24. Beth

Michael and Nicole have been gone a while, which gave me all afternoon to get most everything in the living room and kitchen cleaned up and put away. Many of the fragile items were destroyed, so I tossed them. Some things you can't fix.

I push a VHS tape labeled November 1999 into the VCR. It clicks into place and the machine makes a winding noise. This tape is the next one in chronological order after June 15, 1999. There was a gap, months without a tape, and that made sense. Mom clearly didn't want to capture any of the memories following Emma's disappearance. It also explains why she forgot to record over the clip from that evening—she couldn't face what happened. The screen is gray static and then it flicks to blue before an image appears. The date on the bottom right corner reads November 13, 1999. Michael is seated at the kitchen table. A birthday cake decorated with an edible image of a computer monitor rests in front of him. Across the top of the cake, Happy 13th Birthday, Michael is styled in green icing like computer code, and there are thirteen lit candles surrounding the message. The flames flicker and dance.

We haven't celebrated Michael's birthday since he moved to California. And I haven't wished him a happy birthday in years, so it's not something I usually remember, but he'll be thirty-six next month.

Onscreen, Dad sits next to Michael at the kitchen table, smiling and singing "Happy Birthday." There's little evidence on his face of the horrible thing he'd done, but he does appear to have aged a few years in the five months since the previous tape. Gray hair peppers his burly beard and new wrinkles crowd the corners of his eyes. Nicole and I stand on either side of our brother, belting out the same lyrics. Mom isn't in view, so I know she's the one holding the camcorder. She was almost always the one holding the camcorder, which is why hardly any photos or videos of her exist. Strangely, although the microphone is right next to her, it barely picks up the sound of her singing. It's like she's whispering the words, not fully committed to them.

When the song finishes, Michael squeezes his eyes shut, conjuring up a wish, and then he extinguishes all the flames with one gust of air. Wax drips down the candles, seeping into the cake. My siblings and I don't waste even a second before we pull the candles and suck the frosting off the ends.

"What'd you wish for?" Dad asks.

"I can't tell you," Michael says.

"Oh, come on. You can trust me." Dad forces a laugh and nudges him.

The camcorder makes a whirring sound, and the lens zooms in on Dad, closer and closer, until the center of his face fills the whole screen. Although the video is blurry, the intensity in his green eyes is clear as day. The camcorder stays zoomed in on him for a few seconds before the lens retracts, bringing me and my siblings back into frame.

"If you tell him, it won't come true," Mom says. Her tone isn't playful. It's serious. But no one seems to notice.

Michael juts out his chin. "Yeah, I can't tell you."

"You can tell me anything," Dad says with another forced laugh, playfully ruffling Michael's hair. My brother pulls away, flicking his locks back into place, while Dad flashes a smile in Mom's direction. I don't think she returns it, because he quickly averts his attention back to us three, asking, "Who wants cake?"

"I do," we all say in unison.

Dad cuts it into slices and divvies them up. Mom declines. No one notices. She keeps the camera focused, so all of us are in the shot. It seems like a birthday celebration that any other family would have, and I don't remember noticing anything out of the ordinary that day. But that's because I was seeing it through my eyes, not Mom's.

The camcorder whirs as the lens zooms in again. First, it's on me. My face fills the screen as I shove a forkful of white birthday cake into my mouth. My skin is youthful and glowing, slightly tan from the sun. Then it's Nicole's turn. She fills the frame. Her skin is oily with a smattering of teen acne. You wouldn't notice it though unless you were standing an inch away from her because it's those big green eyes that grab your attention and never let go. The camcorder moves to Michael. Frosting clings to his top lip, and he smiles wide, swiveling his head to flick the shaggy brown hair out of his eyes. Then it's on Dad again, and it lingers on him far longer than the rest of us. All I see is Dad onscreen, nothing out of the ordinary, but it's clear Mom sees something different, perhaps the facade he's putting on. There's nothing typical about this home video tape or how it was filmed. Mom wasn't capturing the moment. She was studying us.

"Can I open my presents now?" Michael asks. His tone is high-pitched because puberty hasn't set in yet.

"Laura, is it present time?" Dad says to Mom, giving her a strained look. He doesn't realize the camcorder is only on him. The lens zooms out slowly, and we're all back onscreen again.

"Sure," Mom says. Her voice lacks enthusiasm. No one notices.

Michael claps his hands and pushes his plate to the side, freeing up the space in front of him.

"Hold on." Dad backs his chair out and stands from the table, walking toward Mom.

"Michael's going to flip over this. Make sure you get his reaction," he whispers to her before leaving the room.

Mom says nothing.

A few moments later Dad appears back onscreen carrying a large wrapped box. "This is from the whole family," he says, placing the gift on the table and beaming at his son.

"The whole family?" Nicole laughs. "I got him a yo-yo. I don't know anything about this huge present."

