Page 27 of Buried in the Woods Below

“All right? Look at all the chrysanthemums your mom planted for you.”

“Yeah, she just planted those because I’m never here. She’s hoping it will bring me home.”

“What about this view?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. We’re very lucky. This view is pretty, the flowers are gorgeous, and the house is cool. There’s just something about the island that’s never felt right to me.”

A current runs along my skin. Hearing someone else verbalize what I’ve been thinking sets me on edge. “What do you mean?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.

Olivia bites a nail and spits it out. “I don’t know. Ever since Mom and Dad bought the property, it’s creeped me out. I hear odd sounds at night.” A pause. “Did they tell you about the amusement park?”

“Yeah, my mom told me about it.”

“People say there’s a ghost.”

My lips curve into a crooked smile. “Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts. That’s not the Olivia I know.”

Her eyebrows slant together. “Normally I don’t, but I’ve got to tell you. I’ve heard strange noises at night here. And they’re not animal noises.” She holds my gaze, but behind it something quivers.

“Well, at least you’ve got me now. And I’ve got you.”

A screen door behind me slams shut, and I flinch. I turn to see Laelynn. She waves. “Breakfast is served,” she shouts.

I turn back to Olivia. “I guess it’s breakfast time.”

She pats me on the knee. “You go on ahead. I’m going to swim some more.”

“What? We were just getting started. I want to hear about the documentaries.”

She flashes her phone and starts recording me. “I might make you my next subject.”

I cover my face with a groan. “Okay, okay. I’ll go.”

“And don’t eat all my dad’s doughnuts!”

“No promises.”

I start walking away.

“Hey, CharBar?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Make sure…just…” She swallows. “Be careful around here, okay?”

Chapter 14

I climb the hill back to the house and try to push Olivia’s warning out of my mind. The trouble is, she’s right. Every alarm bell in my body tells me I should leave. The hairs on my neck. Knot in my stomach. Tightness in my chest. It would be so simple. Just ask Eric to take me to my car, and I could be in Chicago tonight. Just the thought of it slows my pulse.

Then my mom’s words echo in my ears: “You don’t have to control everything.” And she’s right. I do have a bit of a control problem. But this isn’t that. It’s everything else. The history of this house. The note on the front door. The trees grasping toward any open space like they’re trying to suffocate the air. The vines crawling and twisting along the ground. It’s as though human beings never should have set foot here, and the forest is crouching, waiting to reclaim its rightful place.

As I reach the patio screen door, I press the dark thoughts down. The scene in front of me looks like a screenshot from the Country Living website. Eric and Laelynn sit at a sun-splashed, rustic wood farm table with their eight-year-old twins, Emma and Penelope. Paul Simon plays in the background. Laelynn sports a soft-pink yoga outfit, while Eric lounges in a tattered gray Georgetown T-shirt. The girls wear matching red-and-white-striped dresses, identical down to their thick, black braided hair and cherubic faces. The only difference is one has a mole on her left cheek like her mother, a tiny but telling marker.

Eric serves up cornflake-crusted French toast topped with strawberries while Laelynn pours fresh-squeezed orange juice into little beaded juice glasses—the picture of the American nuclear family. But when I analyze their faces, the illusion shatters. Neither of them has noticed I’m here yet, and whatever they’re discussing, it’s not amicable.

“This was a bad idea, Eric,” Laelynn says, her deep, raspy voice gouging the air.

“Give it time, honey. It’ll get better.”