"They're dead ... and it's my fault," I whispered to myself.

I'd been inside of the cemetery only once, days before. I hadn't wanted to go back, but since the day of the funeral, I hadn't been able to sleep. Going back to where I'd left them, covered by dirt, shut away in their caskets, might change that. I'd say what I had to and hope it would be enough as I left them behind again to continue on in their death as I would in my life.

At the wrought-iron gate that all cemeteries seemed to have in common, I paused to gaze in, a trespasser in their world, that of the dead. Everything, from the light fog that hovered just above the ground, to the shroud-like trees, enormous and misshapen, hiding perfectly what kept to the shadows, seemed different, changed from before. But then, they'd been buried in the daytime – and I hadn't been alone.

If given the choice, I'd leave – but I couldn't. I had to go ... I had a confession and it wouldn't wait – because the longer I waited, the longer they waited, and all of us had done that long enough.

Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I entered the graveyard through the broken, half-hinged gate, and started walking as if I knew exactly where I was headed. Soon I found myself surrounded by a fog grown thicker, and scarier, that covered the ground like a huge white sheet, making knowing where my step would be almost impossible. Moving through each darker shadow of each tall oak tree as I entered it, to a lighter shade of darkness as I emerged, I pushed aside the long tendrils of Spanish moss hanging in drapes from their branches, trying not to notice how much they looked like whitish-gray specters, eerie in that setting, especially with their subtle swaying in the nearly windless space. But, as spooky as the place was, it was the complete noiselessness of my footsteps that was the most frightening.

Still, I kept going. I didn't question the direction ... I'd trust my instincts.

Eventually I could see it ahead of me ... the spot where they'd been buried. I slowed as I approached it. Someone had dug a deep hole in the ground, an ugly scar in the lawn, and the two raised brown caskets rested side by side on a tall lift above it. It didn't seem odd, though. I knew they'd be there.

I gazed at them, the last beds my parents would ever know, partly in morbid fascination, but mostly with a sick sort of curiosity. They seemed to be waiting, either for me, or for their final descent into the earth, I couldn't be sure. I roughly swiped at the tears that started down my cheeks. I hated myself. Their death was my fault, and I'd gone there to tell them that. I wanted to scream, for their sake, and mine, that I loved them, and more than ever I wished things were different. But I was a coward and continued to stare wordlessly at them.

Finally, impatient with myself, I closed my eyes and tried to force myself to say something in the remaining moments I had left before they were lowered ... everything, my wishes and my guilt ... and then goodbye. My mouth opened ... but I didn't have the words. It was too much. I paused, and then started again in a whispered plea, "I'd willingly trade places with you, my self-imposed penance, if it meant you'd both come back and be whole again, not dead, but alive –"

A wind started, bringing with it a strange noise. I stopped to listen. Faint at first, I could swear ... voices – their voices, accusing me, "Ashe, you should've stopped us."

Faster, my tears spilled. Involuntary thoughts ... how gruesome a scene it must have been, and how terrifying, to have seen the truck as it came at them, and how much more frightened they'd be if they could see as they were being lowered into the ground and dirt fell down onto them. Overwhelmed, and feeling like I was dying inside, I slowly opened my eyes, and screamed as the lids flew open and my parents sat up and reached for me, crying out, "Stay!"

"NO!"

My eyes popped open. Trying to catch my breath, I looked around wildly, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming in through the partially opened lace curtains. I wiped my fingers over them as my confused mind tried to make sense of what had just happened. Then, I remembered ... the funeral was over and I was sitting upright in bed, not even really my bed, but one that would be mine until I moved out – and I'd had the recurring nightmare, the same one my mind constantly replayed since their death, and the one I hoped to someday forget. Impossible, though. To forget it would be the same as forgetting my parents, and I could never do that. Besides, I deserved it.

Another day in my new life was beginning in my new home, in my new town – but without them.

Restless, and not wanting to go back to sleep, mostly because of the bad dream than the late hour Aunt Karen and I had arrived at her house the night before, I got up and went over to where I'd left my tote next to the empty closet. I unzipped it and took out some jeans and a t-shirt, and carried them with me into the bathroom. Though there was ample sunshine, I switched on the bathroom light and walked to the sink to brush my teeth. I picked up my toothbrush and toothpaste I'd placed there the night before, took off the cap, and applied the paste to the bristles, but when I lifted my hand to brush my teeth – I stopped to stare into the mirror at the only things I had left of my parents.

