I stumble away from the hole, hands throbbing, my head pounding, sweat burning my eyes. Pulling off the work gloves, I throw the shovel to the side and rush back along the path out to the lake to bend down at the shore and splash water on my face. Holding my hot, throbbing hands under the surface, I imagine falling forward to let the cool water claim me, floating away from what I’m sure I will find in that wooden trunk—the body of my dead father. But I’ve come too far for that now. I lift my hands from the water and force myself back to the tree.

The forest pulses with silence as I stand beside the hole I’ve made. Fitting the blade of the shovel under the lip of the trunk, I push down hard on the handle, using the ground for leverage until I hear the gentle pop of wood separating from wood.

Getting down on my knees, I take a deep breath, ignore the roll of nausea in my stomach, and lift the lid of the trunk. No matter what I was expecting to find, the skeletal remains in the trunk still send an electrifying shock through my body and a high-pitched wail from my mouth.

I fall back onto the freshly turned earth with a hand to my chest. The silence suddenly pounds my ears with its force, making me feel more alone than I ever have. It was a mystery in my head to be solved, a challenge, but now that I’ve actually uncovered a part of its truth, all I want to do is unknow it.

What feels like an eternity passes. I’m frozen on the ground with fear, not knowing what to do or who to turn to. Eventually I work up the courage to inch forward toward the hole. Placing my hands in the dirt, I lean forward over the grave. There is no question that it’s an adult who was buried here; the knees are folded up against the body. I’m looking for signs that it’s my father, but all of the clothing has disintegrated.

Reaching in, I shift some parts around to get a better look at things—trying not to gag as I do. I lift the left hand, looking for a wedding ring, but the fingers are empty, which makes sense because I found my father’s ring in the cottage. I lean in further and lift the right arm, ignoring the unpleasant crunch it makes as I separate it from the rest of the body. I have to look away for a second and take some deep breaths. Manhandling this skeleton is making me feel like I’m going to pass out.