It's true. Nicole and I didn't know what was in the box.

Michael tears through the wrapping paper, revealing a Compaq ProSignia desktop computer, or at least that's what it says on the side of the cardboard box.

He squeals and a string of words fly out of his mouth. "Awesome. This is da bomb. I can't believe it. This is for me? Thank you, Mom and Dad. I love it so much." He rotates the box, taking it all in.

"I hope this means I'm getting a car for my birthday," younger me says, her eyes darting to Dad and then directly at the camcorder.

Dad pats the box with his hand. "Well, this is so Michael can do JavaScript coding at home. But since it's the only computer in the house, we're going to set it up in the front room so everyone can use it. Understand?"

We all nod but Nicole and I exchange a look. And I remember what it meant. Michael getting that sizable gift seemed so unfair to us and completely out of the norm. They didn't have money for something like that, but now it makes sense. Michael's birthday was the first of ours since Emma went missing. Mine is in April and Nicole's is in March. Maybe this was their way of distracting us, keeping us from seeing the cracks in our own family or from uncovering the truth of what they had done. Busy minds don't wander.

A knock at the front door startles me, pulling me from the past. I quickly eject the tape, slide it back into its sleeve, and place it with the others. Well, except for the one that's been left out, set on top of the VCR. That one doesn't belong with the others.

Out on the porch, I find Lucas. He's wearing a gray knit beanie that I'm sure his mother made. His hands are slipped into the front pockets of his jeans, and he smiles at me. It's the kind of smile that makes the eyes sparkle. No one's looked at me like that in a very long time. Despite the temperature outside hovering in the fifties, my skin feels warm to the touch.

"Hey," I say, pushing open the screen door so there's nothing between us—well, except for that secret that feels more like a brick wall stacked five miles high. "Everything all right?" It's the question you ask when you've gotten more bad news than good in your life.

"Yeah, everything's fine." He pauses for a moment. "Oh, what happened here?" Lucas gestures to where the door's wood has splintered.

I glance at it. The break-in. But I can't tell him that, because it might have something to do with his sister and what our parents did. "Oh... we were hauling a piece of furniture out to donate to Goodwill and, well, that happened. Another thing to fix, I guess." I shrug and offer the tightest smile. "Did you need something?" I quickly add, trying to make sure the subject of the broken door is changed.

His eyes linger on the door for a moment before swinging back to me. "No," he says. "Umm... I just wanted some fresh air and to see if you had time for a walk?"

"Sure." I nod. "Let me grab my coat."

He smiles again. It's smaller this time.

I shove my feet into a pair of old tennis shoes and grab the nearest coat hung on the rack. It's a faded old denim jacket—Mom's. I consider putting it back and picking another, but I don't. I just slip it on. Some things you have to wear, like guilt and grief and old jackets left behind by loved ones who've passed.

"Where to?" I ask, closing the broken door behind me.

Lucas looks left, where our long driveway leads to the road. Then he looks right, where the curved waterway followed by concrete steps cuts through the hillside.

"How about down to the creek? I haven't seen it in ages."

I swallow hard but agree to his suggestion. It would be odd if I said I didn't want to go down there.

We walk side by side, following the path of the waterway my dad poured when we were kids. It was his design, a means to ensure heavy storms didn't erode his land when the rain ran downhill. Dad was always worried about losing things. He didn't have much, which made what he had all the more valuable, even the dirt on his land. Both of my parents were that way. My mom due to loss. My dad due to having little to begin with.

There's a drop-off a few feet high where a wall was created out of cement and rocks collected on the property. When the rain is heavy, it flows over it and crashes to the pavement, making a sound like a waterfall.

Lucas jumps first, his feet landing firmly on the concrete. He turns and holds out his hand to help me, just like he did when we were young. But unlike back then, I actually need the help now. I take his hand, bend at the knees, and hop off the ledge. When my shoes hit the pavement, my bad knee gives out, and I nearly tumble over. His hands grab the sides of my waist, keeping me in place so I don't fall.

"I got you," he says.

I look up at him, studying his face. There's a thousand words I want to say to him but the only one I let out is, "Thanks."

We exchange smiles. Mine is tight like a rubber band stretched to its limit. His is the opposite.

The concrete steps leading down the valley are large, so we take them slowly. They're lined with rocks and boulders, also collected from the land, five feet wide on either side. On the left, three lamp posts are positioned equally in distance to one another. Beyond the concrete and the rocks are hillsides covered in old trees; wild, untamed weeds; and fallen leaves and branches. Lucas holds my hand until we're at the bottom. When his fingers slip away, I can still feel them cradled in mine like a phantom limb.

The valley feeds into a clearing enclosed by hefty box elder and ash trees. From where we're standing, it looks like the tips of them are touching the dull gray sky. Leaves ranging in colors from yellow to orange to brown dance through the crisp air, falling one by one before settling onto the ground.