For years, they'd jokingly argued which of them I looked most like, doing their best to bribe me to say it was one over the other, until I told them that, being seventeen, I was too old to play that game anymore. Though I didn't closely resemble either of them, I'd always secretly liked the comparison. But since their death, I'd avoided looking at myself. What I used to appreciate about my appearance changed after the night of their accident. I'd even put the only family photos I had in a box marked 'Miscellaneous' facedown so I wouldn't see them when I opened it again to retrieve the other items I'd also packed in there.

But gazing at my reflection for the first time in a week, there was no way to avoid my mother's eyes looking back at me – hazel in color and almond-shaped – and only slightly puffy from my restless night before. Because of long, black lashes and a slight pigmentation around my eyelids, wearing make-up had never been necessary. My hair, dark brunette like my father's, was shoulder-length and naturally curly, making it look styled, yet casual. While other girls I'd known at my old school used to complain about their hair being 'too flat' or 'kinked up' because of the weather, I'd never had that problem.

I placed my hands onto the marble sink for support, closed my eyes, and tried to quell my inner turmoil; an impossible thing to do. My mind was flooded with events I wanted to forget, and made me wish, over and over, I'd been more selfish.

On the night my parents were supposed to celebrate their anniversary, I'd come down with a fever. My mom had wanted to cancel their date, but I insisted she go, to the point of becoming belligerent with her. My father had more than just a dinner planned ... he'd arranged for a surprise renewal of their wedding vows, with an actual proposal, a preacher, and guests – and he'd proudly shown me the gold ring he'd bought for her, and where he'd had their initials inscribed on the inside. Though I'd never personally been in love, or even in 'deep like', with any of my past boyfriends, I thought it was nice.

The entire day, and into the night, she'd checked on me. Repeatedly, I reassured her that I'd be okay. Eventually, to my father's relief, and mine, she agreed to go. They left; Dad in his dark blue suit, and Mom in her pretty, knee-length ivory-colored dress.

The door closed. I finally had the house to myself.

I'd almost gone to sleep when the phone rang. Jarred by the sound, and thinking it was the first of many calls my mom would make to check on me, I was surprised to hear Aunt Karen's voice. It was faltering and I could hear that she was crying – there had been a car accident and she was on her way over.

I went downstairs to wait. Eventually the doorbell rang. I got up from where I'd been laying on the sofa, and went to open the front door.

Life as I knew it ... ended.

A few days later, I drove with my aunt to my parents' funeral. Everything seemed so unreal, and I felt odd, unearthly, like my feet weren't touching the ground as I got out of her car and went to where a small gathering of people stood gathered. They stared as we walked past, but I ignored them as I went to stand near my parents' caskets. Selfishly, I told myself to pretend it wasn't real because it would easier to handle, but then stopped myself. At my insistence, my parents went on their date ... and then had gotten killed. I deserved nothing of kindness, either self-imposed, or from others. It was my fault – and I'd face it. Doing anything else would be a lie.

The preacher had come over to say a few words to me and Aunt Karen, but I ignored him, too. What he had to say wasn't important. Eventually, he went to stand at the head of the caskets.

The funeral had started.

I shut out everything.

Finally, it ended. The mourners came to where the two of us stood to offer their polite condolences. But I stepped away and moved closer to the caskets, leaving it to my aunt to deal with them.

After everyone left, my aunt softly touched my arm. It was time to go. I didn't budge. My aunt, and probably everyone else, would think it was morbid, but I wanted to wait until the caskets were lowered. I wanted to witness and see – proof my parents were dead. It was my final goodbye and I refused to be robbed of it.

I heard as Aunt Karen walked away, headed back to her car. But as I remained there, waiting with dread for the actual burial to begin, someone came and stood to my left. It was a stranger, someone who hadn't been at the funeral. He said, "I'm sorry for your loss."

I moved a step to my right, away from him, and looked back at the caskets. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw as he held out his balled fist to me, palm down. I looked at him.

With a look of reverence, he said softly, "It's to show respect, miss."

Curious to know what he had in his hand, rose petals or some sort of religious symbol, I held out my open hand. He moved his over mine ... and put dirt into it.

