have to do more than scribble in an old book—a lot more.

If she even lived that long.

A sudden urge to throw the book at the mirror came over Kara, and she bowed her head. Ever since the day she’d gotten the phone call about her parents the dread in her heart had been growing. Now it twisted inside her like some wounded animal, trying to claw its way out. 

“I can’t do this. I can’t.”

Her voice echoed around her, the huge loft making it sound as small and cowardly as she felt. After buying this place she couldn’t afford to go back to Chicago. She’d also given her word that she would come here and do this; breaking it would be the same as spitting on their graves.

What would life be, Van Gogh’s letter whispered from her memory, if we hadn’t the courage to attempt anything?

Kara reached up to push her hair out of her eyes. One wide lock caught the light and glittered like spun silver in the mirror. She’d gone prematurely gray in high school, much to the amusement of her friends. Her father had the same tinsel-bright streak, and her mother had told her to be proud of it. 

The silver in your hair is what makes you and your father different from everyone else. None of those girls will ever understand how special you are.

“You were wrong, Mom.” Kara watched tears inch down her own cheeks. “I’m just the one with all the bad luck.”