Of the Trees(85)

People moved past her, walking briskly down the sidewalk, getting cars for friends and relatives who didn’t want to get wet. A small gathering of waiting people pooled underneath the building’s small awning.

The sidewalk was thick with puddles. Cars still pulled from the parking lot and just ahead she could see the lit brake lights of her parent’s sedan. Rain fell fast and cold, and Cassie flipped up her hood, almost deafened by the pattering on her coat.

The lines of people moving down the sidewalk started to thin as Cassie moved forward. Just ahead, still and unmoving, unlike the rest, Cassie saw her face, a pale oval through the rain. Her eyes caught and locked with Cassie’s. She looked the same, not like the body lying still in the coffin, but glowing and alive. Her irises darkened when she saw her friend, her lips part.

Cassie stared blankly ahead, the rain catching in her eyelashes.

Laney moved right up to her, staring up into her face. “Cass,” she whispered. Cassie looked down.

“Sorry,” Cassie said. Her gut clenched. The words were almost lost in the rain. “Do I know you?”

Shock and hurt cut across Laney’s features. She took a small step back. Out of nowhere, Corey materialized, his arms coming around Laney. Cassie kept her face carefully blank.

“You’re lying,” Laney hissed. Cassie shook her head, raindrops flying from her hood.

“I think the line starts around the side of the building,” Cassie said, pointing to the funeral home. “It’s pretty much over, though. The funeral is at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

Headlights washed over them. Laney looked stricken.

“We told you, love,” Corey whispered low in her ear. Cassie was sure she wasn’t meant to have heard. “It would be this way. She can’t see you, not really.”

Cassie moved past them, walking briskly as though she hadn’t heard. Something small in her snapped, and her eyes started to burn. She made it almost to the curb when she looked up and saw him. Across the road, standing stock still among the crowds hurrying for their cars, stood Aidan. Without a hood up, the rain plastering his hair to his head, he stared.

A shiver moved through her as a swirl of heat coursed up her body. It brought words that echoed inside her skull.

“You know,” he whispered, smirking at her. “See you soon.”

The doors to the funeral home opened, the lights beyond going dark. Soft crying could be heard from the entrance way. It mingled with the crying Cassie could hear from the street, only steps away from her. Laney and her parents, both mourning her leaving this world.

But she had left, willingly.

Cassie opened the car door, slid into the seat, water dripping from her jacket and leaving dull spots on the upholstery.

“Okay, honey?” her father asked. The heater was on, blowing dry, hot air over Cassie’s face. She stared straight ahead.

“Take me home,” she whispered. She lay her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.





ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS


Firstly, thanks to Georgia McBride and the entire team at Month9Books. It has been an honor and a privilege to work with each of you.

This was a book about friendship. Writing Cassie’s story felt a bit like diving back into the throes of teenagerdom, armed with the knowledge my best friend wouldn’t make it out alive. I’m lucky enough to have some wonderful memories of peanut butter pies, midnight treks through the woods, school dances, apologies made of coffee and bagels, and trips to my own local haunted cemetery. Heather and Elaine, Stephanie and Shannon, Caitlin and Shelaine, thank you for making my younger years so memorable.

Life was busy back then, and, unbelievably, it’s even busier now. I have my four wonderful children and my husband to thank for that. Adam, Matthew, and James, thank you for the quiet nights. Caitlin, thank you for feeding me popcorn while I revised this book. (I promised I’d thank her for that.) My husband reads everything I write and tells me when it’s terrible. I love him for it. Thank you, Marc Fitch, for the critiques and the support, for your encouragement, and for sharing this crazy life with me.

With all the insanity of living life, I’m a lucky woman to have an additional three anchors in the chaos. Jodi, Ginger, and Rachael thank you for the support, the midnight checkins, the weekly phone calls, the gentle talk-downs, and handholding; even if—especially if—you were unaware you were doing this.

To my parents, Tom and Rita McCullough, thank you for encouraging my love of reading and for teaching me that hard work can take you anywhere. To my brothers, Paul and Mark, thank you for being my best friends growing up, even if it was only because Mom told us we had to be. She was right. You’re still two of my best friends. Grandma Brock, thanks for everything.

The first to ever take a stab at editing any of my jumbled thoughts was Mav Skye. Mav, it was your push years ago that kept me writing and your encouragement now that improves it. I couldn’t thank you enough for that, but I’ll continue to try.

Lastly, thanks to you, whoever you are, for reading this book, allowing me into your thoughts, and letting me stay there until these final pages. I’m honored and grateful.

These things always come off sounding like I’m signing someone’s yearbook … so to that end, have a great summer and stay in touch!

But seriously, stay in touch. Go find me on social media or something, I’d love to chat with you!