Of the Trees(64)

“I would steer clear of them for a while. Don’t let your daughter over there alone. Let us handle them.”

“But—” Cassie started, feeling guilt rise inside of her. Their daughter was gone. Cassie saw it happen. They would want answers, need comfort, it couldn’t be wrong to try to give those things.

“Trust me on this one,” Gibbons answered, rising from his seat. The chair creaked underneath him. “Things like this, they tear people apart. Those folks can’t be blamed for what’s going to come out of their mouths. But it doesn’t mean you should have to hear it.”





Sunday morning was a whirlwind of activity. Cassie had slept terribly, and a dull headache was her waking companion. They kept the blinds shut tightly, but it couldn’t block out the noise. Organizers on bullhorns, people jostling into position. They were combing the woods that surrounded the neighborhood, trampling through Gray Lady Cemetery, and trying to get the dozens of people who showed up into position. There were more than a few knocks at her front door. Cassie was shooed into her bedroom each time, and her father would open the door a crack to send whoever it was off their property. After the sixth time, Cassie didn’t bother coming back down from her room. She sat at her window, peering through a crack in her blinds. It had started to rain. Not heavily, but a steady mist. The people outside, covered with rain gear and wearing heavy boots, must have been cold. She could see Mr. and Mrs. Blake, standing on their porch, a crowd of people surrounding them, leaving muddy footprints all over their lawn.

There was a collection of flowers and candles and pink teddy bears at the end of her driveway. Cassie couldn’t help but feel this appropriate. Jessica had her tribute at the softball field, Laney’s was home, close to the cemetery. The funny thing was that neither girl was particularly fond of teddy bears or candles. Cassie found herself wondering why people left these things, why the useless St. Valentine’s Day mementos that anyone could buy at their local drug store? For that matter, why anything at all? It wasn’t like the girls would come back to claim them.

Her stomach fell at the thought, the subconscious realization that no, Laney wasn’t coming back.

Cassie heard the knock on the front door from her bedroom, but she didn’t move until she heard his voice.

“Please, I have to see her.”

Cassie sprang out of her chair, her vision blurring a bit in the corners as she crossed her room. She reached out a hand to the doorjamb, steadying herself.

“She’s not well, Ryan,” her mother was saying. Cassie saw his face, broken and lined with worry.

“Ryan,” Cassie called out. Her voice wasn’t loud, but they all turned to her. “Mom, please.”

Cassie could read the indecision on her mother’s face, but it didn’t matter. Ryan was already scooting around her, pushing through the cracked opening in the door and taking the steps two at a time. Her mother shut the door, the sound of shuffling volunteers and the light pattering of the rain quieting. Ryan reached her in a single stride from the top step, his arms already opened, and she collapsed into him. He was damp but solid. She inhaled sharply, noting the sandalwood cologne he wore, the sharp scent of the soap that undercut it. She could feel the way he trembled, feel herself break apart into sobs as she started to whisper over and over, “She’s gone, she’s gone.”

He was whispering to her, mostly nonsense, trying to calm her, and she could hear her mother’s voice, “You better bring her to the living room.”

That wasn’t what Cassie wanted. She wanted her bed, a closed door. She wanted to tell someone what happened and have them believe her. She wanted to have Ryan curl around her, let her sleep while he watched, standing guard over the trees that swayed and moaned in the wind and plagued her with nightmares of dirt and rot and being dragged down and into a living grave. But her feet were already shuffling down the stairs, her body guided under his firm arm, and so she went, away from her room and the possibility of a closed door, and followed Ryan and her mother to the living room.

The light streaming through the bay window was weak, cold sunlight that didn’t warm. Her mother left them for a moment. Cassie could hear the clink of tea mugs from the kitchen, the sloshing water of the kettle as her mother lit the stove top. She sat on the worn leather couch, tipping slightly as Ryan sat next to her. His hand drifted from her hip to her shoulder. He hadn’t let her go yet, and she was grateful for it.

“Thank you for coming,” Cassie said softly. She felt him shift on the couch next to her. Warm fingers caught her chin and tipped her face up.

“Of course I came,” he said. He searched her face, his eyes a steady and warm brown that drank her in.

“But we haven’t,” Cassie said falteringly as she kept her eyes on his. “Not since. We haven’t spoken. I missed you.”

The last bit came out in a rushed breath, Cassie not even consciously aware of the words as they tripped out of her mouth. Ryan smiled gently.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked. He lowered his voice and brought his face closer to hers. She doubted it would matter, her mother would be listening regardless. However, she wasn’t watching.

Cassie nodded her head, as the words came out. “I can’t remember,” she whispered. His brow scrunched in confusion. Her tongue darted out, ran across her dry lips, and she pulled the lower lip into her mouth, biting in distress.