And then there are the sounds of things I can’t see.
When I get there, it hits different during the day, when I can actually see what’s around me. It’s less creepy and more sad. Tombstones surround me. They’re matching and mostly old with square tops that sit sunken down into the earth. A broken chain-link fence wraps partway around the cemetery while, inside, some of the tombstones are cracked, the granite severed, and I wonder if it happened all on its own or if vandals broke them. They’re smaller than I remembered. Their edges crumble. Moss grows like carpeting on them, staining the gray green. I take a closer look at the dates etched in the stone, most of which are ancient, though there are a few that aren’t. Born: 1931. Died: 1972. Twin daughters of Dorothy Frank. January 3, 1926–January 3, 1926. Mother. Father. Beloved son.
Flowers lie on a Jessica Clarke’s grave, which has no headstone, but only a flat marker, her name and the dates 1985–2019 etched in it, and I wonder what’s so special about it that it has flowers when none of the others do.
I’m staring down at her grave when I hear a noise from behind and I jerk, turning around.
I’m not alone like I thought. Someone else is here.
The woman stands at the far end of the cemetery. I’ve seen her before. I know who she is. She’s the same woman from the resort, the one who was in the lodge that day we checked in, who gave us our keys to the cottage. The sun comes up behind her, its glare making it harder to see. I put a hand to my eyes to block the sun, watching as she bends to lay a handful of pink wildflowers on someone else’s grave (the same pink wildflowers as on Jessica Clarke’s grave), their delicate petals lifting up in the wind.
I start to back away, but in my retreat, I step by accident on a stick. She hears it, throwing a glance over her shoulder. When she sees me, she turns around. “This is a private cemetery, honey,” she says. “Didn’t you see the sign?”
“What sign?”
“The one that says no trespassing.”
I turn, looking for it.
“No,” I say, looking back, shaking my head. “I didn’t see it. I guess I got lost.”
She watches me, her short, gray-streaked shag blowing in the breeze, neither of us speaking until she says again, “This is private property. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know. I’ll go.”
As she watches, I leave through the broken chain-link fence, though I don’t go back to the resort like she thinks. Once I’m out of view, I step off the path, creeping deeper into the woods, and then I squat close to the ground, in the trees, making myself as small as possible and wait for her to leave.
Eventually she goes. I watch her leave and then, when I’m sure she’s gone, I get back up and cross the small cemetery for the flowers she left behind.
When I come to them, there is no marker and no headstone, though the earth is somehow different when I look, the groundconcave, the grass patchier than the rest of the cemetery, like someone dug a hole in it and the grass didn’t grow completely back.
I wouldn’t know for sure, except for the flowers, which are undeniable, like a buried treasure, X marks the spot.
If it wasn’t for them, you’d never know someone was buried there.
Courtney
In the morning, I’m awake before everyone else. I slept for a few hours, but not well. It was a restless sleep. I get out of bed, careful not to wake Elliott or Cass, and go to the kitchen for coffee. I stand in the kitchen while it brews, looking out at Wyatt, sound asleep on his side on the sofa bed with his knees pulled into his chest so that his feet don’t overhang the edge of the thin mattress.
Asleep, he looks harmless. His hair goes every which way and he has acne, not much, but some along the jaw and chin. He doesn’t have any facial hair yet. His body is trim, athletic, quickly developing into that of a young man. Over the last year, he’s grown four or six inches, if possible. His voice has gotten deeper too, to the point that there have been times in the past when I was speaking to Emily on the phone, heard Wyatt in the background and was convinced there was another full-grown man in their house.
No, Emily told me, giggling when I asked.It’s just Wyatt.
My face hurts. It’s tender to the touch. There is a dull pain, made worse by a headache, the kind that slinks up the base of my skull, wrapping around my temples, settling between my eyes.
Growing up, Nolan would sleepwalk from time to time. It’s hereditary, though I didn’t know it was something Wyatt did too. Emily and Nolan never mentioned it, and I wonder if lastnight was a one-off triggered by exhaustion and stress, or if it’s something that happens often. Either way, sleepwalking is usually the kind of thing a person outgrows by the time they’re Wyatt’s age. With Nolan, it didn’t persist past age nine or ten, I don’t think. Our parents would find him wandering the house in the middle of the night and march him back to bed, and it was never a big deal; it wasn’t even worth mentioning come morning unless Nolan did something hysterical that we laughed at.
I hear footsteps on the deck. I look up, my heart rhythm changing as someone raps their knuckles on the door. I hold still, thinking that, if I don’t make any noise, whoever is there will go away. But no such luck. The knock comes again, more tenacious this time. Wyatt stirs in bed, rolling over, and I realize that I’d rather take my chances with whoever is at the door than have to face him alone before Elliott and the girls are up.
I go to it. I peel the curtain back to find Ms. Dahl from the resort, who I haven’t seen in days, not since the girls and I ran for our lives to the lodge and she called the police. I pull the door open. “Good morning,” I say, my voice still weary from sleep. Outside, I’m immediately assaulted by the cool morning air, the thin cotton pajama pants and camisole I slept in making me feel cold and exposed.
The lake is green this morning. Algae blooms sprung up as if overnight.
“Good morning. I hope I didn’t wake you,” she says as I pull the door closed.
“No,” I tell her. “I was already up.”
“I just wanted to check on you. See if there was anything you need.”
