I need it back.
I shove my pepper spray in my pocket and creep down the stairs, reminding myself there are always people in the woods during the day. Mom’s and Noah’s voices drift back from the diner, but their conversation seems to have returned to day-to-day business. I turn the latch on the security door and push it open.
“Where are you going?”
I turn. Felicia comes around the corner wielding a tub of dirty dishes.
“I just need a little air that doesn’t smell like french fries.”
She wrinkles her brow. “My mom said we can’t go outside because of Gretchen.”
I peer through the metal mesh of the door, my heart heavy. “Your mom is right, you should stay inside. I’m just running next door—to the flower shop. I’ll be right back.”
“Oh.” Felicia relaxes. “It does smell good in there.”
I hesitate as the door creaks open. Lying to an eight-year-old is easy, but somehow makes me feel worse. “Hey, Fe, don’t tell my mom. . . . I want to pick something for Gretchen myself.”
I hold my breath dashing across First Avenue—in part because I don’t want to be seen, but also because this is the first time I’ve crossed this pavement since Friday night, and it’s upsetting and surreal, retracing my footsteps in the sunlight.
The rush of water is just audible at the edge of the park. The path leading to Hidden Falls branches in two halfway down, and if you follow it to the right, you reach the playground and picnic area just upstream along Black River Creek. This was the place Gretchen and I always met until about seventh grade when it started to feel silly sitting by the toddlers on the swings. I can see the old equipment as I pass through the trees. Its peeling painted structures stand abandoned, awaiting the passage of time, and fear, for play to resume.
The sun transforms the woods, replacing dark shadows with a flood of light and color. Death seems like an impossibility as I listen to the squirrels and woodpeckers chatter amid the bright green leaves. I follow the hard-packed trail down the slope, increasingly alert as the water’s rumble drowns out little sounds. I jump at a flutter of movement to my left, but it’s only a couple of crows winging their way between trees. My heartbeat accelerates with my pace.
And then I’m at the top of the falls.
The air takes on a chill as I grow close, but I tell myself it’s from the freezing snowmelt. Black River Creek swells deep and cold, spring runoff gushing along the stream bed and over the rocky ledge in a single powerful jet. By August the water slows to a lazy trickle, and the shallow pool below lures everyone in town to escape the stifling late-summer heat. But for now it’s flowing high, and you wouldn’t want to be under it, let alone fall over the edge.
My skin prickles. I turn my back on the falls, scanning the stones and fallen trees dotting the clearing. It’s one of those natural places that just begs to become a hangout. Close enough to walk to, but secluded from watchful eyes. I smile, recognizing the spot back in the trees where we had our first drinks—Gretchen traded a kiss in ninth grade for two sips from a senior’s flask. More recently, she preferred a hollowed-out seat in a giant rock. It was almost like a throne. There was enough room on it for both of us to sit, but I usually let Gretchen have it to herself. Some sort of music was always playing, and if no one brought drinks, we’d just sit around talking, watching the guys leap back and forth over the creek. It was the place to be. My smile fades as I realize that’s over. Forever.
There’s a pile of flowers, stuffed animals, and notes people have left at the base of one of the rocks. I scan the small items left in tribute to Gretchen, half hoping my bracelet has found its way there. If it has, I might even leave it, let it remain as my own memento, but it isn’t among them. I can’t bring myself to read the cards or look at the pictures, so I step away.
A branch cracks behind me. I turn, lose my breath—but no one’s there. I count to ten before daring to move. Coming here seemed like a better idea in the security of my bedroom. The day doesn’t seem as bright or safe under the canopy of leaves. I scan the trees for movement, my heart racing, then hurry up and begin my search.