Angry and insulted, I wanted to throw it back at him with the due 'respect' he deserved for suggesting such a thing, but hesitated when I saw the sincerity of his words in his eyes. He wasn't being cruel. He was there, thinking he was being helpful. With a slow nod, he said, "Gently miss, place it at their feet."

Wondering how putting dirt on someone was considered respectful, I extended my hand and opened it slowly – and watched as it flowed smoothly first onto my mother's casket, and then onto my father's, whispering an apology to them both for doing it, for being the one to finalize their sentence of death ... for making it real. When the last grain of sand fell from my palm, I wiped my hand off on my dress. Feeling like an empty drum, hollow and dead inside, I turned and walked away.

I got into my aunt's blue Lexus, shut the door, and stared out of the passenger window. As we exited the cemetery and drove away, I watched from the side mirror as everything familiar – my town, my childhood, and my parents – was left behind, and eventually disappeared from sight.

The drive from Branton to Mannix would be a couple of hours at least. But I'd have the time to think about things and try to come to terms with the fact that my fate was sealed. The idea of moving from the only home I'd even known to live with my aunt in Mannix was a terrible one, but with her being my dad's older sibling, and my only living relative, I'd had no choice.

After awhile of watching as buildings, cars, and people turned into a vague kaleidoscope of blobs and blurs as we drove past them, I felt my aunt's hand on mine. I slowly came out of my trance-like state to look over at her. Her eyes were wet from crying. "Honey, you can have the room opposite of mine and you can decorate it any way you want." She smiled, but it seemed forced. "You'll see. It won't be so bad."

I'd wanted to blame her, to scream at her that it was her opinion, and that she had no right to say that – that she didn't know what she was talking about ... she didn't know what I was feeling, or what I was thinking because she hardly knew me at all, and that I had no interest in her kind words or her pain. Her world hadn't been turned upside down like mine had ... she still had her house, her job, and her life. I no longer had any of that! Fighting to keep control over my emotions, as tattered as they were, so I wouldn't hurl those insults at her, I removed my hand from hers and went back to looking out the window. It was all too fast. It felt wrong. I resented how she'd swooped in and took over my life, and how she'd made fast work of calling movers to come and remove my things, and their things, before putting the house up for sale. Then the final blow came ... when she'd tried to rationalize my moving in with her by saying she and I was all that we had – just the two of us ... and that I'd have a home.

Mannix. At least Rhys would be there. He was my aunt's next-door neighbor and my best friend, my only friend, since I was six-years-old.

On one of our occasional trips to Mannix to visit my aunt, I'd brought my puppy, Buddy, along with me. I'd taken him out to play on her front porch, and soon a boy from the house next door wandered over, climbed the steps, and started to pet Buddy. Feeling territorial, I demanded to know his name and why he was there. With his eyes squinted against the sun and its light dancing across his blonde hair, he stated, "I'm Rhys. I like dogs."

Every visit after that, Rhys and I were inseparable – the best of friends. But when my aunt noticed, she'd make comments about how cute the two of us looked playing together, which embarrassed us both and always sent Rhys packing back home.

Finally, I begged my mom to make her stop and she promised she would.

The night of our last visit, just as my aunt started to make another one of her sappy comments about me and Rhys, my mom interrupted. "Ashe, I'll bet Brian will be happy to see you back home." With a small conspiratorial smile at me, she casually continued, "Ashe's boyfriend made the junior forward on the school's soccer team this year." Later, when we were away from the adults, I told Rhys I'd enlisted my mom's help and that's why she'd said what she had. We pinky swore to never divulge the secret, but when Rhys started making one bad impression after another of my aunt's look of surprise, we both laughed until we were out of breath.

Then, the trips to Mannix stopped and a year had passed. No real reason – just life had gotten in the way. But because of my circumstances, we wouldn't be just best friends – I'd be his next door neighbor, and he'd be my security blanket as I tried to pick up the parts of my broken life, and started at a new school. To hang out, all either of us would have to do was to cross our adjoining lawns – and, unlike when I was younger, being seventeen, I wouldn't have a problem setting the record straight with my aunt if she started with her match-making again.

A light tapping on the bedroom door brought me out of my thoughts. Turning from the bathroom mirror, I watched as the door gradually opened and my aunt's face slowly appeared from around it. "I thought I heard you. Are you okay?"

I nodded.

"Are you hungry?"

