Page 112 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
I’m not fine.
My hands plunge into the wet earth. Dirt squeezes into the cracks of my fingernails. Juniper needles rip at the skin of my arms. White-throated sparrows cry in the trees above.
When at last the hole is deep enough, I lift the heavy plastic bag at my feet, the one I pulled out of the errrn that morning—the one stuffed with the lifeless grey powder I’m told is my brother. My arms quiver as I lower him into the hole.
I find my father on the floor of his bedroom, crippled by the weight of something he believes to be his fault. I understand that I can never tell him. I understand that telling him means digging Henry back up. I cannot allow that to happen. I let my father carry a burden he should never have had to bear. I let him carry it for more than a decade.
I build a fortress atop the ashes of my brother.
The crowd erupted, jerking me out of my trance. At the altar, Taz draped Helene over his arm and planted a spectacular wedding kiss onto her lips. Speedy whistled through two fingers. The porch shook with joyous shouts. I clapped feebly. Clarence produced a champagne bottle from nowhere and popped the cork. It flew over the porch railing, into the waves below. The happy couple clung to each other and sprinted down the aisle. The audience unleashed a shower of snow-white rice, the grains of which would surely slip through the cracks in the porch and plunge straight into the water. It was over. They were married.
In the trees above, white-throated sparrows cried.
39
NOW
THE FEAST THAT FOLLOWED WASone for the books.
After Taz and Helene made their exit, Mom stood and clapped twice, like the queen she knew herself to be. The guests rose as one and hoisted their chairs high above their heads. They rearranged them into a circle stretching from one end of the porch to the other. While they worked, the bridal party—myself included, Karma dragging me along like a disoriented puppy—went around the side to the screened-in dining porch to fetch the table. We each cupped a hand under the heavy wood and lifted. Caleb and Clarence and the other men raised the table so high that none of the girls could reach. Karma jumped up and down.
“Absolutely useless,” said Clarence with a grin.
They carried the table out to the patio and settled it at the center of the circle of chairs. We set it with remarkable speed, probably because there were no frilly napkins or extra soup spoons involved. Just plates and glasses and candles and place mats.
And food. So much food.
I dragged the deepest breath I could manage into my chest. Drifted back to the patio railing.
I know where Henry is.
The rest of the group milled about. They didn’t know where to place their bodies; no name tags sat on the place mats. “Sit wherever,” said Wendy in a tone so cheerful it sounded prerecorded. “Taz and Helene want everyone to choose for themselves.”
Arms trembling, I flipped my body around to face the water. The wind that stirred the trees in the morning had completely dissipated. Not a ripple cracked the lake’s surface. I tried to take another deep breath. My lungs filled only halfway.
“Eliot?”
I turned around. Everyone at the table was staring at me. A pair of warm chestnut eyes bludgeoned my chest. Karma gestured to the spread and said, “Waiting on you.”
“Right.”
I walked over to the last open chair, between the two groomsmen I didn’t know. Manuel was right across the table. I tried not to make eye contact as I sat down.
Moments later, the door to Sunny Sunday burst open. Taz and Helene emerged, yanking the curtain from the wall as they did. Helene had changed into a short, flowery dress. Taz’s jacket was gone. They ran out onto the porch, holding the curtain, letting it flap behind them like an enormous cape. The table burst into applause.
After the newlyweds took their chairs, everyone dug in.
It was the most delicious-looking table I’d ever seen. Every bit was covered by the different dishes we’d listed in our group chat. Fettuccini alfredo. Pulled pork with an extra bottle of Sweet Baby Ray’s sauce. Deep dish pizza that looked suspiciously like Lou Malnati’s. Ceramic basins filled with salsa and guacamole and hummus ringed by a mountain of tortilla chips. And more. Not an empty inch of wood remained.
Of course. Leave it to Taz to choose everyone else’s favorite foods for his wedding.
And leave it to Karma and Shelly to make it all perfectly.
Any unoccupied table space held an uncorked bottle of wine. Along the perimeter, champagne waited in ice buckets. The whole thing looked downright medieval.
I couldn’t have been less hungry if I tried.
Oddly enough, even though I’ve been nothing short of an anxious mess for more than a decade, I’ve never had a panic attack. Never. But I suspected that I was slowly descending into one at that moment.
