I feel it in my bones. My life as I knew it is over. I’ll never see my friends again unless I come to this cemetery, and even here all that’s left is their remains rotting away in coffins. No more of their newest outfits, no more of their color commentary on our peers or the latest TV episode that dropped, no more anything. I wanted to end our friendship, but now they’regoneand we can never reconnect no matter how hardthe ache hits me. And somehow, the sun is still going to rise, I’ll still have school come Monday, and my life will have to continue in this unreal world without them.
I don’t want to know what that life looks like.
Eight Months Later
Seven
The forest rangers find Paisley’s body in a coyote den on a scorching hot Sunday the third week of June. The news goes public via Mrs. Horne’s social media along with a humble request for loved ones to join in burying her daughter in Forest Lawn Memorial, near Harlow and Opal.
I lock my bedroom door behind me the moment my mom finishes reading out the post. I look through every ranger report and national forest forum I can get my hands on. With every word I take in, the less connected to my body I feel. Some part of me can feel my throat getting dryer with thirst, but I never reach for my water.
The prevailing theory is that Paisley’s body spray attracted the coyotes, and they dragged her away from Harlow and Opal. The pack fed off her skin and muscles and the organs being protected behind them. Her body was stripped down to the bone; then they ate many of her bones too. So, there was very little left of her that truly resembledher. Her pretty face, her orange-painted nails, and everything that made her human was gone by the time rangers and the national forest agentsfound her. But this dog-chewed skeletondidhave clumps of hair that matched what was found near Opal and Harlow, and most damnably, the pale-pink fleece windbreaker she wore to the woods that night was found in shreds in the coyote babies’ nest.
When I read that Paisley’s teeth were so cracked and damaged that they couldn’t use them to identify her via dental, I fall into chills that leave me sitting on the floor of my shower, burning my skin under the water. I can’t stop thinking about her blue eyes bursting in those animals’ mouths. At some point, Mom pulls me out of the shower and gets me back to bed, but I don’t remember her saying anything.
So, needless to say, I’m a bit of a wreck when I walk into the cemetery grounds with my family the next morning. Liam pulls at the same suit he wore to Opal’s and Harlow’s funerals, which is now so short that his Superman socks show underneath the slacks. I know time has passed, but back at Forest Lawn Memorial, it’s like we’re right back in October again. Junior year slipped away and, ironically, I did survive without my friends.
As the world grows fuzzier and my hearing cuts in and out, I’m not so sure I’ll survive this burial, though. I didn’t have any appetite this morning and it’s turning into a bigger mistake than I could’ve anticipated. As we trudge through the hills to Paisley’s burial plot, Mom eyes me with pity etched deep in the downturn of her mouth.
“We’ll get you into a seat soon,” she says. “Just let us say something to Leslie and Mark.” Mom looks directly at me. “Remember to be soft with them, Em.”
As in,don’t be too honest. Mom has never trusted me to follow social cues a day in my life, despite me being so much better than I was as a kid who said exactly what was on my mind.
The casket sits in the pulley, ready to be lowered, surrounded byfolding white chairs only half shaded. Men and women alike with surgery-puffed lips and bug-eyed sunglasses fan themselves and chat with those around them. The same Hastings crew and celebrity friends as the funerals and the vigil. But it’s like the crowd has collectively grown weary of these gatherings. Some folks aren’t wearing the customary black. Everyone forms big circles, rearranging the chairs to face away from Paisley’s closed casket. Mrs. and Mr. Horne are swamped by adults clutching their teenage children like misbehaving toddlers to go give condolences.
Mom pushes her way into the crowd, the rest of us cowering behind her.
“We’re so sorry, Leslie,” Mom says, giving Mrs. Horne a stiff hug. I actually have no idea how old Mrs. Horne is, but a career in Hollywood makes that impossible to discern even this close up. Some aging cracks through, but her face is still so sharp, long blond hair still shiny, her skin smooth.
Mrs. Horne tries to turn her lips up into a polite smile, but it’s like her face is holding her back. No crinkles around her eyes or on the tip of her nose, no movement on her forehead. “Thank you.” Mrs. Horne looks directly at me. “Hi, darling Emma. I don’t know where my Bex is, but I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.”
I’ve never heard anyone use that nickname for Beck. “Thank you. I’ll find her.”
After Paisley’s vigil, Beck and I hardly spoke. A few brief text exchanges, but nothing more. I don’t even know what I’d say to her at this point, if there’s a connection still there to continue forward with. But honestly, I’d take that awkwardness over whatever’s happening with Mrs. Horne now.
Meanwhile, the heat is relentless, forcing me to fan myself withthe burial program. Mrs. Horne gives me a nod. “I know, it’s so hot today, isn’t it?” She shakes her head. “I told Mark we should think about weather. People should be inside right now, not out here.”
“Right, dear,” Mr. Horne says, giving his wife a squeeze on the shoulder.
“It’s mall weather. Have you been to the Bloomingdale’s inside the mall in Sherman Oaks?” Mrs. Horne asks me. “It’s quite lovely. Great selection and it’s got a wonderful little cafe upstairs.” Her lips twitch downward. “Lee and I used to go all the time.”
“I, uh.” I tuck a hair behind my ear. “I haven’t. But that mall is nice.”
Mom gives me a look, but I don’t know what on earth else I could’ve said. Why are we talking about this? I look to my parents, but they’re both nodding along like this is all normal. And I still haven’t spottedBex. With the way Mrs. Horne is spaced out, I almost wonder if they forgot her at home.
Mrs. Horne looks back to me, a wistful smile forming on her face. “The only heat I really like is my sauna back home. Late nights are the best times to be in the sauna. Bexy’s father recently put in an infrared light. It’s supposed to help you live forever.”
Her smile breaks then, but twitches back up before settling into her neutral expression. As if asking,why would you want to live forever if your baby is dead?
Sweat drips down my back as my heart breaks a little for her.
I’m about to eke out some kind of reply to Mrs. Horne’s strange musings, but a dizzy spell hits me. I stumble over into Owen. Mrs. Horne gasps.
“Oh, love, go find Bex. She’ll find you some water,” she says.
Mom shoots me a look that’s both a little fed up with me and also concerned.
“Owen, help Emma out, please,” Mom says. “She wasn’t able to eat this morning.”