I shook my head.

Clearly at a loss for what to say or do next, she eventually said, "We came in late last night, so today you can rest. Tomorrow, you'll be going to school." When I still didn't respond, she stepped in. "Ashe, honey, I know this all must be strange, but I want you to feel at home ... and I hope you eventually will. Do you want to talk about your parents?"

"No. It won't change anything and it won't bring them back."

"Ashe ..."

I instantly shut her out. I didn't want to hear her say anything kind to ease my sorrow. I didn't deserve it and my guilt wouldn't allow it. Exiting the bathroom to put my pj's at the foot of my bed, I glanced to where I'd left the black cotton mourning dress in a heap on the floor. Maybe it was to reaffirm to myself that I was right and she was wrong, but whatever the reason I'd chosen that particular moment to revisit my guilt, I was glad to hear the ring of the doorbell downstairs. It would prevent any more discussion over something I'd rather not talk about – at least temporarily.

With a look of reluctant defeat, my aunt left the bedroom and started downstairs.

I looked at the alarm clock on top of the nightstand. It was eight o'clock. Rhys would be on his way to school. But curious to know if he'd stopped by anyways, I headed down the stairs behind her, planting one foot solidly onto each step before taking the next. I'd nearly reached the bottom of the stairwell when my aunt opened the door. "Hi, Rhys honey. Ashe is on her way down." She turned and looked at me sadly before leaving in the direction of the kitchen.

Walking to the door, I could feel the heat and humidity from the outside, typical weather for South Carolina most of the year, even when it rained. Nighttime could be as bad; while not as hot, it could still be uncomfortable, and in some places, mostly in the more remote and swampy areas, fog would form just above the ground, making them appear spooky.

I stopped at the doorway.

Wearing his usual jeans and polo shirt, Rhys said softly, "Hey, Ashe."

Until that moment, I thought I could handle seeing him, but his expression – uncertainty mixed with sympathy, and questions he probably didn't know he had, was almost more than I could bear. I couldn't even offer a small smile to soothe his discomfort. Instead, I looked at how his blonde hair glistened in the sunlight – a reminder, a silent mockery, that life went on without any regard for the dead, and I felt my anger growing. But I quickly reminded myself that Rhys wasn't to blame. My pain wasn't his, nor was it anyone else's. At least he'd made the effort to come by. If it was left up to me, I'd just ... disappear.

"Sorry I didn't come over last night. I saw you pulling in ... but it was late." He paused and then, sounding as if he was struggling to sound normal, he continued, "I stopped by to see if you were going to school."

"I'm ... no. Tomorrow I will." It was contagious, his being awkward with me. Suddenly it felt strange ... talking to him, but not really saying anything. We looked at each other wordlessly until Rhys finally said, "I'll see you later then."

"I'll be here."

He went down the porch steps and started over to his car, an old brown Nova.

From behind me, I could hear my aunt moving about in the kitchen. Wishing I could leave too, only not for school, I closed the door and turned. Being gone so often for work, my aunt had never really decorated her house and it looked practically new. A mirror and decorative table near the front door, a sofa with a table and portable telephone behind it, a TV stand with a television, shelving with a stereo and CD's, a few mounted pictures, and a small kitchen table with chairs tucked neatly underneath, all made up a tidy house.

Ignoring my reflection in the mirror as I passed by, I headed back up the stairs to my bedroom. I closed the door and walked past the window that looked directly out onto the street, and went to stand at the window that faced Rhys' house. I watched as he drove away, turned left at the end of the street onto Mannix's main street, aptly named Main Street, and headed towards town on his way to school.

The phone on the nightstand rang, but I ignored it and continued to stare out the window. A few minutes later, my aunt came upstairs and knocked on my bedroom door. Without waiting for me to invite her in, she opened it and stepped inside. "The movers just called. The truck delivering to Mannix broke down and your things won't be here until next week."

"I packed a full suitcase. It's still in the back of your car with the other things I brought."

She gave a small smile. "I have some errands to run. I won't be long, but why don't we get your things now and you can start setting up your room?"

Not in the mood to pretend that I was excited about arranging my things, I walked with her downstairs, and out to her car to retrieve the belongings I'd insisted on bringing myself. She unlocked the back passenger door and I reached in and grabbed the two biggest, heaviest boxes. Struggling a little under their weight, I clumsily moved around my aunt as she reached into the backseat and brought out the remaining two boxes and my large suitcase.

