He pulled at the orange mesh fencing and stepped over it. The level of water in the pond was down and looked muddy and dirty. They’d skipped stones in the pond and waded in around the edges, always mindful that they didn’t know how deep it was. Slipping and sliding, his sneakers squishing in the wet mud, Pete made his way to the far side of the pond.

Damn, where was it? His gaze raked the old trees as he searched for some sign of the clubhouse they’d built with stolen boards and nails. It was all gone. He cursed loudly and ripely. No, no, there was a board. One board remained. They must have had some really big nails back then for one lonely board to survive twenty years of the elements. One lone board hanging drunkenly from one of the thick oak branches. He looked around to see if there were any of the other boards lying around. He squished his way around the base of the tree but couldn’t find even a splinter from the old clubhouse.

Something drew his gaze up to the Judas tree. Twenty years ago the four of them had carved their initials in the trunk. Were they still there, or had they faded with time?

God, how he’d loved this place. Secretly, he’d always called it Paradise. At least for him. He thought Cady felt the same way. For Amy and Andy it was just a place to play and have fun. He didn’t think, even now, all these years later, that Jeff King and Boomer felt anything in particular about this grassy, green grove with the beautiful, old trees.

His eyes burned with his memories. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his sweats and made his way up the hill, to where the Judas tree stood solitary and watchful. There had always been something special about the Judas tree. It was protective and spooky at the same time. One lone tree, not particularly big, standing off by itself, its reflection glaring up at him from the pond. How was that possible? It was raining. He could feel himself start to shiver.

The tree was older, fuller. He wished he could remember the legend that went with the tree. Maybe Annie would know.

“Maybe it’s time I found out,” he said, picking a bud that was about to bloom. It smelled so sweet he regretted taking it. Holding the flower bud, he walked to the edge of the cliff and let it go. It was only a thirty-foot drop to the pond below, but the blossom seemed to take forever before touching the water.

Pete stared into the water as if mesmerized. He saw the flower and he saw…something else…his reflection. He wiped at his eyes, thinking he was imagining things. When he looked again, it was still there. Impossible, he told himself, backing up a step. It was raining; the pond’s surface wasn’t still.

He turned away, a shiver chasing down his spine.