Page 47 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

I return the nod, but not the smile, and walk in step with him. Dad used to keep it cut short. But now the grass comes up past my knees. Lucas and I used to race each other from one fence to the other. I was faster than him until sophomore year of high school, but even then, he’d still let me win, pretending to trip and fall just before he reached the finish line. No matter what I was going through, whether I was feeling on top of the world or hitting rock bottom, Lucas always made me feel like I was a winner.

We trudge through the unmaintained land carefully, watching out for holes that gophers and groundhogs have burrowed in. The grass rustles against our pants as we leave the field and enter a wide path that cuts through the woods. To the left, it’s thick and dark with a smattering of smaller trees fighting with one another for space and nutrients. To the right, the trees are spread out, larger with robust trunks and sprawling roots, demanding ample room around them.

Before we reach the creek, I can hear it. It burbles along its bed and trickles around the trees and branches that have succumbed to it. Finally, we’re standing at the bank of the stream that severs my parents’ land. The water is brown. It sounds prettier than it looks. Across the creek, several weeping willows lean into it while their long, graceful branches graze over the babbling water. The only way to get to the other side is by crossing the stream or walking up the steep side of Highway X and taking the bridge across.

Lucas stands beside me, feet shoulder width apart, chin slightly lifted, hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. I scan the creek until my eyes lock onto the arch of the highway underpass. The water under the bridge is shallow, causing the creek to narrow and create a bed of sludge. I blink and I see her there, covered in blood and mud. Clouded eyes that see no future. Her skin pale and cold. I wonder what they did with her. Where is Emma now? I blink again, and she’s gone.

Lucas rests a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

I shake my head and say, “Yeah.” He doesn’t notice my body tells the truth while my mouth lies.

“Thought I lost you there.”

“No, I’m still here.” I avert my gaze because I can barely look at him.

“Good,” he says. “Because I miss this,” he adds with a faint smile.

My eyes find their way back to him like magnets to metal. “Miss what?”

“Us.”

My body speaks before my brain can shut it down and say it’s not a good idea. My arms snake around his neck, and my hands settle on his back. He pulls me into him. Although I haven’t kissed him in decades, when our lips touch it feels like everything I’ve ever lost has been safely returned home. It starts off slow and soft and warm. When the pressure builds, our tongues take over, flicking and swirling around one another. My teeth sink into his fleshy lip. I can’t get enough, and I wonder how I ever let him go to begin with. It feels like a first kiss or a final one. But I fear it might be the latter, thanks to the deadly secret sewn to my heart. I want to tell him but if I do, I think it’ll destroy us again and this time, I won’t survive it.

TWENTY-FIVE

LAURA

JUNE 16, 1999

I didn’t sleep last night. How could I? How could I close my eyes and fall into a dream knowing what I had done? Within a matter of hours, I went from consoling Susan and telling her we’d find Emma, that her daughter would return to her, to knowing she never would. Brian lays beside me, under the covers, sleeping on and off. He won’t tell me what happened. He said he wasn’t even sure what all happened yet. He said he needed to know more before he could tell me. Then he said the less I knew, the better. I don’t believe it, and I don’t think I can live with a half-truth. A half-truth is just a whole lie.

Brian told me we had to get rid of Emma’s body. That there was no other way. Telling the police would destroy us. He swears he didn’t do anything, that he hadn’t harmed her. That he never would. But why not just go to the police then? I asked him that same question a dozen-plus times. And each time I asked, the words became quieter, losing their conviction. Finally, I went along with it. I’m not sure why I did. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe I feared discovering what my husband is capable of. Or maybe I care for him too much. So, I went through the motions. I had to hide one thing or lose everything. By the time we were done, it was the wee hours of the morning, three a.m. or so. No one’s awake at that time unless you work third shift or you’re up to no good.

I glance over at the clock on my nightstand. The numbers are bold and red as they should be. Life is a countdown, but it doesn’t end at zero. Sometimes the destination is twelve, like Emma; or forty, like my father; or fifteen, like my sister.

It’s a little after nine in the morning. Footsteps clamor through the house, so I know the kids are up. It should just be a normal Sunday. But it’s not, and I don’t think I’ll ever have a normal day again. Brian shifts, turning over from one side to the other, facing me now. I crane my neck toward him. His eyes are closed, sleep gathering at the corners of them. He’s rested somewhat well, and I don’t know how he managed that. We’ve been married for sixteen years, and I thought we knew everything about one another. Now, I’m not so sure. The man I fell in love with would never ask me to help him get rid of a body, and I never thought I’d agree to a request like that. But my family is too important to me, and if I lost Brian, it would all fall apart.

“Mom,” Beth calls from the other side of our bedroom door.

Brian stirs. His eyes shoot open. They’re green with yellow flecks. I used to get lost in them, but now I’m just lost.

“Hey.” His voice is hoarse, just above a whisper. His large hand emerges from beneath the covers, finding mine. He holds it, squeezing three times. It meansI love you. I don’t squeeze back. Not because I don’t love him but because I don’t love him in this moment. I stare into those eyes, wondering what they witnessed. What did they see that backed him into a corner where the only thing he could do was the wrong thing? Or his hand, the one that mine is engulfed in. What did it do?

“Are you okay?” he asks.

He knows the answer, but he wants me to lie to him, and I can’t do that right now.

“I don’t know what I am,” I say.

“Laura, we did what we had to do.”

That’s what he keeps saying.

Yesterday I saw him as the man I fell madly in love with two decades before. But now I notice changes from when I met him, the kind you don’t notice when you spend every day with a person, the subtle vicissitudes: The gray hairs stippled throughout his full beard and mustache. The small dark spots spattered across his skin from too much time spent in the sun. The faded scar on his forehead that disappears into his hairline, four or so inches in length. I remember the day he got it. We were out on a walk when the kids were young. They were on bicycles, all of them equipped with training wheels except for Beth’s. She had just learned how to ride without them—not well, but well enough. She was weaving in and out of the center of the road, which doesn’t matter in a place the size of the Grove. But a car came along. Someone from out of town. Someone who didn’t respect the speed limit in a small community. We were all laughing and chatting and didn’t notice the car. But Brian did, almost too late. He pushed Beth out of the way and took the hit like any parent would. His head cracked against the windshield. Blood poured from the wound, trickling down his face in a steady stream. I remember him saying he was fine as he crawled to a crying Beth with scuffed-up knees. He didn’t care about his own well-being. He only cared about hers. It took thirty-six stitches to close the wound. And even when it did, it left behind a scar that served as a reminder of the type of man he is. One that would do anything to protect the people he loves most. I cling to that reminder in this moment. Because it’s all I have.

“Mom,” Beth yells again.

“What is it, Beth?” Brian answers for me.

---