Careful not to drop the boxes in my grasp, my aunt followed me as I took the staircase slowly. I placed the boxes I had onto the floor as she placed the two smaller ones, and my suitcase, on top of the bed. Promising not to be gone long, she left.

The front door closed and I walked over to watch her from the window as she got into her car and backed out of the driveway. As she turned left at the end of the street and disappeared from view, my eyes trailed further, across Main Street, to a place I'd never really taken the time to notice before – the most gothic-looking cemetery I'd ever seen. Dotted with tall weeds, protected by a six-foot wrought iron fence without a paved sidewalk in front of it, and holding the history of Mannix within its grounds, the ancient, huge, and broken Cemetery Raven stood out. From its gate, diagonal to the left and partially hidden behind the funeral home next to it, a newer addition had been built. But because of its lack of historical significance, in my opinion, it dimmed in comparison to the original.

Realizing I'd just become fixated on a graveyard, a macabre thing to do, especially since I'd just watched my parents being buried, I turned away from the window and looked around the room, trying to decide what to do first. To the right of the bedroom door was the bathroom. To the right of that, was an empty space where my desk would fit perfectly. Then, a nightstand with a landline phone, an alarm clock, and a lamp all placed on top of it stood between two windows; one that looked out onto the street at the front of the house, and the other that looked toward Rhys' house and the cemetery. Then, there was my bed, a large dresser, and then a closet – and none of it exactly like my childhood bedroom. Not even having my things there, when they came, would make it look the same.

I went to where my tote, backpack, and the boxes sat on top of the bed and began the tedious chore of unpacking; starting with my toiletry essentials. I carried them to the bathroom, and after trying to arrange them in the same way I'd had them back home, but unable to because the bathrooms were designed differently, I gave up and went back to the bed to start unpacking my clothes from the tote. After hanging my pants and shirts inside of the closet, and then folding and putting away the rest into their designated drawers of the dresser, I tossed both the tote and the backpack into the closet and closed the door. The boxes still needed unpacking, but I decided to put it off for another time, and went downstairs.

Taking advantage of my aunt's absence, and selfishly glad for the quiet while it lasted, I went outside to the front porch and looked around at – nothing. There was nothing to see but houses. With absolutely zilch to do, I sat down on the top step and watched the birds fly around the houses while some squirrels hopped around the small front yard next to the tree and then quickly climbed high up into it, and disappeared from view.

I looked to my right to Rhys' house. Located on the left side of the road, one house closer to the start of Craven Lane than my aunt's, and like most of the two-story wooden homes, including hers, it was painted white. Both front yards had a single, tall tree in the front yard, though the one in Rhys' yard was bigger than my aunt's, and close to his bedroom window.

Suddenly, even though it was irrational, I was resentful. His parents were still alive. Mine were dead. Angrily, I looked away from his house and forced myself to stymie the tears that were threatening to build. "I'm never going to fit in here. I hate my life," I grumbled in a whisper.

Since my thirteenth birthday, I hadn't been the kind of person to feel sorry for myself, and I didn't want to talk about how I felt with either Rhys or my aunt. But I needed a way to let go of the emotions I was suffering. I needed a place to go without an audience, but Mannix was a small town, and I doubted that a place existed in it where I could privately take out my frustrations, making my 'wishing' that I could a waste of time.

After awhile of sitting and torturing myself with hateful thoughts, mainly about myself, I got up and walked back inside and went into the kitchen to look for something to eat. I opened the refrigerator door and looked, but it was practically empty. I closed it and started to rummage through the cupboards when the front door opened and my aunt walked in.

Holding up a medium-sized brown bag, she said, "I figured you'd be hungry, so I got you something to eat."

Looking more composed than when she'd left, she set the bag onto the kitchen table, pulled out an orange soda, and held it out to me. "I remember this being your favorite flavor." She reached into the bag again and pulled out something cylindrical rolled tightly in white paper, and handed that to me, too. "I also remember veggie subs being your favorite."

I hesitated before reaching out to take it. "Thanks."

"What's the matter, honey? Did I remember it wrong? Wasn't that your favorite?"

Undecided if I should lie or tell the truth, I settled on the truth. Otherwise she might make the same mistake again. "Veggie subs were ... my mom's favorite, not mine."

