Page 68 of Buried in the Woods Below

“No, but it just seems like every time I get close, you push me away. I’m worried about you.”

“Look, sometimes people change their minds. And your showing up in the middle of the night didn’t exactly help, all right?”

Desperate to escape this conversation, I scan the festival until my gaze lands on a Tilt-A-Whirl in the distance, spinning and swaying enticingly. “Look, girls, they have rides up there.”

In an instant, the twins turn their attention to the Tilt-A-Whirl, mesmerized by its movements. They exchange a look as if communicating telepathically and sprint toward the ride, ice cream dripping behind them.

“I’ve gotta go. I’m sorry this didn’t work out.”

He just stares, eyes pulsing, licking his ice cream. His face is a mask I can’t decipher.

I jog after the twins, weaving through the crowd. But as we approach, I notice they aren’t slowing down. If anything, they’re speeding up. They dash past the Tilt-A-Whirl and past the merry-go-round (thankfully, all the horses still have their eyes). Where are they going?

Then I see it: the Ferris wheel, looming in the sky like a storm cloud. I watch it slowly turn, the slow tinkle of the merry-go-round behind me, and I’m transported back to memories of the State Fair. Olivia reaching for me. Watching her fall. The dead look in her eyes. The flicker of the ambulance lights.

The girls jump in line for the Ferris wheel, and I reassure myself that this time is different. I’m an adult now, capable of riding a Ferris wheel with two little ones. But then I think of Eric. Of Laelynn. Of Olivia. And a pang of worry strikes me. How would they feel about me taking their pride and joys on a Ferris wheel after all that has happened?

Gently, I grab Emma and Penelope by the shoulder. “I’m sorry, girls. We can’t go on this ride.”

“Why not?” asks Penelope, crossing her arms.

“Because you’re too young.”

Emma huffs and points to the height requirement sign with a cartoon pig holding out his hand just beneath the tops of their heads. “It says we have to be this tall.”

“I know, but I don’t want your dad to get mad at me.”

“Is that because you have a crush on him?” asks Penelope, casting a sidelong glance at Emma. I watch as their lips pout and their faces adopt stony expressions. Clearly, they’ve already discussed this theory.

“No. Why would you say that?”

“We see the way you look at him and how you talk to him,” Emma declares dramatically. “‘Oh, Eric, you’re so funny.’ ‘Oh, Eric, this burger is delicious.’” They make kissing noises, their faces contorting with playful revulsion.

“That’s hilarious, but no, I don’t have a crush on your dad.”

“Okay. Then why won’t you let us on the Ferris wheel? Is it because you’re afraid of the ghost?” asks Penelope.

I stop walking, and the sounds of the festival fade into the background. I see the girl outside my window last night. Was it even real?

“What ghost?” I ask.

“The ghost of the girl who fell off the Ferris wheel. The one who killed Heathcliff.”

A chill coils down my spine. I kneel next to her. “Have you seen this ghost?”

“No, but Dad says Mom is haunted by her.”

I fire a look at Emma to see if Penelope’s pulling my leg, but she just licks her ice cream as if her sister’s said the most reasonable thing in the world.

“Why do you think it was the ghost who killed Heathcliff?”

Emma crosses her arms. “How else could he have died?”

I rise and strike an easy pose, patting them on the backs. “Ghosts don’t exist, girls. I’m sure your dad was just speaking metaphorically.”

Their hunter eyes lock onto mine. In a barely audible whisper, Penelope says, “You should leave our dad alone. Or the ghost will get you too.”

Chapter 33