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To my brother, John
–Lee Miller
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When I reached it, was standing at the edge of the graveyard, I made a scan of the horizon for Nica’s fast-moving form. Many a dawn would she slip out of Endicott in one of Jamie’s sweatshirts, the drawn hood concealing her hair and most of her face. Cutting through the rows of tombstones and markers, she’d steal in our back door, undetected, except by me, watching from my bedroom window. She and Jamie weren’t a couple anymore, but there was a better-than-even chance that the new guy, with whom she’d obviously spent the night, was also in Endicott. That or Minot, the other guys’ dorm.
I didn’t see Nica as I was hoping to, though. Instead, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of movement or color. Only when I turned around, no one was there. Suddenly I noticed how quiet everything had become. Motionless, too, the leaves and trees perfectly still, not so much as a whisper of a breeze on the air. I closed my eyes. My ears filled with the beating of my heart, the in-outs of my breaths, the contraction of my throat muscles—sounds, I realized, that were always there but hidden, tucked away under every other sound—each shift, throb, flutter magnified, made significant, by the deep silence around me. And then a branch snapped and my eyes flew open. Pulling the old cardigan tight around my chest, I turned, started back to the fence.
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