“It may not happen,” I remind them. “As I said, the judge will decide what’s best.”

“Right,” Joshua says looking at his now inconsolable sister. “Someone else will decide what’s best. That’s just perfect.”

On my way to my car, I feel the size of a gnat. I’d spoken the truth, of course. At the same time, I’ve frightened them. I did that once before with my brother when I ran and left him in foster care. I’d miscalculated the impact of what I thought was best.

And every day since, I’ve paid the price.

Seven

It had been two days since the pickup truck crashed downward from the logging road into the woods. While Regina Torrance had done all she could to obscure it from discovery, she knew that in time someone would come. She also did her best to keep Amy from worrying.

“I’m going to get the body and get rid of it.”

“Just leave it.”

“No. If they find it then we’ll be ground zero for a murder investigation. Can you imagine how that would play out? The police would harp on us; the media would come calling for a quote. The world would find us.”

Amy finally agreed. Begrudgingly, but consented, nevertheless.

Regina completed her morning routine, and left Amy with eggs and bacon served on her mother’s dishes, Franciscan Ivy pattern. She remembered how one of their moving helpers had dropped the box with the dishes, breaking a big platter and sending Amy to bed in tears. Regina fixed the platter, making the spiderweb cracks barely noticeable.

She could fix the problem of the dead body too. Indeed, it might even be an easier endeavor than the platter. It still showed some cracks through the green of the ivy pattern.

The woods were not nearly as muggy that morning. The forest floor had dried like a kitchen sponge left on a counter for a couple of days. It smelled of living things. Regina was grateful about that. Mud would be an unnecessary complication, literally mucking up what she’d set out to do. As she snaked her way down the trail, Regina shifted her armload of supplies: a hacksaw, a bolt cutter, plastic garbage bags, an old tarp and painter’s respirator.

Approaching the vicinity of the truck, she reminded herself to breathe through her mouth when she went about her business.

Her effort at concealment had been effective. She squinted her eye to make sure she was headed right to it. A deer had passed through the area leaving tiny chiseled hoofprints in the now-drying mud.

Nothing else.

No one else.

She stripped off her clothes, put them inside the plastic bag. She spread out the tarp and stood naked over her tools. She halted her breathing and listened with all the concentration she could gather.

No one was there.

Just birds.

Only squirrels.

And the dead man.