Page 44 of We Already Dug the Grave

Because the last time I saw death in my teacup, the night had ended with blood on my hands.

Later, I couldn’t shake the image as I showered, hot water cleaning the grime from my body. Nor could I shake it as I dressed in a fresh pair of running shorts and cotton V-neck, combing my hair with my fingers. A sick part of me wondering if any strands of hair remained my sister’s old brush, still dropped behind the toilet. If I should use it just one more time.

And I couldn’t shake the image still when, as if I knew it was to be, a knock sounded at my front door.

Because even with death taking center stage, there was the constant whisper. Sister sister sister.

I stepped forward slowly. Wrecked, wrung dry.

Not again.

“Milly. It’s me. Let me in.”

Another burst of knocking.

“Sister? Please. You’re right. I need your help.”

Chapter 17

Then

“I know you’re pissed at me.” I cut the engine to the Rust Bucket and turned to my sister. “But I’m happy you came.”

“Not like I had a choice.” Frances scowled.

I was getting ready for the bonfire when Hattie-May stuck her head in our bedroom and announced that Frances was going with me.

“No,” Frances had groaned from her bed, where she’d been reading a paperback and pointedly ignoring me. “It’s the senior bonfire! It’s only for seniors.”

Hattie-May smiled. “The seniors and you, dearie.”

My elderly aunt wasn’t one to make demands, but when she did, there was no arguing. Hattie-May Robbins always got her way.

Secretly, I’d been glad. Even though I was looking forward to spending the evening with Casey, had thought about it relentlessly, in fact, if Frances was with me, she couldn’t get into trouble.

A month ago if you’d asked me about my sister finding trouble, I’d have laughed in your face. But maybe that was the problem.

Maybe I’d shoved her into a box she’d outgrown a long time ago.

This time together was another chance set things right between us. I thought of how excited I’d been to buy her that lavender bedspread, and how it was still crumpled in the tiny back seat of the Rust Bucket. I’d been so sure I was about to fix us. I had no way of knowing that things were about to get so much worse.

But now? Frances couldn’t ignore me all night. No one wants to stand around by themselves while everyone else has a good time.

My sister hopped out of the truck and slammed the door. I dropped the key into the cupholder, a lesson all the students had learned after a different party where a girl in my grade lost her keys in the pasture grass and had to call her dad to come pick her up.

If I had to borrow a phone and call Aunt Ruth to come and get me I’d melt into a puddle from embarrassment. I didn’t need the Sight to know how it would play out; Ruth and Bunny rolling up with nineties pop blasting from Bunny’s Camaro. Bunny, who’d think it all hilarious, would probably dance by the fire while Ruth gave me a talking-to in front of everyone. I cringed. No thanks.

Frances walked quickly ahead. Somewhere a radio blasted country music. When I caught up, she walked even faster, until we were both almost jogging.

“Look,” I stopped and called after her. “I know you’re mad at me but—”

“But nothing.” She whirled around. “I was happy. For maybe the first time in my entire life.”

“I know you think that,” I said. “But—”

“But. Nothing.”

“Frances, you know it wasn’t right. And you know I’d never hurt you on purpose.”