Page 74 of Holding On

“Let’s just hope we find something,” I say. “If he was drinking in the car like we think, then he had to get rid of the bottles.”

Her “I know” comes muffled from my shirt. I rub her back for a moment.

Slowly, Chloe and Laurel split apart and take nine and three o’clock positions inside the perimeters. Jackson, finished with his bright pink tags of gardening tape, joins them. Then Devon. Maya, who’s in no shape to bend over, stands in the center, ready with gallon-sized zip bags.

Half of us are in the field across the road, and we’re all spaced apart.

Glass and cans tossed by humans don’t break down. I’ve always agreed with Claire that beach and lake ordinances that don’t allow dogs are illogical. Fecal matter is gone in days, and faster in a rainstorm. A bottle or can lives forever, and people throw out far more trash than dogs shit.

I’m certain we will find something.

Devon finds the first one, another Blue Turkey bottle, half buried in dirt and covered with weeds. Jackson marks the location. If forensics is called, they might be able to figure out how long the bottle has been there by the growth of plants and insect activity, soil composition, and any erosion.

She also finds another bottle, a whiskey bottle, capped and with whiskey still sloshing inside.

“It might still have DNA from saliva under the cap,” says Devon.

“It also might not be his DNA at all,” I say. “Other people throw trash from their cars.”

“But not that far,” says Jackson. “People dump trash. They don’t throw a bottle like a goddamn quarterback in the middle of nowhere.”

The guy is always optimistic.

All together, we find eight Blue Turkey bottles, plus the whiskey bottle. We confiscate four and leave the rest for a police team. Jackson dates and marks them and take pictures of each site location from various angles.

Each discovery is met with a kind of knowing resignation. Instead of a thrill, I feel sick to my stomach with each find. The wind’s gone, and though it’s only early evening, I’m exhausted. My lower left chest wall is sending waves of pain down my side. Maya sits on an outcropping of rock just twenty feet from the road on a prominence overlooking the fields.

A wave of nausea hits me when I realize that’s where they found my mother’s body. The rocks look different from where I’m standing right now.

I have to get her off those rocks.

I don’t know why, though, and as I move toward her, Maya sees my face and she knows something’s wrong. She stands as I come up, and I put my arms around her and hold her tight. Tears burn but don’t fall.

It hurts. It all hurts. From cracked ribs, severed lives, and a family traumatized and traumatized again in court. Justice was never served. My father died instantly, they think. My mother died here. The coroner said she struggled up the small embankment.

I never, ever discussed it with my sisters, but I’m sure she was looking for us. She loved her rocks, and she came here to find us. She knew she’d have a good view of the field leading into Echo Bay.

“It’s okay,” Maya says in my ear, and I hold her closer even though my ribs scream.

I pull her away from the large lichen-covered granite pieces. There’s probably a half dozen, tossed up here long ago by waves along an ancient seacoast.

“My mom was here,” I say.

The color drains from her face, and I see her surprise and embarrassment. “I’m okay,” I say quickly. But not quickly enough.

Maya takes a startled step back, then clear-eyed and fearless, she says, “Then this is a sacred spot.”

My gut wrenches. The Russos don’t attend church, synagogue, or mosque. They don’t worship any God, past or present.

But the truth of her statement, that this is sacred ground, is true.

“What would your mother want you to do here? How would she want you to feel?”

My sisters are closing in. Sensing trouble is what they’re primed to do. Fix a problem, protect Travis, save Travis. They’re all on the other side of the road in that field, closing in on where we’re standing.

I don’t want them here right now.

Then Jackson touches Devon’s arm. He says something to her. She stops, and then she grabs Chloe’s arm. It takes Laurel to stop Claire.