At the Edge
“So was I. Gregory Johnson, nine years old, had died five years ago. James had the name Greg tattooed onto his arm. His father had just warned him that he couldn’t let Greg down again. It didn’t make perfect sense, but Gregory Johnson seemed to be James’s brother.
“Are you busy right now?” James said.
“Well, I—”
“I’d like to show you something.” His eyes burned into mine. “It won’t take long. I promise.”
. . .
We drove to a place that I had visited for the first time only one day earlier.... James pulled the car over to the side of the road and sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. I gazed at the fence and the expanse of lawn and trees beyond. It looked like a beautiful, well-kept park—if you ignored the headstones standing in rows under the shade of stately trees.
James stared out through the windshield. After a few moments, he drew in a deep breath and got out of the car. I scrambled after him and followed him through the gate and into the cemetery.MoreLess
“Are you busy right now?” James said.
“Well, I—”
“I’d like to show you something.” His eyes burned into mine. “It won’t take long. I promise.”
. . .
We drove to a place that I had visited for the first time only one day earlier.... James pulled the car over to the side of the road and sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. I gazed at the fence and the expanse of lawn and trees beyond. It looked like a beautiful, well-kept park—if you ignored the headstones standing in rows under the shade of stately trees.
James stared out through the windshield. After a few moments, he drew in a deep breath and got out of the car. I scrambled after him and followed him through the gate and into the cemetery.MoreLess
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