Jake is next to me, his hand in mine.
Sirens wail. Radios beep and sputter words that are garbled and meaningless. In the distance, the sheriff’s voice crackles through a megaphone.
I pull away from Jake and step toward the rift cut into the ground, to the place where my mom’s casket was buried.
“Brielle,” Jake says, all concern and kindness. “Why don’t you let me look first?”
I don’t even spare him a glance. Protecting me can only go so far. And what that angel unearthed was unearthed for me. I drag shaky fingers through my hair. I don’t know why I have to see, but I do. I know that black hole holds nothing but bones and dirt, but I need to see. I need to know why it was dug up.
Still my breath comes quick and shallow, and I don’t refuse Jake when he takes my hand. The debris is everywhere and makes it hard to walk in a straight line. Jake kicks aside a large hunk of root and grass. I sidestep several shards of cement from the fallen angel and wood slivers from . . . the casket.
The thought makes me light-headed, and I grip Jake’s hand more fiercely.
When I reach the lip of the grave, Helene is already there. Without a word she drops into the hole, a flash of her auburn hair the last thing I see.
I kneel, intending to follow her. My bare knees press into the upturned soil, and I find relief in the earthy feel of it. The dirt is cool and damp and my hands sift it, knead it, looking for answers I don’t expect to find.
Jake’s next to me, the muscles in his arms tense, his face staid. At last I summon the courage to peer over the edge of the grave, and I see . . .
Nothing.
The darkness presses close, and I can’t see past it.
“What do you see?” I ask Jake.
“Nothing,” he says quietly. “Not even Helene.”
I shift my feet and drop to my backside, using my heels to pull me closer to the edge.
“Here,” Jake says, wrapping my forearm with his hand. “I’ll lower you down.”
Now I do spare a glance for him, for a look into his eyes. It’s too dark for their color to show through, but there’s understanding there. He knows I need to do this.
I need to know.
I think he needs to know too.
I wrap my fingers around his forearm and let him lower me. Helene finds my waist in the dark and guides me down. It’s not far—I guess they really do bury you six feet under.
The great silver angel has carved out an area much larger than my mother’s casket. Helene and I stand on a flattened plane of dirt just next to it, but my sight is still limited. I can see that the lid of the casket has been shattered, and I kneel to pull the wood away. My hands tremble at the task.
“What will I find?” I ask Helene.
It’s a minute before she responds. “Stand and I’ll show you.”
I do, allowing her to step behind me. With a tic of her inner wings, Helene pulls me once again into the Celestial. She kicks her feet sideways, so that we hover over the casket.
Light floods my eyes and heat assaults me. My heart hammers, blood rushes loud in my ears, and I finally release the scream that’s been building inside my chest.
My mother’s casket is empty.
19
Brielle
No bones. No clothing fragments. The inside of Mom’s casket is pristine, the satin lining marked only with today’s mud splatter. The ruched pillow at the head of the box has flattened over time, but it’s never been lain upon.
I don’t know that, I suppose. But I do. Deep in my gut, the emptiness of my mom’s grave confirms so much of what I’ve never felt. Of what I’ve needed.
How many times have I sat here, on a stone bench that’s now nothing more than rubble? The willow tree, the angel, the quiet surroundings offered simple condolences, but instead of completing something in me, instead of being a place to mourn and remember, Mom’s grave has never felt anything but vacuous. This place sucked my emotions away, leaving me as empty as the coffin below.
At my request, Helene releases me. We’re still belowground, the wooden box shattered, the moist dirt falling in small avalanches around us. Without Helene’s wings wrapped around me, without the halo, it’s all so dark, and it takes a minute for my