What the Woods Kept
The last hour of daylight always turned Hollow Creek gold, as if the town were trying to apologize for something. Rose sat on the Whitfields' fence, kicking her sneakers against the warped wood, watching dust motes swirl in the slanted light over Old Miller's cornfield. Beside her, Lilly lay flat on her back across the top rail, arms dangling, looking for all the world like she'd fallen asleep mid-balancing act, except her mouth never stopped moving.
"I'm just saying," Lilly said, "if I have to watch one more episode of my mom's home renovation shows, I'm going to actually combust. Like, spontaneously. They'll find my ashes in the recliner."
"You could read a book," Rose offered.
"I could also eat glass." Lilly rolled onto her stomach and squinted at her. "Don't you ever get bored, Rose? Like bone-deep, soul-crushing bored? We've lived here our whole lives. Thirteen years. I've seen every inch of this town. I could draw Hollow Creek from memory with my eyes closed, and it would still look more interesting than it actually is."
Rose didn't answer right away. She was watching the tree line past the cornfield, where the stalks gave way to a ragged border of brush and then,…
