Page 31 of Witch's Wolf

Letting go doesn’t feel like an option.

17

ERICA

My flight from Dawson is supposed to mark the return of normalcy. Three hours away from that tucked-away town in the Catskills, I slip back into the rhythm of my life. Piano in the morning, a rehearsal or two, coffee with Stacy at our usual spot. The routine fits like an old sweater, comfortable and familiar, but something’s missing. Not something. Someone.

I tell myself I shouldn’t feel this way. That what happened in Dawson, what happened with Sam, was a detour, not a destination. Even so, his absence is a hollow weight I can’t shake. And with the grim task ahead of me, I know I’ll miss him even more.

The call comes Wednesday afternoon. A clipped, professional voice on the other end tells me the exhumation is scheduled for Friday. The word alone sends my stomach lurching. Exhumation. My parents’ bodies relegated to nothing more than a logistical issue to be resolved. As if digging up their graves won’t rip me open all over again.

Helena told me they weren’t there. That what I buried wasn’t them. True or not, my heart doesn’t understand that logic. In my mind, they’ve been resting there all this time. And now, I have to watch as they’re pulled from the earth.

Friday morning, I stand in Calvary Cemetery watching. The air is thick with the scent of damp soil. The steady growl of machinery grates against my nerves as a man in an orange vest operates the digger, each scoop of dirt a fresh wound.

Stacy is at my side, solid as ever, her presence a silent offer of comfort, but there’s no comfort to be had. Watching, waiting, holding my breath as long as I can before remembering to let go and breathe again. Then, the first casket emerges.

The breath locks in my throat when the lids are lifted. Reality crashes onto me in a way no amount of mental preparation can possibly soften. They weren’t recognizable or whole when I buried them, torn apart by the violence of the crash and nothing has changed.

My sight blurs and my vision swims. I’m rejecting the horror of it. I swallow hard, forcing down the bile rising in my throat. Then, a chilling realization sinks in.

If not for Helena, I never would have questioned this. Never would have thought to look deeper. I would have let them stay buried and let the truth rot with them.

I force myself to stand still, to breathe, to push back the emotion threatening to swallow me whole. Because this isn’t over. This is only the beginning.

“I’m not going to let you see your mom and dad’s bodies, child. I want you to remember them as they were.”

Grandma’s voice echoes in my head, soft but firm, the way it always was when she tried to shield me from pain. ‘My little Starbuck’, she used to call me, always fussing over me, always trying to keep my heart intact, as if that were possible. The truth is, my heart shattered a long time ago. What’s left is just pieces that are barely held together.

At the coroner’s office, I press my fingertips against the cold counter while they take a DNA sample. It’s quick. Routine. Clinical. But the finality of it hits me hard. As if this simple thing is proof that this is real.

When I step back outside, dusk is bleeding into the city skyline. The thought of going home, of being alone makes my stomach knot. I don’t need deep conversations or reassurances. I just need a presence. Something, no, someone solid.

Stacy.

I expect her to say no. She loves the city, thrives on it. She always said a weekend in Manhattan’s best bars beats nature every time. Even so, when I suggest heading upstate, she surprises me. Maybe she sees something in my face, something raw, something wrecked. Or maybe she’s just as drained as I am. Either way, she doesn’t hesitate, and we go.

My BMW cuts through the dark stretch of highway towards Shandaken. The low hum of the tires on pavement is a steady rhythm, a sound that should be soothing but it’s not. It seems nothing is going to cut through the tension in my head and heart.

Stacy, on the other hand, looks completely at ease. She reclines in the passenger seat, propping her feet on the dashboard, her gaze distant, and looks lost in thought. She hasn’t said much since we left the city, but I don’t mind the silence too much.

I roll down my window, letting in the crisp bite of mountain air. I know what will wake her up. And maybe, just maybe, I need the distraction, too.

“Tell me you didn’t miss this,” I say, as the cool mountain air floods the car.

Stacy exhales, slow and lazy, her voice warm with nostalgia.

“I did, sweetie, sure, but let’s be honest, shall we? It’s not nature you miss. It’s the stud waiting for you up here.”

I bite back my grin as I turn onto the road to Dawson.

“Guilty. I’ve got a good feeling about him, Red. There’s kindness in his eyes. He’s a man of few words, and he’s amazing in bed.”

A dry chuckle escapes her.

“Funny, I seem to remember those same traits in a certain someone,” she says, shifting in her seat and fixing me with a knowing look. “Didn’t end so well, did it?”

The lightness of the moment curdles, and I tighten my grip on the wheel.

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