Page 77 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

“I told him what happened later that night after everyone got back from searching for Emma. He cried and he held me and he said he would take care of it.”

I’m not sure I believe him, but I’ll pretend I do because his finger is still on the trigger.

“But why is Dad lying in one of those graves?”

He looks at the holes again and then back at me. “How do you know it’s him?”

“Because he’s wearing his wedding ring.”

Michael nods and his mouth forms a hard line. “I don’t know what happened to Dad.”

“Did you know he was buried here?”

“No.”

I don’t believe him. He just learned that our dad is dead and buried in that hole and he’s not shocked or sad or devastated. He had to have known. I want to scream, but I need to stay calm. I need to keep him talking because he might be the only person alive that knows the truth of how these three bodies ended up buried on our parents’ property.

“Why didn’t you ever come home after Dad disappeared?”

“Because it wasn’t home to me anymore,” he says with a shrug.

Another lie. His hand grips the gun a little tighter.

“Who’s in the third grave?” I ask.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I only knew about Emma’s.”

“And Dad’s,” I correct.

Michael lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “The guilt put him in that hole more than I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dad never forgave me for what happened to Emma, and he never forgave himself for his part in it.”

“Can you blame him?”

“Yeah, I can,” he yells suddenly. “It was an accident, and I was a kid. He could have gone to the authorities, but he chose not to.”

The memory of Dad pushing me off my bike and out of the way of an oncoming car floods my mind. His head cracked against the windshield as he took the hit that would have probably killed me. Only my small knees were scuffed up, thanks to him. That was the kind of man he was. He would do anything to protect his children. Dad didn’t go to the police to report Emma’s death because he didn’t think he had a choice. It couldn’t have been an accident.

“What happened to Dad, Michael?” A tear rolls down my cheek as I remember all that time I spent searching for him. I destroyed my life trying to find him, and he was dead all along, buried in the backyard of my childhood home.

“Like I said, he never forgave me or himself.” There’s anger and resentment in his voice. “I came home seven years ago. The girl I was dating had passed away unexpectedly, and I wanted my mom and dad. I was depressed and broken and alone. Doesn’t matter how old you get, sometimes you just need your parents.”

I lift a brow. “Did you kill her, your girlfriend?”

“Fuck you, Beth,” he spits. “You’re just like Dad. That’s exactly what he thought, and he wouldn’t believe otherwise. He kept asking question after question while I was grieving, or at least trying to. I could see it on his face. He thought I was some psycho killer.” Michael shakes his head and scoffs. “It was obvious he regretted protecting me. He thought he’d made a mistake.”

“You can’t be sure he thought that,” I say.

“You’re right. I wasn’t sure. Until I was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dad went off on me. Screaming, ‘How many more holes do I have to dig back here, Michael? My marriage is already buried in there, as are our souls. We are nothing because of you!’ and on and on. He had every right to be mad and yell, but he should have been doing that in a mirror. He made his own decisions. But then he lunged at me, wrapped his hands around my neck, and squeezed as hard as he could. He was trying to kill me, and... it was self-defense.”

I keep my eyes on Michael, watching carefully for any sudden movement. He’s not looking at me anymore. He’s staring off into the woods, almost in a trance, like he’s reliving that memory.

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