Looking slightly horrified at her blunder, my aunt stammered, "Oh ... yes, that's right. Okay. I'll just go and ..."

"It's fine. I like them, too."

We stayed looking at each other for a prolonged moment, until she broke the silence. "I have an appointment ... your parents' wills." She stopped and I held my breath, waiting to see if she'd ask me to go with her. "Ashe ... honey, if you don't want to be alone ... I have some vacation time saved up. I can call my boss and ask for an extension of bereave ..." She paused before finishing, "For someone else to take my place on the upcoming business trip so I can stay home with you."

I didn't say that I wanted her to go. The last time I'd insisted someone go somewhere, two people I loved died. Though I wasn't close to my aunt, if something happened to her, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from feeling somehow responsible for her death, too. Eventually, she'd have to leave. Until then, I'd just have to tolerate her company ... her ill-timed bear hugs, the smothering, and her attempts at playing amateur match-maker for me, as she had so many times before, with Rhys as the usual target.

"I'll be back later." Without another word, but looking as if she'd start to cry at any moment, she walked over to get her purse from where she'd placed it at the far end of the counter, and exited the kitchen for the front door. The door shut. I was alone.

Feeling like crap for correcting her mistake over the sandwich, I peeled away the paper and started to eat. Although it wouldn't have been my first choice, and it wasn't a home-cooked meal, it was the first thing of substance I'd had to eat for nearly a week, and it tasted amazing.

After I'd practically devoured the sandwich, I decided to finish my unpacking. I started for the stairwell, but just as I reached it, someone knocked on the front door. Curious to know who it would be, since my aunt didn't say she was expecting anyone to come by, and I virtually knew almost no one in town, except for Rhys and his family, I went to the door and peeked out the peephole.

It was Rhys.

I opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I decided to leave at lunch. Let's go for a ride."

"You're ditching? So out of character – or have you lied to me all of these years about how much you like school?"

"Okay, fine ... unlike you, I do like school, but I decided that, being your best friend, ditching my afternoon classes would be understandable. Besides, by now I know you need to get out of the house."

Suddenly, my discomfort from earlier was gone. Talking to him like we always had, without any sadness or awkwardness, I began to feel better. Though we were nothing alike, it was our differences that had always seemed to balance our relationship. Despite his occasional 'like-it-is' brutal honesty, Rhys had always been the perpetual 'good boy.' He was more outgoing than necessary, a complete technological genius, and probably the only person I knew who liked doing homework, while I was more serious-minded and refused any pressure to live up to others' expectations, or to play their games, in order to gain their acceptance. Unlike him, I'd also never been in the habit of seeking conversation with others, boring or otherwise ... because I found other people to be just that ... boring.

"I do, but I should leave Aunt Karen a note. She'll think ... I don't know, but it probably won't be good. She'll panic."

I went back inside, headed for the most logical place to find a pen and some paper – next to the phone on the table behind the sofa. I quickly scrawled a note to her, and then went to join Rhys without locking the door behind me because I didn't have a key. We walked to his car and got in. After he started the engine, he revved it a couple of times and then drove down the street.

"I didn't hear your car this morning. Showing off?"

"Hardly. My car was a late starter this afternoon. I'll have to take a look at it later."

"When did you learn about car engines?"

"I didn't – but my dad knows a little about them, so if he sees me going out and popping the hood to take a look, he'll come out to look, too." He shrugged. "It works faster than asking him to do it."

We both fell silent – and, once again, not knowing what to say to him was awkward. Even though I didn't feel like myself, and had nothing else but my situation to talk about at the moment, I selfishly didn't want him to treat me any other way, even if it was unfair of me to feel that way.

Rhys turned on the radio and a song I'd never heard before came on, about love and loss. He shot me a wary side-glance and then, reaching for the knob, said, "I hate this song. It's a bomb – it sucks."

"I promise not to cry in front of you. I do that in private," I said, looking slowly over at him.

Even with his eyes still on the road, I could see what I'd said made him uncomfortable. But he wouldn't have to worry about it because I never cried in front of anyone – a hard and fast rule of mine.

We drove down the main strip and eventually made a right hand turn. "This is the school."

The parking lot was sizable, bigger than what I would've thought a small town like Mannix would need. Glancing around to see what else was there, I saw only a hospital further down, and across, the street from it, the backs of the stores from the street before it, and a small hillock very near to the school grounds.

