The Red Wolf

Truths We Bury

The sounds of laughter and music floated in from the living room, a reminder of the party that continued without me. Yet, here I was, alone in my old room, the scent of old memories and fresh sheets filling the air. I looked around, half expecting things to be different, but nothing had changed. Gran’s house had always felt like an anchor, a place where the passage of time seemed to slow. The walls still wore their cream color, and the soft green rug under my feet still felt like home. The stars, moons, and planets on the ceiling glowed faintly in the dim light.

I sat on the foot of the bed, picking up the little gray tabby cat plush that had once been my constant companion. Its soft fur was worn in places, but it was still whole, just like my memories. I squeezed the plush in my arms, feeling a tear slip down my cheek before I wiped it away hastily.

Everything here felt so familiar, yet so distant. I hadn’t expected to feel so much nostalgia, or the pang of longing that crept up on me. I glanced at the music box on the nightstand—a relic of my childhood. The soft chime of its melody echoed in my mind as I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I thought about all the years I’d spent away. Was it all just a dream? A long stretch of separation that hadn’t really mattered? Or was I simply fooling myself into believing I could come back and find things unchanged?

The soft sound of footsteps outside my door snapped me from my thoughts. I recognized the pattern—the slow, deliberate steps of Gran. She wasn’t one to rush, especially not when she was moving between the kitchen and the rest of the house.

The door creaked open.

“There you are, my dear.” Her voice was soft, warm. “I’ve been looking for you.”

I sat up, wiping my hands on my jeans, quickly trying to shake off the lingering sadness that had settled in. Gran’s presence was always so comforting, but right now, there was an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite place. She stepped into the room, her apron covered in sauce and flour, a testament to the hours she’d spent in the kitchen.

“Are you doing alright?” she asked, her hands resting on her hips as she observed me. “You look lost in thought.”

I smiled, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Just thinking about… things.”

Gran nodded, her smile not wavering. “You always were a thinker.”

I knew that tone. The kind that held unspoken words, the kind that meant there was something more she wanted to say but wouldn’t. It reminded me of all the years I spent wondering about the strange people who came and went during the summers. How they never seemed to stay for long, how they disappeared as mysteriously as they arrived.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about something,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “The people who come and go every summer... Why is that?”

Gran’s smile faltered just a fraction, barely noticeable, but enough for me to catch. She hesitated, the silence between us stretching longer than usual.

“I’ve told you before, Maya,” she said, finally breaking the silence. “Those people are just… acquaintances. People who come and go. Nothing more.”

But I knew that wasn’t true. I could feel it deep in my bones. “Gran,” I pressed, “that’s not an answer. Why don’t you ever tell me anything? Why does everyone just… disappear? Why do they always come here, and why do they leave without a word?”

Gran’s expression hardened, just a little, as if I had crossed some invisible line. “Maya, you don’t need to know everything,” she said, her voice sharp now. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

I felt a sudden surge of frustration. My entire life, I had been told that the world was simple—that family was everything, that there was nothing to fear. But here I was, standing at the edge of something, something bigger than myself, and Gran was shutting me out. The mystery of those strangers, of my own family’s past, had been gnawing at me for years, and now it was finally bubbling to the surface.

“Why can’t you just tell me the truth?” I demanded, my voice shaking. “I don’t understand, Gran. You’ve always kept things from me, and I don’t know why. I just want to know why these people come here every year. Why do they act like I’m some kind of stranger to them when I’m not?”

Gran’s face softened for a moment, her eyes clouding with something that looked like regret. “Maya, there are things in this world that you’re not ready to understand,” she said, her voice low. “There are things we do to protect you.”

I stared at her, disbelief settling in my chest. “Protect me from what?”

Gran didn’t answer, instead turning away from me and walking to the door. But before she left, she stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.

“Some things are better left buried, my dear. You don’t want to dig up old bones.”

The door closed behind her, and I was left alone in the room, my heart pounding in my chest. There was something she wasn’t telling me. Something huge. And I had to know what it was.