Page 81 of We Already Dug the Grave

Was it suspicious as hell? Yeah. And a credible journalist might have reservations, but I wasn’t sure that was a problem with local reporters. I hoped to hell it wasn’t.

She called the police and gave them another version. How she was on a road trip and had stopped to relieve herself, when she saw something that they’d probably be interested in. It was about the dead girl and missing boy. Again, she hung up.

When we crossed the Tennessee River, she lowered her window and tossed out the phone. I thought I would feel better at this point, but the opposite was true. Probably because part of me believed my sister. This plan of mine couldn’t work.

And what if it didn’t?

Was I gambling with my sister’s life by not listening to her? By not consulting with my aunts on the best way to get rid of Burt permanently? After all, they’d made Shane’s body disappear.

I continued driving until my eyelids grew heavy and my mind foggy. My front right tire bounced off the road, the bump jarring me awake. I jerked the wheel to correct, swerving into the other lane. “Shit.” I hit the brakes, slowing. “Sorry,” I said.

“Why don’t you rest and let me drive?” Frances said. We had about two hours until we reached Puddle Creek.

I wanted to say no. But it was either stop for the night, risk having a car accident, or let her drive. We pulled over and switched places. I laid my head against the window, each bump jarring me a little. I thought there was no way I’d fall asleep, but my eyes drifted closed.

Chapter 30

Then

My mind abandoned me, leaving me untethered, sitting against the hard wall behind me. The greenhouse. The creek. This land that was all ours.

The Robbins women and their legacy. A legacy that found me before I could run.

Somewhere, someone laughed at me. No. No, the laughter was mine. My mouth snapped shut. Now was not a time to laugh. It was only time to dig.

Dig, dig, dig.

Where?

I jumped to my feet as if being summoned and bolted into the forest, legs pumping, sharp breath scraping against my lungs, until I found it and dropped to my knees.

As my hands found earth, the song crept to me. A hymn sang in Aunt Hattie’s haunting alto.

I come to the garden alone

While the dew is still on the roses.

In the same moment, I could almost hear feet tapping against packed earth, the swish of the rope brushing the ground. A jump. A jump. Another. Little girls chanting.

Rotting willow

Roots so deep

Searching for some rotting meat.

If we die

That is fine

The rotting willow’s

Roots will dine.

Ashes to ashes

Nourish and live

How many years