Ethan always played along.
“A good explorer never gives away all his secrets,” he’d say.
Back then I thought it was just a game.
Walking that same trail now, I wasn’t so sure.
Noah never hesitated.
Finally he stopped beside an enormous oak tree.
He looked down at the ground.
Then he looked at me.
“This is where Dad said I’d know.”
I tightened my grip on the shovel.
The earth beneath the tree looked completely undisturbed.
But Ethan’s key was warm in my pocket. And for the first time since his funeral, I realized my husband had been keeping a secret from me long before he died.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Noah stood beside the old oak tree, his small hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.
“Is this it?” I asked.
He nodded.
Nothing marked the ground. Eight months of leaves had hidden every trace.
I pushed the shovel into the earth.
The first few inches gave way easily.
