“Well, one day, another water bug climbed onto the lily pad, drawn there by invisible forces from within itself, forces it didn’t understand and couldn’t control. As it sat there in the sun, it transformed into a beautiful dragonfly. It shed its water bug skin, and sprouted iridescent wings that gleamed in the sunlight. Wings so large and strong, it was able to fly into the air, doing loops in the sky.
“The new dragonfly was ecstatic with it’s new body and thought to itself, ‘I need to go back and tell the others. They need to know that this is what happens so they won’t be scared.’ So he dipped and dove through the air, directly at the water. But unfortunately, he couldn’t dive below the surface to where the water-bugs were swimming. In his new form, the drago
nfly was no longer able to communicate with his family. He felt at peace, though, because he knew that someday, his family would all transform too, and they’d all be together again.”
Finn pauses and looks at me. “And such it is with Heaven. People die, they go on to another place, a better place, but they can’t communicate with us anymore because they’re in a different form. But it doesn’t mean that it’s not just as real. Or that we won’t find out for ourselves one day.”
My throat feels gunky and tight, so I clear it. “Mom believed this?”
Finn nods. “Yeah. She told me.”
The story is beautiful and it makes me want to cry, and it also makes me resent Finn just a little bit because he shared that moment with mom and I didn’t. But I push that irrational thought away. It’s enough that I know now.
We float for a while in silence, and I drag my fingers through the water.
At least an hour passes before Finn finally speaks again. “We need to go to the cemetery, you know.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Okay?”
I nod again. “Yeah. Soon.”
He smiles, a real smile, and we float randomly for another hour before he finally points the rudder toward the first crab pot. As we approach, I reach over the side and drag it in, pulling the wet chain into the boat. The crab pot is empty. But the next one isn’t, nor the next. We end up with five crabs, a good haul for the day.
My stomach rumbles at the mere thought of drowning their legs in butter and putting them into my belly.
We float inland, and Finn steers the boat into the slip, while I stuff my hat into a bench and then transfer the crabs into a bucket. Their legs make scratching sounds as they slide around against the plastic, and for just one brief moment, I allow myself to feel guilty because I’m going to drop them into boiling water later.
“What the hell?” Finn mutters, staring ahead of us, past the trail, past the treescape, and into the clearing behind the Carriage House. I follow his gaze and almost audibly gasp when I see Dare.
He’s back from town now, and dressed in workout clothes, shorts and a cut off ratty t-shirt. He’s repeatedly punching the side of the woodshed.
Over and over and over.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Like a machete or a thresher or a piston.
Sweat drips down his face, and blood drops from his hand, as he pummels the wood, punching at it like a machine.
“What the hell,” I echo Finn’s sentiment, before I shove the crab bucket into his hands and take off up the trail to get to Dare. Finn protests from behind me, but I don’t stop and I don’t slow down.
I skid to a stop next to Dare, pulling at his elbow. He smells like sweat, so I can’t imagine how long he’s been out here, hurting himself.
“Dare, stop,” I tell him. “You’re bleeding.”
He shakes my hand off, not looking at me, and punches again.
Blood splatters the ground and onto my bare foot.
“Dare.”
Thud.
“Dare.” My voice is stiffer now, like ice, and finally he stops, his arm dangling at his side. He doesn’t look at me, but his breaths are coming in pants. I wait, and eventually the pants slow down to shallow, even breaths.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him. “Why are you…. what’s wrong?”