Of the Trees(7)

It had rained overnight—poured really—which, for Cassie, explained the weird feeling that came over her in the Gray Lady Cemetery. It had just been an oncoming thunderstorm. That explained the leaves flipping to flag their light underbellies, the heavy density of the air. The wind caught on dying leaves and it sounded like a high-pitched whisper, but it wasn’t. And the bobbing light? An errant moonbeam fighting through a patch of mist, a reflection cast from a phone screen someone must have lit when Cassie didn’t notice, or even a bizarrely large firefly—a grouping of them maybe—hovering over some food source none of them could see.

It was easily explainable. All weird things were if you tried hard enough.

Cassie tugged the zipper of her jacket up as she jogged across the empty street. Mr. Sheridan had wanted to walk her home, but she had insisted she was fine alone. The sun had just set, but the sky was light enough that she could still see—which was good because in her small town, streetlights just didn’t exist—and she was in a hurry, too much of a hurry to politely walk next to Mr. Sheridan as he puffed up the street avoiding the still puddles.

She babysat for the Sheridan family at least once a week, four-year-old Randall and eight-month-old Quinn. The parents had come home late. Again. She couldn’t really complain—they always paid her well, especially when they were late—but it was Saturday night, and she was supposed to meet Laney at the carnival, and now she would definitely be late.

She could see, just about a block ahead, her father’s car in their driveway. At least, he was home already. Her mother wouldn’t be; she got that text earlier. She’d taken a double at the hospital emergency room where she worked as a nurse. That happened a lot on busy nights. Cathy Harris would call home, tell them to take a casserole from the freezer and not wait up for her.

None of the lights were on outside, but Cassie could see the glow of the kitchen lamp through the front bay window. It colored the glass a soft orange and Cassie gritted her teeth, chastising herself internally, her mind picturing a softly glowing lantern bobbing through the woods.

Overactive imagination. It had always been her downfall. That was one of the first things she and Laney had really bonded over: seeing spooks and goblins in darkened corners and scaring each other with ghost stories and midnight games of Bloody Mary during sleepovers.

“Hey, honey, how was babysitting?” her father called as soon as she walked through the front door. His voice carried down the short hall that led to the back of the house and the kitchen. Cassie heard the crinkle of fast food bags and knew that he was probably taking advantage of her mother’s absence to sneak in some junk food. The lasagna that her mother wanted thawed was probably lying cold in the fridge. Cassie didn’t care. She’d grab some food at the carnival anyway.

“Okay,” Cassie called back, kicking off her boots. To her left, the living room sat empty and dark, the last of the sunset streaking the sky through the bay window. There was a pile of laundry waiting for her on the stairs directly in front of her, and she scooped up the armful before starting up the steps. “You’re taking me to the carnival, right?”

“Huh?” her father grunted back, and Cassie rolled her eyes, catching a pair of rolled up socks with her chin before they fell off the top of the pile. Her father, Patrick Harris, was the most forgetful person she knew. Her mom had a system of constant sticky notes and running text messages to remind him of things, but nothing ever seemed to stick.

“The carnival, remember?” Cassie shouted from her open bedroom door. She threw the folded clothes on her unmade bed and stripped off her sweatpants. Her jeans had been shed on her floor, around the other side of the bed. She bent to get them, pulling them on before changing shirts. She didn’t mind babysitting, it was good for some cash, but she could never stand the smell of the baby formula that somehow always got splashed all over her. “Laney is already there, she’ll drive me home.”

“Right, of course,” he answered through an obviously full mouth. “Ready when you are.”

Cassie took a moment and gave herself a once over in the mirror. She pulled a brush through her auburn hair, and then yanked it up at the last moment, not sure if she was going to go on any rides, but putting it up, out of the way, just in case. Ryan usually dragged her on some ride or another, knocking into her as the ancient rides bounced over the trampled ground.

Something small flared into life at the thought, and she looked at the picture she had jammed into her mirror frame. Her, Laney, Ryan, and Jon at the end-of-year party their school always had. Laney had given her phone to a passing student, and they had snapped it quickly, really before any of them were ready. Jon was looking the other way, and Laney hadn’t even sat back down. But Cassie was laughing, her eyes locked with Ryan’s. He was grinning back at her, his gaze soft. When Cassie had first seen the picture, she had been struck by that look.

She had never noticed Ryan staring at her like that before. Cassie hadn’t said anything to Laney, even when her friend questioned her for wanting a copy of the picture.

“Are we going, or what?” her father called from the base of the stairs. Cassie jumped, grabbed her purse, and threw her jacket on before running down the stairs.

“Dad, seriously?” she asked, coming to a full stop on the bottom landing. Her father blinked up at her.

“What?”

“Your … ” Cassie trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “Everything.”