Page 19 of Little Buried Secrets

“A nice, long soak in the hot tub. It’s the perfect night for it.”

Given it was winter, nothing appealed to me more than slipping into a hot tub of water while the cool, coastal breeze washed over my face.

“I’m in,” I said.

“Good. I’ll clear the dishes. You go ahead and get a head start.”

“You will be joining me, right?”

“As soon as I can. My sister called right after you arrived home. I was finishing up dinner at the time, so I waited to return the call.”

“Tell Daniela I said hello,” I said. “And remind her she promised to come for a visit.”

“Will do. I won’t be long.”

I changed clothes, the pitter-patter of Luka’s paws scampering alongside as I stepped out onto the back deck and lowered myself into the hot tub. For the first time all day, it felt like I was starting to relax.

I leaned back, my eyes fluttering closed as I struggled to stay awake.

When my eyes opened, I was no longer in the hot tub. I was in a wooded area, and I was cold—freezing cold—and soaking wet, like I’d just gone for a swim.

I ran my hands up and down my goose-fleshed arms and noticed I was still wearing the swimsuit I’d had on in the hot tub. I was also barefoot, and when I took a step forward, my foot came down on a twig. The twig snapped, and a sharp pain shot up my leg.

Looking around the fog-laden area, I saw no one, but I heard a symphony of noises. Trees blowing in the wind, shifting and bending to its will. Screeching owls somewhere in the distance. Insects buzzing. And something, or someone, behind me.

I turned, blinking into the darkness as I said, “Hello? Is someone there?”

“Hello,” came a soft, melodic reply.

“I can’t see more than a couple of feet in front of me. Where are you?”

“I am here.”

“Here where?”

“Everywhere.”

“Where are we?” I asked.

Laughter echoed around me.

“You tell me,” she said. “It’s your dream.”

“Margot?”

“You didn’t search for me tonight.”

There it was—the underlying guilt I’d been feeling all evening. The feeling that I wasn’t doing enough. It was never enough. I was never enough. One of the many lies I chose to tell myself, even though I knew better than to believe it.

“Everyone is looking for you,” I said.

“Everyone except you. You don’t know where to look, do you?”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

Because of reasons I didn’t want to say out loud.

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