By the time I arrive back at Avril Island, Ezra has called me three times, but I just let it go to voice mail. I’m not sure what to say to him. Do I admit to snooping, or do I pretend I didn’t find a small creepy shrine dedicated to me in his office? I need more time to come up with a plan, so for now I’ll ignore him.

The day is hot again, and I don’t relish the idea of spending it shoveling, but I have a very strong feeling that the tree that keeps sprouting crosses is the place to start in my search for answers. I grab a pair of work gloves and go in search of a shovel. There’s only one in the tool shed. It’s rusted, and the wooden handle is splintered in places, but it will have to do.

The quiet of the forest is penetrated by the sound of my shovel hitting the dirt, over and over again. I start away from the tree to avoid the roots, but breaking through the green ground cover to get to the damp soil below is hard. Only twenty minutes in, I’m dripping with sweat. It’s even hotter today than it was yesterday.

Every few minutes a voice in my head tells me to give up, that I’m crazy and won’t find anything, but something in me will not let my body stop putting the shovel in the soil and tossing it to the side. As the hole gets bigger, adrenaline releases through my veins to keep me going.

The occasional bird lands on a branch close by to mock me with its call. The sweatier I get, the more flies I attract, but other than stopping for water, I just keep digging. And then finally, the swoosh of my shovel sinking into dirt becomes a clunk, the impact traveling up my arms and into my shoulders.

Clearing away some of the loose earth, I see what looks like a wooden board. It takes time to shovel the rest of the dirt away until I’ve uncovered the entire length of it. Next, I dig down along the sides to loosen it from the ground. It’s then that I realize what it is—the long, wooden blanket box that used to sit under a window in the living room of our cottage. It was used as a window seat and to hold the scratchy woolen blankets that we never actually used.