Always Watching

belongings to my chest as I stared up at him, my pulse loud in my head. “I don’t understand why Willow left.”
    Then I realized he was wearing Willow’s vest.
    His face was calm, but his tone warning. “She didn’t like living as a group, so this wasn’t the right place for her. Each member has to do what’s good for everyone, not just ourselves, or we all suffer.”
    A question flew out of my mouth before I could pull it back. “Why do you have her vest?”
    “She left it by the campfire this morning.” He looked down at it, fingered one of the tassels. “The Light wanted me to have it.”
    *   *   *
    Some members were upset that Willow was gone, especially so soon after Coyote had died, but Aaron said that we shouldn’t forget that her negative vibe led to Coyote’s death and that she’d been causing problems in the commune. We’d get along better without her. The only people who ever seemed to have a problem with her were Joseph and Aaron, but now that she’d left, the group was quickly forgetting that detail. Aaron also reminded us that we couldn’t let Coyote’s death be in vain, and we had to try to learn from his and Willow’s mistakes. Coyote’s life had been sacrificed in the river so that we could save ours. That’s when the commune started calling themselves The River of Life, and one of the men carved a sign for the tree at the entrance, two hands reaching up to the light.
    *   *   *
    I don’t know how long we would’ve lived at the commune if a little boy hadn’t died. His name was Finn, and he was eighteen months old when he wandered off during a late-night campfire ceremony. It was late September, and by the time his stoned parents, who also had a two-month-old baby, realized he was gone he’d been missing for hours. Everyone was woken up and we searched all over, but we couldn’t find him. The commune had a meeting to decide whether to go to the police. It was a risk because they had marijuana plants drying in the barn, and we’d already garnered attention with Coyote’s death.
    Finally, Aaron meditated in the sweat lodge and said he’d had a vision that Finn was hiding somewhere warm and because he’d been taught to eat berries and find water, he’d be okay. In the morning, we still couldn’t find him, so we meditated as a group, chanting to bring him home, but Aaron said our fear was blocking his connection with the other side now. Finn’s parents took one of the trucks and went to the station. The police found Finn later that day, facedown in a puddle, his tiny hand still stained with berries. He had died of exposure.
    Everyone was devastated. Aaron himself looked upset, holding the wooden horse he’d given Finn, but he stood tall and said, “In my vision, he was okay. I thought it meant he was still with us, but I understand now that was a sign that he’s safe on the other side.” In the days after, Aaron spent a lot of time working with us to reach Finn’s spirit. His face intense as he led us in chants, his voice sure and strong. Sometimes in a meditation, Finn’s mother would start to cry, saying that she’d seen him and how peaceful he’d looked, bathed in light. Others said the same, but no matter how hard I tried, I could never see him.
    After Finn died, my mother started having long, private meditations with Aaron, but it didn’t seem to help. She stayed in her cabin for hours, cried a lot, and I often saw her talking with the other women, her face sad. Since Willow had left, Robbie had been spending all his time fishing in the river. I tried to talk to him about Mom, and he told me not to worry about it. She was just upset about Finn. He’d speak to her. Not long after that, our father finally came to get us.
    *   *   *
    A truck pulled up at the commune when we were in the middle of dinner. I recognized it right away and got up from the table, saying, “That’s my dad!” Robbie also stood, but our mother was still sitting, her eyes anxious.
    The truck stopped a few feet away. Dad got out, his dirty baseball hat scrunched down over his head, his face angry, and his hands tense by his sides.
    Now Aaron stood and said, “Can we help you?”
    “I’ve come for my family.” Dad motioned for us. I took a step, but then I looked at Aaron, who held up a hand. I stopped. Robbie was also standing still, his expression full of relief as he gazed at our father. Our mother hadn’t moved. I glanced over at her. Her eyes were wide and