Chapter 4: The Cemetery’s Secret

Grandpa let out a heavy sigh, then told my younger uncle to get the pickup ready. He whispered something low, then hopped in the old Ford and sped off in a spray of gravel. We watched the taillights disappear down the dirt road, nobody saying a word. Aunt Lisa squeezed my shoulder, her grip almost painful.

After Grandpa left, my uncle turned to Mr. Hawthorne, voice raw. "Please don’t leave us yet. Having you here… makes me feel better."

The porch light flickered on as dusk fell, throwing long shadows. Mr. Hawthorne shifted, uneasy, but nodded. "Alright. But don’t move your boy—just let him lay in the sun. I’ll go check the old cemetery on the back hill."

Uncle’s face tightened. "I gotta stay with him. Carter, go with Mr. Hawthorne."

I slipped on my sneakers, heart pounding, and pushed open the squeaky gate. The air was cooling, but sweat still stuck to my neck. The smell of fresh-cut grass mixed with barbecue from next door, making everything feel strangely normal and wrong at the same time.

We crossed the yard and headed up the overgrown trail, birds chattering and mosquitoes swarming. Mr. Hawthorne’s shoulders looked small and hunched as he led the way in silence.

When we neared the hill, he stopped. "Carter, is that apple tree at Lily’s house lined up with the front door?"

I pictured Lily’s old house—peeling paint, wild dandelions, that crooked apple tree off to the left. "Not exactly. It’s a little off to the side."