He called and the phone broke between static and her faded voice. He heard Mary’s gentle, calm voice for a moment, and then she was gone; he wished he was with her now, wished he was with his son and that they were all home and all of this was over or had never been.
He turned atop the high meadow in the Adirondacks and said her name again and again into the phone until her voice came back to him.
“You’re breaking up,” she said.
“I can hear you now. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine. Something was at the door last night. I called the animal control people. They think it was a bear.”
“Bears have four claws,” Jonathan said.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“Never mind. Did they find anything?”
“No. You know how these things go.”
“Is Jacob all right?”
“Jacob is doing just fine.”
“Be careful. Don’t let him outside alone.”
“I won’t. He’ll be fine. He’s in school all day tomorrow anyway.”
“I forgot tomorrow was Friday,” he said.
“Are you okay out there? Are you guys having a good time?”
“We’re fine, just out of range most of the time.”
“Will you be okay when you come home?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he looked out at the trees and watched them move gently, imperceptibly.
“I want to tell you something, but I don’t want to ruin your trip,” she said, and Jonathan closed his eyes, worried that she would tell him she had filed for divorce.
“Tell me anyway,” he said. “I don’t think anything could ruin this trip.”
“It’s going well then?”
“Perfect. What do you need to tell me?”
“Something strange happened here in town. Someone dug up Gene’s body. It’s gone. The whole town is in an uproar about it.”
“Dug it up?”
“It’s in all the papers and the local television news,” she said. “His poor mother.”
Jonathan looked at the two brothers, checking their own phones, trying to call their wives.
“I have to go,” he said. “I want you to keep an eye on Jacob.”
“Of course. It’s all gruesome.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. The usual night terrors, though. He slept in bed last night with me. It was the only way I could get him to calm down.”
That somehow made him feel better.
“I love you,” he said into the phone.
“I know,” she said, and then her voice was gone and he was alone again with the brothers on the top of a lonely field in the freezing night. He looked at the phone in his hand, angry and afraid. The brothers wandered aimlessly and stiff-legged in the field, their phones to their ears, trying to find the sound of their wives’ voices, talking in low, conciliatory tones.
The cold evening wind seemed to carry the darkness down to them. They tamped down the long grass and rolled out the tent. Michael took a large flashlight from his pack, nearly bright enough to light a sports field, and sat waiting in the darkness, flashing it out to the tree line, scanning the field. They watched the long, dry grass bend and roll and rustle in the light, their shadows like a thousand worlds hidden behind each stalk. His breath billowed out in the cold air. The moon was far away now, a distant pinprick of light.
It was below freezing and they shivered and shook. The grime of the day froze to their bodies.
“We can’t build a fire,” Conner said. “The whole field would catch.”
“Should we leave someone to stand guard?” Jonathan said.
“And see what?” Conner said. “Even if there’s something out there, we won’t be able to see it in time. Whoever is standing guard would just be bait. Better if we’re all inside. Whatever it is would have to come through the tent first.”
They took their rifles with them into the three-man tent and crowded in close in their sleeping bags, each of their bodies pushed up against the other’s.
Jonathan’s body was tired, already asleep, but his eyes kept moving, seeing, as if in a dream. He thought of his son and the boy’s nightmares – when he would scream while staring at the world, at his parents who were trying to comfort him. The tall grass brushed against the canvas of the tent and seemed to whisper to him. Jonathan stripped down to his sweatpants and sweatshirt, previously soaked with sweat, now just cold and stiff. He lay in his sleeping bag, Michael’s bulk pressed against his back. The darkness inside the tent was deeper than it was outside. Jonathan’s rifle, cold and hard, lay beside him. He folded his arm beneath his head and closed his eyes and listened to the sound of their breathing.
He thought of Gene’s grave. He wondered if the stone was overturned. He wondered at the piles of dirt that would have been removed to dig down to the casket. He wondered at the willpower of such an act, what drove such depravity. He remembered the night when the boy was killed. Michael and Conner had left to bring the airtight case, and he was alone with Gene, standing guard over the body. Gene was shaking, racked with panic and guilt, tears pouring down his chubby face. “I never wanted this,” he said, voice trembling, staring out into the dark trees. “I never wanted any of this. It’s not right. None of it is right. Something is wrong. It’s all wrong.”
Gene’s words stayed with Jonathan through the years. He thought about them and wondered, years on, what exactly Gene was saying that night, what he was talking about. Was it just the boy? Just the shot he fired? Or was it something more, something bigger?
Jonathan woke in the deepest part of the night. His eyes could not see, but he felt the damp cold of the tent canvas reaching through his skin, and he could hear Michael’s harsh whisper in his ear
