Without a word, I stand. Lauren still won’t look at me. But I don’t want to touch her. Not again. Ever.
“Come on,” I say, my voice harsh.
And to my surprise, she rises, straightening her glasses. I grab her bag as I head to the door. Like a ghost, she seems to float along behind me, out of the cabin and down the steps. We move like halves of a long-married couple, separating without a word, Lauren going to the passenger side of the Mazda. I climb behind the wheel and start the engine. We drive away from the cabin and I know that she will never come back to this place. But I will, soon.
When I reach the apartment parking lot, I get out of the car and replace the chain. I can’t have anyone finding the cabin at this point. Not after everything. When I turn back to the car, I see Lauren watching me. But her eyes are vacant. Staring past me, maybe back up the road. Back to what she saw under the tarp.
I get in and drive. She doesn’t ask where we are going. And she sits as far away from me as she can. I can’t care about that now. Any more than I could before. So I let the familiar roads guide me until I reach the entrance. I see her stiffen when I turn onto it and we pass the sign.
ALL SAINTS CEMETERY
I keep driving, moving along the bottom of a gentle rise. Headstones spring from the perfectly kept grass like the fingers of the dead, all pointing up to a perfect blue sky. As I always do, I read some of the names as I pass.
MARION SMITH
JEFF LEVINSON
PATRICIA CAMPBELL
The road splits. It runs in a long one-way loop. I take the right side and follow it. A single car sits not far from the fork. I see a woman tending a grave near the tree line. She seems to be talking to herself. I drive past her, craning my neck.
At the far side of the loop, I pull to a stop. As I get out of the car, I grab Lauren’s bag from where I placed it in the back. She still won’t look at me. And her legs are shaking.
I stand outside the rented Mazda for a moment, Lauren’s bag dangling from one finger. So many memories flood my consciousness, like a mudslide of smells and sights, colors and jagged strikes of emotion. I see the shade of my brother standing over me, fists balled and bruised. I feel the weight of my father crushing me, reshaping me to his will. I look down at my hands, large and callused. At the tattoo, at the phantom stain of blood that it has never been able to truly cover. I look up to the top of the rise, at the stone I’ve visited so many times. I miss her so much.