Rhys pulled into the parking lot, and just when I began to think the ride had been used as a ruse to get me into school half a day early, he circled around and drove back out onto the street.

"I know you don't want to be here, but I'm glad you are, just not with the circumstances."

"Yeah. I hate it. Life isn't fair," I murmured.

"No one said it was, but you definitely got dumped on."

"Thanks." It was too late – my voice cracked slightly and my eyes started to water. To calm down and stop myself from breaking my rule against crying, I looked out the passenger window.

"I wasn't going to ask, but how brutal was it?"

I hesitated before whispering, "Very."

"Sorry we weren't there. My mom ... you know how she is. She can't handle things like that."

I nodded my answer as I continued looking out the window. As a distraction to get my mind off of the funeral, I focused on getting familiar with the landscape of downtown Mannix, starting with looking behind us, through the side view mirror, to see what I could. Once I'd seen all that was there; a wooded area on the left just past the school, and then across the street, to the right, a tall, solitary oak tree near a metal fence, which, according to what my aunt had said a couple of years before, marked an overlook to beachfront property with long forgotten shacks that weren't visible from where we were, I gazed out at what we were passing – a large, barren plot of land the size of a baseball field, with railroad tracks and a cemetery named Greenwoods behind it, and then the 'bad' part of town where decrepit, old buildings, and not much else, stood.

Looking straight ahead of us, I took in the long line of shops on both sides of the street, with a movie theater to our left, and an under-age dance club, Under Twenty and One, on our right, with the occasional alleyways and side streets being the only interruption. But at its end, on the left, was the funeral home and then, right next to it ... Cemetery Raven.

As we neared it, and Rhys slowed to turn onto 'our' street, I gazed at the cemetery, surprised at how much I was taken in by its antiquity, and wondering why I'd never noticed before how beautiful it was, even in its lonely, broken-down way.

Rhys turned, and I looked from the graveyard to where the pavement ended and the dirt road started, at the dead end, just past the start of Craven Lane. The wide dirt trail went out about fifty feet before splitting into three separate paths. To the right of it was another wooded area. To its left, at Cemetery Raven's furthest edge, was a small lake with a gazebo, and just beyond that stood the forgotten, and timeworn Cortland Bridge, the only covered bridge I'd ever seen. Further along the main trek, about a mile-and-a-half, was a huge, abandoned warehouse that everyone, according to Rhys, said was haunted.

"So –" he started to say.

I interrupted, "Mannix looks the same ... all of its small town ambiance."

He smiled wryly. "You and your big words. Yeah. Not much has changed in the few months you've been gone."

"A year, Rhys. It's been a year – and you use big words, too."

As he made a wide U-turn in the middle of our street so he could park facing the exit, I saw my aunt's car in her driveway. Rhys grumbled, "Your aunt's back."

He shut off the engine and we got out.

Aunt Karen was just coming down her porch steps with the note I'd written in her hands, looking worried, but when she saw us, she started to walk over. "Hi, Rhys honey, what are you doing home?"

"Um ... the school let out half day. Something about faculty only – or something like that."

I murmured, "Real smooth."

He looked back at me. "So, want to hang out?"

"Ashe, first I need to talk to you," Aunt Karen said.

"I'll be over in a minute." Rhys nodded and as he walked up his porch and went inside, I walked over to where my aunt was.

"Let's go into the house," she said.

Almost solidly convinced by her tone that I might not want to, I walked with her across the lawn and followed her inside and closed the door. She started, "The legalities of your parents' assets have been taken care of." Then, as if she wanted what she had to say to be over with, her words came faster, "Once a month, money your parents had set aside for you will be deposited into a bank account. Once the house is sold, it will be put into a Trust that you can't touch until you're thirty-years-old."

She looked pained, but I didn't care. It – everything – was a lot to digest, and I wanted to scream at her to stop expecting me to adjust so fast, because I couldn't! It was like the memory of my parents had been swept up into a tidy envelope and their lives didn't matter. They did. They always would – and I'd spend the rest of my life missing them, blaming myself for practically pushing them out the door that night, just so they could die, and I'd always wonder if they blamed me, too, even in their death.

But there was something else ... on the night they'd died, I'd lost my very best friend.

