Page 22 of Buried in the Woods Below

“Don’t you know? Grapes are poisonous to dogs. You could have killed him.”

“I—I’m sorry. I’ve never had a dog. I had no idea.”

She glares at me for a moment, then sits back down, her cheeks aflame.

“I didn’t know that either,” says my mom.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Olivia. “It’s a simple mistake to make. For the record, you can’t feed them chocolate either.”

“I’m so sorry. Noted.”

The conversation continues uneasily for the next thirty minutes. The Parkers ask me what I’ve been doing. I ask them what they’ve been doing. All of us avoid topics that matter. Long pauses filled with the chirps of crickets and the croaks of frogs. Eventually, my mom announces she needs to head back to her hotel and excuses herself. I walk her down to the shore to catch her taxi boat.

“Well, that went well,” I say.

She laughs. “Yes, I’m not sure how I feel about your staying here after seeing that note.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say as a reflex, but the image ripples through me. “I’m more worried about Laelynn. Not the warmest welcome I’ve ever had.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. She just takes time to warm up. I’m sure by the end of this you’ll be fast friends.”

“I don’t know. I did almost kill her dog.”

The taxi boat pulls up to the dock. Water gurgles in the background behind us.

“I’ll admit, that wasn’t your finest hour.” She gives me a kiss as she boards the taxi boat. “You’ll be fine. Just try to remember you’re on vacation.” She sings off-key as the boat pulls away. “You can leave your troubles behind youuuu.”

I smile and wave farewell, feeling mollified.

But then I envision the grim expression on Laelynn’s face when we arrived.

The way Vivek watched me at Cov.

The note posted on the Parkers’ front door.

And something tells me that my troubles lie ahead.

Chapter 11

After my mom leaves, I say good night to Olivia, Eric, and Laelynn and stumble to my guest room. The combination of the tequila bender last night, today’s road trip, and Eric’s bootlegs has finally gotten the better of me. A long breath escapes my chest, and for the first time all day, my jaw unclenches.

People don’t get it. For them, a social gathering is just…a gathering. But for me, it’s like performing a dance, and nobody taught me the moves.

They say, “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

I hear: “We scheduled you for surgery.”

I open my undersized travel bag and sigh. In my hungover rush to leave, I barely packed enough for a weekend, let alone a month. I place my items in drawers, socks and underwear on top, shorts and tank tops in drawer two, pants and dresses in the bottom. Open the closet door and hang my dresses. Leave it open.

To me, unpacking the moment you arrive somewhere isn’t optional; it’s a moral imperative. I once spent a weekend away with a guy who never unpacked. Just lived out of his suitcase like a fugitive. I seriously considered calling the police.

I sink onto the edge of the queen-size bed and absorb the space that will be my room for the next few weeks. Or my prison. On the surface it’s lovely, very lake-chic. White sheets paired with a blue-and-white seersucker duvet. Original tan oak hardwood floors—forty-eight floorboards, to be exact. White wallpaper with a pattern of watercolor sailboats. A framed needlepoint of the American flag on one wall and an impressionist-style painting of Main Street Wayzata on the other. It all bears Laelynn’s unmistakable touch.

I remember visiting the Parkers when I was a kid. Our best times were always when Laelynn was away. Eric would make homemade doughnuts doused in powdered sugar and take us tubing on the lake. He would attach two inner tubes to the boat’s rear, one for each of us. Then we’d have tube wars. Whoever fell first lost. He’d speed across the lake and yank us into a turn so sharp it felt like flying, and we’d hang on, laughing, afraid to let go. Olivia was always bolder. Sometimes, mid–tube ride she would leap from her tube onto mine and try to knock me off, usually sending both of us crashing into the wake. We would laugh so hard, water rushed into our noses.

Then we’d arrive home, and Laelynn would be there, fresh off a HIIT class or whatever workout was in style, arms crossed, jaw tight, asking where we were or griping about the mess Eric left behind, and the fun would end. Even Olivia seemed bummed.

I don’t blame Laelynn. I remember she had just launched her digital marketing firm, and being married to Eric, while certainly an adventure, was probably more like having a second child. She was just trying to keep an organized household and make sure he didn’t accidentally kill us. But for a kid, it was one big buzzkill. With Eric, the Parkers’ house was a theme park; with Laelynn, it was a museum.