A Love Story
Haunted by the past, Lauren risks her life to dig up the cold-blooded truth that her loving grandmother has been hiding for over fifty years.
The storm, which was over now, had done little to dissipate the heat but had kept me awake for hours, with rain pounding the roof and lightning chasing shadows in my room, while thunder had forced my heart into my throat.
In the dark, I crept across the pine floor and opened the window to let in fresh air, which was when my eyes fell on the old willow down by the bay, its branches sagging like Poppa with the worries of the world on his shoulders.
Someone stepped away from the tree. Tall, broad shoulders, muscular. Uncle Charlie? As he looked up, I caught a glimpse of his face in the moon's reflection off the water, and in his hands—a shovel. What had he got himself into now? Everybody but Nana thought he was a screw-up.
Though he probably couldn't see me in the dark window, I crouched down to watch him over the sill. Whatever he was involved in, I wanted no part of it. He dug into the ground for a long time, the pile of earth beside him growing. Then he dragged something out of the pit.