"I forgot how incredible it is down here," he says, scanning the area.

"It really is," I say.

"Where are your siblings?"

I sigh. "They went to find my dad."

He furrows his brow. "What do you mean?"

"You know those emails I told you about, the ones I send to my dad every week?"

Lucas nods.

"He wrote back."

"Wow, that's... unbelievable." He scratches the back of his neck and glances down at his shoes.

"It is."

"Why would he write back after all this time?"

"Maybe because Mom passed, and he felt obligated to reply." I shrug.

"What did he say?"

"Not much. Just that he couldn't be here for us."

"Why even send the email then?"

"I don't know. But Nicole wanted to find him, so she had Michael track down the IP address to where he sent the email from."

"And you didn't want to go?"

"No, because I can't get my hopes up again."

"I'm sorry, Beth," Lucas says, and I'm not exactly sure what he's apologizing for, but I tilt my head and nod. The wind whispers through the trees as though it has something it wants to say. We all do.

Lucas clears his throat. "How are the funeral arrangements coming along?" He obviously wants to change the topic of conversation. Death is an easier subject than the unknown.

"It's tomorrow. She asked to be cremated and have her ashes spread around the property." I look to him. "You know how my mom was. She never wanted anyone to make a fuss over her. Even her final wishes were as hassle-free as she could be."

"Yeah. I remember bringing her flowers on her birthday, and after she thanked me, she scolded me for wasting my money." He lets out a small laugh.

"That was Mom," I say, shaking my head and smiling at the memory. "She gave everything, and she wanted nothing in return." I pull the jean jacket a little tighter around my body, and for a split second, it feels like a hug from her.

"Would you mind if my mom and I stopped by to pay our respects?" he asks. "We won't stay long, only ten minutes or so since she's not doing well. But I know she'd like that."

I lower my head, looking down at my old tennis shoes. I've probably walked fifty miles in them, but all they've gotten me is here. I should say no. I should make up a reason as to why they can't come. But there is no good reason—at least not one I can tell Lucas.

His lips sit partially open, waiting for an answer.

"Of course. It's at sunset. That's when she wanted it to be."

He smiles and nods. "Shall we?" Lucas gestures to the field of overgrown grass.

I return the nod, but not the smile, and walk in step with him. Dad used to keep it cut short. But now the grass comes up past my knees. Lucas and I used to race each other from one fence to the other. I was faster than him until sophomore year of high school, but even then, he'd still let me win, pretending to trip and fall just before he reached the finish line. No matter what I was going through, whether I was feeling on top of the world or hitting rock bottom, Lucas always made me feel like I was a winner.

We trudge through the unmaintained land carefully, watching out for holes that gophers and groundhogs have burrowed in. The grass rustles against our pants as we leave the field and enter a wide path that cuts through the woods. To the left, it's thick and dark with a smattering of smaller trees fighting with one another for space and nutrients. To the right, the trees are spread out, larger with robust trunks and sprawling roots, demanding ample room around them.

Before we reach the creek, I can hear it. It burbles along its bed and trickles around the trees and branches that have succumbed to it. Finally, we're standing at the bank of the stream that severs my parents' land. The water is brown. It sounds prettier than it looks. Across the creek, several weeping willows lean into it while their long, graceful branches graze over the babbling water. The only way to get to the other side is by crossing the stream or walking up the steep side of Highway X and taking the bridge across.

Lucas stands beside me, feet shoulder width apart, chin slightly lifted, hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. I scan the creek until my eyes lock onto the arch of the highway underpass. The water under the bridge is shallow, causing the creek to narrow and create a bed of sludge. I blink and I see her there, covered in blood and mud. Clouded eyes that see no future. Her skin pale and cold. I wonder what they did with her. Where is Emma now? I blink again, and she's gone.

Lucas rests a hand on my shoulder. "Are you all right?"

I shake my head and say, "Yeah." He doesn't notice my body tells the truth while my mouth lies.

"Thought I lost you there."

"No, I'm still here." I avert my gaze because I can barely look at him.

"Good," he says. "Because I miss this," he adds with a faint smile.

My eyes find their way back to him like magnets to metal. "Miss what?"

"Us."

My body speaks before my brain can shut it down and say it's not a good idea. My arms snake around his neck, and my hands settle on his back. He pulls me into him. Although I haven't kissed him in decades, when our lips touch it feels like everything I've ever lost has been safely returned home. It starts off slow and soft and warm. When the pressure builds, our tongues take over, flicking and swirling around one another. My teeth sink into his fleshy lip. I can't get enough, and I wonder how I ever let him go to begin with. It feels like a first kiss or a final one. But I fear it might be the latter, thanks to the deadly secret sewn to my heart. I want to tell him but if I do, I think it'll destroy us again and this time, I won't survive it.