Chapter 7

I turned down Jo's invitation to add names to her recycling petition after school because I had things to do. Things I didn't want anyone to know about.

Darby was probably at the public library with her friend Maria and her mom. Dad was still at work. The house was mine for the two seconds I would be here. I swept through the silence, carrying my boots. My gaze caught on something on top of the fireplace mantel - a framed picture of the four of us smiling happily. Mom had bribed me with new studded black wristbands so I would give a genuine smile for the photo. It worked. I'd even gone without black eyeliner that day. I grabbed the frame, put it in my backpack, and headed out to the garage. With my boots back on my feet, I pressed the glowing orange button to open the garage door.

There were no cars in here. The space reserved for Mom's would stay vacant forever. Crossing over the emptiness with my eyes stinging, I found Mom's small shovel with the white handle and her purple gardening gloves on the shelf. They went into my backpack, too.

A small pile of bricks left over from Dad's attempt at walling in the patio sat in the corner. I rearranged the picture frame so the glass wouldn't scratch and stuffed as many bricks as I could carry inside.

After zipping my backpack closed, I tested my old bicycle by rolling it out onto the driveway. The wheels squeaked, but the tires were inflated and the chain wasn't dangling loose. Back in the garage, I jabbed at the glowing button, bolted out, and hopped over the motion sensors before the falling door squished me. If that were an Olympic sport, I would win every time.

My feet couldn't pedal fast enough. The wind whipped through my clothes, causing me to balloon out in places I normally didn't. My hair circled around my head like Medusa's unwieldy snakes. At least the sun was shining. For now.

As soon as I saw the gates, I pedaled harder. A line of flagpoles along the entrance jangled empty ropes against the metal. My bike shot through the opening underneath the metal Heartland Cemetery sign.

A path of tiny, white rocks branched off numerous times to form similar paths. I bumped past headstones and statues, most of them worn by time and Kansas weather. A little concrete girl with slumped shoulders covered her face to hide her grief. Cold shivered through me even though I was all sweaty.

I slowed my bike to a crawl as I neared Mom's grave. Her name was scrawled across a plastic sign anchored in the ground by a metal wire, a placeholder for her headstone. Her grave looked undisturbed, the dirt packed tight. Relief rushed through me and tangled at the back of my throat. She was still here.

Looking around for someplace to lean my bike, my gaze fell on Sarah's footprints that still marked the grass over by the black tree in the middle of a bunch of others. No wonder I couldn't see her tree from the gates the day of Mom's burial. Taller, thicker trees surrounded it. I took a deep breath and looked away. Everything I thought I'd imagined really had happened that day.

I rested my bike against a nearby live tree and looked down at Mom's grave. She needed to know what I was about to do, but I didn't want anyone else to hear me, alive or dead. I shook my head at my own logic. But Sarah's coming back wasn't logical, so nothing else had to be, either. I decided I would explain everything to Mom inside the safety and privacy of my own head. The mother/daughter psychic bond still had to apply.

A hefty sigh escaped my mouth as I opened my backpack. Mom, I love you. I miss you so much that my heart doesn't beat anymore. It only echoes in the empty space you left behind.

I knelt next to her grave and plunged the sharp end of her white handled garden shovel into the new grass.

But Sarah was dead and then she came back. I don't know if this is some kind of buy one life get one free deal, but you shouldn't take that deal.

Dirt flew through the air as I dug deeper.

I don't want you to come back. Not like Sarah.

Grit wedged under my fingernails.

You should stay where you are, and we'll join you when we can.

"What are you doing?"

I screamed and shrank away from the voice. A shadowy figure blocked the sun.

"I said what are you doing?"

"Nothing," I spat and stood to face the shadow. After I blinked a few times, I realized it was a boy, but the stubble around his chin made him look like he was eighteen or something. He removed the hood from his head, and blond hair fell in soft curls just above his ears. His green sweatshirt matched his eyes, which were so sharp and clear, they seemed to carve out a piece of my soul. I stepped away from him, suddenly aware I was staring.

"Whatever it is you're doing, you can't. You'll attract the wrong kind of attention." He grabbed my arm. "Do you understand me?"

"Fuck you!" I shouted. I tried to yank my arm away from him, but his grip was a vise. "Let me go or I'll scream."

"Go ahead and scream," the boy said, but he let me go. "The dead won't care."

I snatched the shovel from the ground, ready to use his face to test the durability of the blade. Screw his good looks. Who did this guy think he was?

"Girrrl," he read from my new-used t-shirt and smirked. "Is that supposed to make people afraid of you?"

I squeezed the shovel's handle. "No, but you will be when I carve off your face."

The boy laughed, and at the same time, there was a faint tinkle of a bell. He didn't react to the sound, making me wonder if I'd imagined it. Fantastic. Bell sounds now? Did Whaty-Whats sell straitjackets?

"You're brave. I'll give you that much. But you're built like a twig." He stepped closer and pierced me with his eyes. "Twigs break easily."

I lined my voice with razor blades and said, "Try it."

He studied me for a long time, and his ferocity seemed to dull a little. "Promise me." He gestured to Mom's grave with the narrow hole in the middle. "Promise me you'll fill that hole back up, take all your stuff, and go."

"Why should I listen to you? Do you work here or something?"

"Just promise me."

"Fine. I promise," I said and rooted through my backpack. "See ya'."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you leaving?"

I pressed my earbuds in and pushed up the volume on my mp3 player, nodding to the beat of Bikini Kill instead of his question.

His head snapped back toward a cluster of trees, then he looked at me, his gaze intense once again. "Remember, you promised." He backed away, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm sorry about your mother." He turned and walked off.

I pretended not to hear him over the noise packing my ears, but I watched him under the fringe of my eyelashes while I knelt next to the hole I'd dug. How did he know this was Mom's grave? Did he work here? Maybe he knew her from somewhere. Though I'm sure Mom would've mentioned it if she knew the captain of the I'm Scarier Than You ship, especially if he was kind of beautiful.

Ignoring his threats and my promise, I continued digging.

I'm burying some of your favorite things with you. You don't have to come back because you'll already have everything you need.

Soon, I'd dug three holes each about a foot deep.

And don't be mad, but I'm also going to bury some bricks over you just in case you do wake up. Ancient people used to put rocks over graves to keep their dead in the ground. I can't remember who it was, though. You know I hate Mr. Lane's history class.

I dropped her purple gardening gloves and the family picture into the three holes, then gently rested two bricks on top of each item. The first scoop of dirt back into the grave kissed the bricks and Mom's favorite things with a soft smack.

I love you, Mom, but please don't come back, please don't come back, please don't...