The truth is, there’s a place at the lake house only two of us know.
Under the boardwalk, in the deep, dark dirt. We dug a little grave, Chase and I, and laid the bones of the rabbit to rest. It didn’t seem right to tell Chelsea. She had been so incredibly upset by the discovery of its tiny body in the cellar. I’m not sure whether Emily was actually upset or just mirroring Chelsea. We did that sometimes. It was how we learned to relate. I understand that now. There is so little that we genuinely share anymore.
Anyway.
Something had to be done. I couldn’t let my father drop the body into a dumpster or toss it in the woods to be picked over by owls and coyotes. I know that’s how nature operates. But people don’t. We bury our beloved.
Every year I plant white roses along the path. Every year they die. The ground is much too soft for roses; the shade too gentle.
I hope that’s the reason.
Chase has been a good friend. He didn’t hesitate when I asked for his help, and he’s never spoken a word. He never knew who the rabbit was, only that I felt it deserved a final resting place. And he knew how to dig a grave. Even as a child, his arms were strong. We snuck out after dark and retrieved two spades from the shed, then the body from the trash can. We dug on our hands and knees in the dirt, a deep hole, deep enough that storms wouldn’t bring it back to surface. There wasn’t much moon that night, and it misted periodically, and by the time we were done, we were covered in mud.
We tucked the garbage bag around the body like a shroud, to protect her for a while, then lowered her carefully, and whispered the Gettysburg Address, which we agreed was the best non-religious text to recite at a funeral and was fresh in our minds from Mrs. Oglebie’s class. We washed the mud off ourselves at the edge of the dock and headed back to the house whentheyfinally arrived.
They didn’t show themselves; that time was over.
Instead, there was the sound of feet, light, quick, beginning from the far end of the boardwalk, by the stone table, gathering speed in the darkness. My heart raced as I stared down the planks, empty and bare. The footsteps grew louder, nearer, as the sound rushed straight through me. It was the oddest feeling, like having an X-ray taken. You search your body for a sensation, and even though you find none, you know something has made contact. The footsteps continued down toward the dock, and my throat squeezed as I realized they were heading toward the lake, toward the dripping man, but before I could cry out, there was a sudden, chilling silence, and then a tremendous splash.
Chase turned toward the water, looking startled. It’s the only time he’s ever witnessed them, or their wake, anyway, and he hasn’t spoken a word about it since.
“Stay away from my house,” I whispered.
But it wasn’t my house. It’s never been my house. The dead always have the upper hand. They see every move we make. They know our darkest secrets.
We buried a body under those boards.
That cannot be undone.
“It’s just an old family legend,” I say now. I can’t tell Chase my secret. What I’ve seen; what I know. I’ll never say it. What’s the point? He won’t hear me.
He grins, but there’s annoyance underneath. “What does that have to do with night swimming? Which, may I add, we do every year?”
“Not without a Hartford. And I’m not going this year.” I take his cigarette and toss it into the trash. “Legend or no legend, rules are rules.” I look him in the eye. “Right?”
His grin doesn’t fade. Neither does the resentment beneath the surface. “You got it.”
Back in the living room, Emily is sunk even deeper into the couch. I want to say something comforting, but I don’t feel like speaking to her yet. She hasn’t apologized, and it strikes me that she never apologizes for anything. I apologize when I mess up, and I do mess up. Chelsea apologizes. Chase, even Ryan. But Emily. Somehow, whenever we fight, it is someone else’s fault. She is always the victim, no matter how deeply twisted things get. Like her half-truth to Mila earlier, or to Chelsea about the heirloom. Inevertold her to insinuate that Chelsea stole anything. What I said was that she should throw my mother under the bus. No one would get mad at my mom for banning me from having friends over the way they would hate me for ending our long-standing tradition. Emily twisted that, and I honestly don’t know if Chelsea has ever forgiven me. Emily should have apologized then. And she should apologize now. Any real friend would feel horrible for what she did.
Ryan barely glances up when I walk into the room. He tosses a pack of cards to Chelsea. “Texas Hold’em?”
Chelsea looks to me. “What do you want to do?”
I shrug. “Poker sounds fine.”
Emily stands abruptly and stalks upstairs. In a moment I can hear stomping footsteps in the attic.
“I think she’s waiting for you to apologize,” Ryan says as he deals, without meeting my eyes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I snatch my cards off the table. “You saw—” Then I realize that he doesn’t know what actually happened. Only Chelsea and Emily know. It’s best that way. Contain. Defuse.
“You really hurt her.” He darts his eyes to Chelsea as if looking for backup.
Chelsea clears her throat. “Actually, the thing is, maybe we’ve all been hurting her. By encouraging this thing with Chase that doesn’t exist. Or even not actively discouraging it. You know what I mean?”
He looks taken aback. “I would never hurt my sister on purpose.”
“Right, not on purpose. But maybe by not being completely clear about how it is.” Chelsea places her cards down. “I fold.”