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guilt.
    That summer had remained hot. For the six weeks after her uncle’s disappearance, the Midwest baked under record heat. The search parties tailed off. Then the weather broke. The temperatures cooled and the area was soaked with several days of heavy rain. Hoping the weather change might aid the search, the volunteers looked again, starting in the woods near the park. Apparently, the recent rain had disturbed the earth enough to reveal the skeletal remains of her uncle, who had been buried in a shallow grave in the woods near the park, not far from a walking path. Police charged Dante Rogers with the second-degree murder of Justin Manning.
    As long as Ashleigh could remember, she had asked her mother to show her the place where the crime had occurred. As a child, Ashleigh couldn’t articulate why she wanted to see thatspot. She just knew she felt curiosity about it. Only as she grew older did she feel she fully understood the fascination that place held for her.
    It was simple, really: everything for her family had changed that day in the park. If her uncle hadn’t been killed, if her mother hadn’t been there…who knows how things would be different? Would her grandfather be less distant and cold? Would her mother be stronger and have a more fulfilling life?
    Her mom took her to the crime scene once and once only. Ashleigh was nine and had been bugging her mother to take her there. Her mother always refused. She didn’t give Ashleigh good reasons for not doing it—she just flat out refused. But one day Ashleigh asked, and her mother—somewhat reluctantly—agreed.
    “I’ll show it to you,” she said. “But then that’s it. I don’t want to hear about it anymore.”
    Ashleigh knew—even as a child—that she had probably just worn her mother down. Ashleigh possessed a rare persistence, a determination that she sometimes believed could chip away at glaciers if she set her mind to it.
    But, looking back, Ashleigh wondered if her mom wanted to tell Ashleigh something by taking her to that place. Did she want—symbolically or psychologically or emotionally—to pass a torch to her daughter, even though she was only nine years old?
    Whether her mother intended it or not, Ashleigh felt that is what had happened that day. Her mom rarely spoke of her uncle’s murder, but Ashleigh became fascinated by it. She went to that place in the woods as much as she could—sometimes once or twice a week. Ashleigh couldn’t say for sure why she went. She liked the isolation, the quiet, and the mystery. It was her place, a hiding place. And being there didn’t creep her out or scare her. What was scary about it after all? The body was long gone, andexcept for the occasional drug arrest or fight between teenagers on the basketball court, nothing dangerous ever happened in the park.
    Ashleigh walked past the playground where she’d started her day. More kids were playing there than early in the morning. The swings were filled, the chorus of kids’ voices and screaming rose like a million crickets. It almost hurt her ears. Parents watched from the side, chatting with each other or else talking on cell phones. If they noticed Ashleigh at all—any of them—they likely dismissed her as a typical moody teen, sulking along the edges of the park in her dark T-shirt and dirty jeans. Ashleigh knew appearing disaffected had its advantages—people tended to leave you alone.
    She easily found the path through the trees and started toward the place where her uncle had died. The growth was thick from summer, the trees a vibrant green, the mosquitoes and gnats swarming around her face and hands. She thought about Kevin’s words on the bus. She’d been pissed at him before, usually over some minor slight that only Ashleigh understood. She knew she had a tendency to lash out at people—especially those closest to her—and then later regret it. She never really
apologized
to Kevin. She never actually said the words “I’m sorry”