Levi waited until it was dark before he snuck out. Though rumspringa allowed him to come and go at will, he didn’t want to answer any questions tonight. He couldn’t possibly respond truthfully. There was no way he could tell his parents that he was going to Siesta Beach to the spot where Shelley was buried.
He took his bicycle from the shed and quietly rolled it down the short driveway. He hopped on and began to pedal out to Bahia Vista Street.
As he turned west, cars sped by him on the heavily trafficked road. The thought crossed his mind that one might strike him and put him out of his misery. It would be a relief. Then there would be no question about what to do. The secret would die with him.
When he reached the Tamiami Trail, he stopped to wait for the light to change. A black pickup truck careened around the corner, its muffler firing noisily. The driver stuck his head through the open window.
“Watch out, you Ah-mo!” he yelled at Levi.
Levi felt his face grow hot. It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard the slur before. His dress, his hair, his differentness—they all caused some people to react in less than kind ways. But tonight he just couldn’t deal with what three days ago he would have taken in stride. He felt a tear roll down his cheek.
He pedaled onward. When he got to the North Bridge, he stopped to watch the fishermen cast their lines over the side. He inspected their big plastic buckets, piled high with redfish and sheepshead.
Finally he got to Ocean Boulevard. There were no streetlights, and the only illumination came from the headlights of passing cars and the lamps inside the houses and condominium complexes set back from the road. Levi came to a stop, got off the bike, and hid it in a hedge of sea grapes. He took the flashlight from his rear pocket and walked the rest of the way to the beach.
As he listened to the rhythmic sound of the crashing waves hitting the shore again and again, he recalled all the times he had walked this beach. The happiness and excitement he’d found here. The summers spent keeping track of the turtle nests, watching in May, June, and July as the number of nests grew week by week. Waiting for them to hatch in August, September, and October. The year-round fun he had fishing with Uncle Isaac. The shells and sand dollars he’d collected with his sister.
Miriam.
If you tell anyone what you saw, I’ll kill your sister.
The words reverberated in Levi’s head. He felt his throat tighten.
He wanted to tell the police. Levi knew that was the right thing to do. But he couldn’t take the chance of putting Miriam in mortal danger.
Levi reached the spot. His heart beat faster as he trained his flashlight on the sand. Three days of breezes and sea spray had erased all signs that a deep hole had been dug there.
The last burial he’d been to had taken place three days after his aunt Rachel’s death. So many members of their Amish community had been involved. Some helped with preparing the body. Others built the plain wooden coffin. Some sat with the body while the grave was hand-dug as a sign of love and respect. Several hundred people had attended Aunt Rachel’s funeral.
Shelley had missed that care and attention. Levi tried desperately to rationalize that at least Shelley’s grave had been hand-dug. Had that given her some small amount of dignity?
He wished he could turn back the clock. He wished he had never gone out that night, that he hadn’t had those beers at the bar in Siesta Village, that he hadn’t gone for that walk on the beach to sober himself up. But the beach had always been his friend, the place he came to think things through and marvel at the wonder of nature.
That night he’d been struggling with his decision about his future in the Amish world. Tonight Levi was struggling with something far more dangerous, far more sinister. He hoped that coming to the place where it had happened would help him decide what to do.
Levi knelt beside the grave. As he prayed, his tears began to flow, building into racking sobs.
Slowly he got to his feet. As he walked away, Levi reached into his pocket, pulled out his handkerchief, and mopped his face. He didn’t realize that his cell phone had slipped out as well and had fallen into the sand.
If you tell anyone what you saw, I’ll kill your sister.
The man who had killed Shelley Hart and stuffed her body into a sandy hole was clearly capable of carrying through on that threat.