Page 28 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

“Can you just keep an eye on things?” I say to Brian.

Bythings, I mean Charles, but I don’t specify.

“Yeah, sure. Where are the kids?” Brian asks.

I tell him Michael ran home to change his shirt, and then I point toward the stage where Beth and Lucas are.

“For crying out loud!” I groan.

My gaze swings to Nicole. “Damn it.”

“What?” Brian asks.

His eyes follow my finger first to Beth who is making out with her boyfriend in front of the whole damn town, and then to Nicole, who is seated at a picnic table, sipping a beer. I take a step forward, ready to march over and yell at both of them, but Brian stops me.

“I’ll take care of it, Laura.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, I throw my hands on my hips. “Those girls are going to send me to an early grave.”

“Now you know how your mother felt when you and I were that age and sneaking off, knocking boots, drinking beer down by the nature trail.” Brian waggles his eyebrows.

“Oh, stop. We weren’t that bad.”

He kisses my forehead and whispers, “I remember you being pretty bad.”

I giggle and smack my hand playfully against his chest. For a moment, it feels like we’re teenagers again. But I like what we have now more—the deep connection threaded through decades, children, a home, and a life we’ve built together. I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

“All right, time to put my stern father face on,” he says, forcing his expression to turn serious. Brian plods toward Nicole like he’s on a mission. He throws a silly look over his shoulder, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Here, Mom!” Michael yells.

Just as I turn around, a balled-up shirt is hurling in my direction, but I catch it before it hits my face.

“What’s this?”

“My extra shirt because you think I’m going to drop the water balloon too.” He rolls his eyes.

“I don’t think that, Michael. It’s just better to be prepared,” I say, unfolding the shirt and hanging it over my shoulder.

“Whatever.” He shrugs and runs away, heading toward the water balloon toss.

Observing the park again, my eyes stop on Charles. He flicks his cigarette butt and steps on it with his old dirty work boot, grinding it into the ground. The flapping butterflies are gone from my stomach, the ones that Brian always conjures up. In their place is a sinking feeling, a warning that something bad is about to happen. I know this because I’ve felt it before...

SIXTEEN

BETH

The house is eerily quiet as I slide out of bed and slip into a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. I don’t think I slept more than a few hours last night. And even when I did, I dreamed of Mom and Dad, and those dreams quickly morphed into nightmares I couldn’t wake from. The white envelope on the nightstand catches my eye, the one with my name scrawled across it in Mom’s handwriting. I want to open it, find out what she had to say, but I can’t. The lawyer’s words return to me,You should always respect the wishes of the dead.And so, I will.We’ll spread her ashes around the property the day after tomorrow, and I’ll read it then.

The silver key sits beside the envelope, glinting when the light from the bedside table lamp catches it. There were no rules or last wishes surrounding the lockbox. I could open that at any time but I’m afraid of what I’ll find. I’m worried, too, about keeping our family’s dark secret. It feels a little easier today, which is concerning. Yesterday I thought I’d spew it all over the place like projectile vomit. Today it’s more like heartburn, crawling up my esophagus. Maybe tomorrow it’ll sit in my stomach, heavy, like overprocessed food that refuses to be digested.

The front door slams, startling me, and then it’s quiet again. I’m sure it’s Michael leaving to run errands or to get some work done at a café. I heard Nicole come out of her room sometime in the middle of the night. She rifled through some boxes and cupboards in the kitchen. I’m not sure what she was searching for, but hopefully she didn’t steal anything.

I retrieve the key from the bedside table, holding it in front of my eyes, examining it closely, and considering what to do with it. When I can’t decide, I slide it between the mattress and the box spring, hiding it not only from myself but also from my siblings. You can never be too careful. It was something my mother used to say, though I’m beginning to think she hadn’t followed her own advice.

Out in the kitchen, I pour myself a cup of coffee. Michael made it and, once again, it’s too strong, coating my tongue like a thick oil. I don’t how he could possibly enjoy it. I glance at the clock on the wall, noting the time. Lucas will be here soon, and I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it. I want to be around him, but I don’t know if I can be, not really. Physically, yes. Mentally, I am somewhere else entirely, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get back to... here.

The rising sun seeps through the window in the living room, bathing the stacks of boxes with a warm glow. They’re spread out all over the floor, some empty, some open, some still sealed. We got through about a third of them, but none of the contents gave us any further insight as to what happened the night of June 15, 1999—exceptthattape. It sits on top of the VHS/DVD player, exposed and out in the open. Anyone could walk in, pop it into the player, and see a buried truth. I consider hiding it or stowing it away, but I don’t have the energy to hide anything else, and maybe I want someone to see it. This secret feels almost too heavy for the three of us to shoulder.

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