Page 34 of We Already Dug the Grave

Am I smiling? Yes, grinning like an idiot. Over a turtle. But I couldn’t help it. “Casey—”

I wondered if he felt it then, the way the air grew heavy and charged.

“Yeah?”

My heart thumped. I opened my mouth, unsure what to say, but wanting to say so much.

“Shut up.” I flinched at my own voice, shaking me out of the warm daze.

“Huh?”

“Um. Nothing. It’s past curfew.” I turned away from him, toward the path, thankful for the darkness because I could feel my cheeks flaming. “I gotta go.”

It was a bullshit excuse, and we both knew it. I was nearly eighteen, and the aunts didn’t care if I stayed out a little late. Especially not with Casey and especially not on our own property.

He didn’t object, only followed me from the forest, then up the greenhouse path back to the house. I watched as he strapped on his helmet and disappeared down our driveway.

Shut up?

He called me beautiful and I told him to shut up?

My hair was puffy and my chin was broken out from stress. Why had he called me beautiful? Was he teasing me?

I was still pondering this as I crept into the house and eased the front door silently closed.

I stood for a moment in the entryway, mind still buzzing as my eyes flitted across Aunt Hattie’s drawings tacked to the papered walls: endless blooms and trees, roots burrowing into the ground. Branches yawning.

Frances startled me, appearing silently across the living room, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, sneakers in hand.

“What are you doing?” I demanded in a whisper.

“Shit.” Her hand clutching the keys, went to her chest. She whispered, “You scared me.”

“Answer me.” Any lingering giddiness Casey lent me drained away. My anger flared. “What the hell is going on?”

“You said I had to break up with him. That’s what I’m going to do.” She blinked innocently.

“First off, that’s not what I said. This isn’t a breakup. He’s not your boyfriend. And second, I said to tell him he can’t see you anymore or I’ll tell on him. Do it tomorrow. At school.” I shook my head, thinking back to another night when Frances wasn’t in her bed. When I’d assumed she was just taking some space away from me. “This is why you’ve been sneaking out? To meet him.”

“You know about me sneaking out?”

Instead of answering, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Fine. Yes. Sometimes we meet up. And I have to go. This was already planned. If I’m not at the end of the driveway in ten minutes, he’ll think—”

“I don’t give a shit what he thinks.” I narrowed my gaze. “Go back to bed, Frances. Before you wake everybody up.”

As if I’d conjured her, Ruth’s groggy voice came from behind her closed door down the hallway. “Girls? Is that you?”

I raised my brows. “Or don’t. We can get Ruth or Aunt Hattie in here right now and explain everything.”

“Fine,” Frances seethed. “But Milly? I’ll never forgive you for this.” She stormed back to our bedroom, no longer bothering to be quiet.

I stared at the place where she’d stood, my chest constricting. She doesn’t mean it. She’s just angry.

“Milly? Frances?” Ruth called out a second time.

“Just me, Aunt Ruth, grabbing a glass of water,” I replied. I crossed the living room into the kitchen, planning to make my lie true.