When I was fourteen, I'd been invited to a birthday party of a girl I didn't really know, didn't really like, and definitely didn't want to go and see to help her celebrate. Persuaded by my mom, I went – and was completely snubbed by everyone there, including the birthday girl. It was a pivotal moment in my life. I'd vowed that, from that day forward, I'd be the opposite of what most teens were, at least the girls who were desperate to be popular and to surround themselves with followers, and I kept my friends few – Rhys and the occasional boyfriend. Flying solo was easier, no more suffering the up's of having friends one day, and the down's of being dumped the next. I'd also started hanging out with my mom, an odd thing for someone my age to do – and discovered that she was fun to be around. She was also the only person in the world who I felt understood me, even if it wasn't totally. We'd spend a lot of time doing her two favorite things; window shopping and baking. She'd bake no matter what the occasion, something I didn't enjoy no matter how hard she'd try to convince me otherwise, and she'd always bring out some board game to play while she baked. It was always the same and so predictable ... I always won. She'd say it was because she'd been distracted, but I'd always suspected she let me just so she could brag to her friends that her daughter liked hanging out with her to make them jealous.

"I wish your parents were here," my aunt whispered. Visibly upset by her admission, she blurted out, "Oh, honey! I'm sorry. Of course, I want you to live here ... it's just that I ..." She looked at a loss for words.

It was awkward, watching her struggle with what she wanted to say. I wasn't comfortable with it and I resented her showing me her sadness. I didn't want to take care of her, to help her through the difficulties she imagined she was suffering ... I would've said that too, only she didn't deserve it.

What I needed was to be alone to collect my thoughts and try to get a control over my emotions, but before I settled into self-imposed solitary confinement, I had a promise to keep. "I'm going over to see Rhys."

She looked relieved. "I think that would be nice. I know he'd enjoy your company." As I started past her, she added, "I always did like him for you."

I fumed. I wanted to shriek at her that I'd had boyfriends, but at the moment, I didn't want one, not only because I didn't want any of the predictable entanglements or heartache that came with that sort of relationship, but because I'd just buried my parents ... and even if I did want a boyfriend, it would never be Rhys. He and I were best friends only – a fact she'd have to accept!

I walked outside and started across the adjoining lawns to Rhys' house, glad his parents weren't there to load me down with condolences, questions, or both. I stepped up onto his porch, rang the doorbell, and then went to sit on the top step. Moments later, I heard the front door open and Rhys came out. He walked over and sat down next to me, but neither of us seemed to have anything to say. The only perfect thing was that, for the moment, he seemed to understand.

Finally, I said, "I'm here, as promised."

"Ashe?" We turned to see my aunt heading over.

"Incoming," Rhys murmured.

My aunt came and stood in front of us. With a silly smile that was clearly forced, and her hands on her hips, she said, "Just the fixer-upper Ashe needs."

Before she could say anything embarrassing to us both and make things uncomfortable, I said, "Best friend obligation."

"Would either of you like some sweet tea? I have some ready."

Rhys said, "No, thank you."

"I'm not in the mood right now," I said.

"Do you want something to eat?" my aunt pressed.

"No."

She remained standing there, clearly determined to persuade me to cave and eat or drink something, when all I wanted was for her to stop being annoying and walk back to her house and go inside. Finally, seeming to get the message that I wasn't about to surrender, or join her in unnecessary, inane, conversation, her lips pulled together in a tight smile. "Well, it's there if you want it." She turned and, in her one-inch, heeled sandals, precariously went back across both lawns, and clip-clopped up the front porch steps and into the house.

"Stubborn."

I shrugged. "Family trait."

"Do you want to do something now that you're here?"

I'd gone to see him because I said I would, not because I wanted to hang out. Losing my parents had hit me hard and I wanted to be free from the obtrusive eyes of others. "Not really. Tonight, I just want to be alone. I'll see you tomorrow."

I stood and went back next door to my aunt's house and walked inside. Coming from the kitchen, I could hear a radio playing softly. I called out, "I'm back."

My aunt peered around the corner. "I'm fixing dinner."

"I'm tired. I'm going to sleep for a while. I haven't had a lot of it lately."

She started to say something, but having had enough of her trying to force normalcy on me when things were anything but that, I went up the stairs to my bedroom and closed the door. Grateful to shed the weight of everyone's pity, I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.