I tried not to look at Genevieve. It was disturbing the way her body faded in and out, and she stared at us with those creepy golden cat eyes, vacant and lifeless like they were made of glass.
The ground wasn’t that hard, especially considering it was December. Within a few minutes, I had already dug a foot deep. Aunt Del was pacing back and forth, looking worried. Every once in a while, she’d look around to be sure none of us were watching, then she’d glance over at Genevieve. At least I wasn’t the only one freaked out about her.
“We should go back. This is disgustin’,” Reece said, trying to make eye contact with me.
“Don’t be such a Girl Scout,” Lena said, kneeling over the hole.
Does Reece see her?
I don’t think so. Just don’t make eye contact with her.
What if Reece reads Aunt Del’s face?
She can’t. No one can. Aunt Del sees too much at once. No one but a Palimpsest can process all that information and make any sense of it.
“Mamma, are you really going to let them dig up a grave?”
“For star’s sake, this is ridiculous. Let’s stop this foolishness right now and go back to the party.”
“We can’t. We have to know if the book is down there.” Lena turned to Aunt Del. “You could show us.”
What are you talking about?
She can show us what’s down there. She can project what she sees.
“I don’t know. Macon wouldn’t like it.” Aunt Del was biting her lip uneasily.
“Do you think he’d prefer we dig up a grave?” Lena countered.
“All right, all right. Get out of that hole, Ethan.”
I stepped out of the hole, wiping the dirt on my pants. I looked over at Genevieve. She had a peculiar look on her face, almost as if she was interested to see what was about to happen, or maybe she was just about to vaporize us.
“Everyone, have a seat. This might make you dizzy. If you feel queasy, put your head between your knees,” Aunt Del instructed, like some kind of supernatural flight attendant. “The first time is always the hardest.” Aunt Del reached out so we could take her hands.
“I can’t believe you are participatin’ in this, Mamma.”
Aunt Del took the clip out of her bun, letting her hair spill down around her shoulders. “Don’t be such a Girl Scout, Reece.”
Reece rolled her eyes and took my hand. I glanced up at Genevieve. She looked right at me, right into me, and held a finger to her lips as if to say, “Shh.”
The air began to dissolve around us. Then we were spinning like one of those rides where they strap you against the wall and the whole thing spins so fast you think you’re going to puke.
Then flashes—
One after the next, opening and closing like doors. One after another, second after second.
Two girls in white petticoats running in the grass, holding hands, laughing. Yellow ribbons tied in their hair.
Another door opened.
A young woman with caramel-colored skin, hanging clothes on a wash line, humming quietly, the breeze lifting the sheets into the wind. The woman turns toward a grand white Federal-style house and calls out, “Genevieve! Evangeline!”
And another.
A young girl moving across the clearing at dusk. She looks back to see if anyone is following her, red hair swinging behind her. Genevieve. She runs into the arms of a tall, lanky boy—a boy who could’ve been me. He leans down and kisses her. “I love you, Genevieve. And one day I’m goin’ to marry you. I don’t care what your family says. It can’t be impossible.” She touches his lips, gently.
“Shh. We don’t have much time.”
The door closes and another opens.
Rain, smoke, and the crackling sound of fire, eating, breathing. Genevieve stands in the darkness; black smoke and tears streak her face. There’s a black leather-bound book in her hand. It has no title, just a crescent moon embossed on the cover. She looks at the woman, the same woman who was hanging laundry on the clothesline. Ivy. “Why doesn’t it have a name?” The old woman’s eyes are filled with fear. “Just ’cause a book don’t have a title, don’t mean it don’t have a name. That right there is The Book a Moons.”
The door slams shut.
Ivy, older and sadder, standing over a freshly dug grave, a pine box resting deep in the hole. “Though I walk through the valley a the shadow a death, I fear no evil.” There is something in her hand. The Book, black leather with the crescent moon on the cover. “Take this with ya, Miss Genevieve. So it can’t cause nobody else any harm.” She tosses the Book into the hole with the casket.
Another door.
The four of us sitting around the half-dug hole, and below the dirt, farther down where we can’t see without Del’s help, the pine box. The Book rests against it. Then farther down, into the casket, Genevieve’s body, lying there in the darkness. Her eyes closed, her skin pale porcelain, as if she was still breathing, perfectly preserved in a way no corpse could ever be. Her long, fiery hair cascading onto her shoulders.