Scene 12

Finding Ann Arbor was easy, but it took me two days of sleeping in the Lincoln and driving the one- and two-lane country roads before I stumbled onto Our Road.

The last time I’d seen the cottage, it was snow covered. Now in the heat of July, everything was green and overgrown. I guessed at the location of the driveway and turned in. The grass and plants were tall, and the trees hung low. What I could see of the lake was smooth and blue, a few shades darker than the hot summer sky. Climbing out, I was greeted by hot air that made my clothes cling to my skin. I walked onto the property, aiming toward what I believed were the steps down to the cottage. It looked like the place had been abandoned or forgotten by IM’s family. I formed a new path down to the small house and walked its side to the back which faced the lake. There were happy, loud voices from the water and motorboats and pontoon boats in the distance going in all directions. I was sweating and slapping at mosquitos, and I turned from the view and tried the back door, finding it locked. I tried the front door on the side of the cottage, and it was locked as well. I walked around to the other side to the kitchen window.

The window latch was set, but the glass had been punched out, and a dirty, gray sweater lay over the sill. I climbed inside using a metal milk crate as a step.

The inside of the cottage was in shambles. It looked like a weekend party fort for teenagers and the full-time residence of mice and rats. The counters were covered with dust, spills, litter, and decoratively placed empty liquor bottles. It was dark save the light from the broken window, so I let more light in by opening the back door facing the lake. I went to the couch and cleared a space by shoving trash and clothing onto the floor. I remembered the couch from years before. It was where I had slept and sat while IM and Heidi Ho carried on up in the loft. I recalled sitting there with my collection of 3D reels and my viewer as snow fell and the cottage grew cold during the winter nights. A second memory played like a newsreel. A long-ago night of reverie and fireworks farther along the lake. A party that had ended in the fiery death of a kind boy who had been trying to bring me food.

The couch had a bad smell—dried urine and dust and alcohol. Listening to the sounds from the lake, I looked around and began a list of what could be done to make the place livable. I saw all I could do and imagined the place and yards cleaned and swept and aired and repaired. I could see the drapes open and the summer light filtering in and scrubbing the room with warmth.

I thought about Molly and April and even Baby Knucklehead. I hoped they were safe with the mystery woman. I bit the inside of my cheek wishing I had fought my curiosity with the little tin bottle. That done, my thoughts turned to Pierce. And Jared. And Baby Ruth.

I left the cottage through the kitchen window after closing and locking the lake-view door knowing I would never return. After climbing to the Lincoln, I opened the trunk and took out all the garden tools I had packed in Hollywood.

It took many short digs and looking around trying to remember before I hazarded my best guess as to where IM was buried.

I began to dig in earnest.

I experienced a new form of gratitude that summer afternoon. The sky was hot and blue, and I could hear passing boats in the cooling breezes. I was grateful that rotted clothing covered my father’s bones and stiff muscle tissue. When I located his raised knees, I turned my digging toward the lake in search of his shoes. With his left shoe partially uncovered, I backed up and dug in the area in front of his feet. I was grateful that there was no need to uncover his head, his skull. I was grateful that there was enough room in the hole for me to dig at a new angle. I stopped one time, dirty and slick with sweat, and looked at what showed of IM—his bony thigh and leg bones inside tattered cloth extending out from the dirt wall. And last, I was grateful when I opened the filthy briefcase before him.

I had worried that the packets of cash would be ruined by years under the soil, but while the money had a foul odor, it was otherwise intact. I thanked the briefcase for its durability and decided to bring it along.