Aiken
Ifigured Sunday afternoon, while Claire was at Mary’s birthday party, I’d go to the cemetery.
Saturday, from a distance, I’d watched Claire work in her bay window with the light on, giving her the space she’d requested. I’d waved from my back porch when she’d taken Smitty out this morning and later wished her a good time at the party.
Then I headed out.
She’d either think I was stalking her or overstepping boundaries when all I wanted to do was see where my grandparents were buried. I wasn’t sure if it was the same cemetery where Abby was buried. Claire had mentioned the name, but I’d forgotten.
My grandparents had passed in a car accident when I was ten. We hadn’t known it happened until I googled my mom’s name in high school and an article came up. It was a brutal accident. According to the reports, the driver lost control of the car, and it went into a ravine. My mom had been listed as a survivor, but no additional information was given. My dad hadn’t seemed so broken up—there weren’t any more lovey-dovey feelings left there for him. As for me, I’d always held out hope of not only finding my mom, but a big extended family too.
Well, I’d learned that was out of the picture, and for a while, I’d let the whole thing go.
Now, I laid some flowers, pink and purple carnations because I didn’t know what my grandmother liked, over their tombstones, wishing they could talk. My mind drifted to the dairy farmer, Bruce Jones.
Knew a fella by that last name, Fordham. Crazy ol’ Jeannie married him.Went off to the Midwest after she got hitched. Her parents almost seemed happy she was gone. No one’s really seen or heard from her. Quite the rebel, that girl.
Hearing Mr. Jones speak about my mom shattered a few more beliefs I’d held about her being a good person. Her parents happy she was gone—really?
“Good finally meeting ya.” I slapped my hand on top of my grandfather’s grave. John George. That’s all I knew about the dude. His name. Nothing more.
With nothing left to say, I turned on my heel, the air humid, the grass smelling pungent. I took a whiff and let my gaze wander.
There it was:
Abby Richards.
Beloved daughter and friend.
Lost too soon.
Never forgotten.
Underneath the inscription, a rose was engraved, complete with stem and thorns.
The dates were too short of a timeframe for me to make sense of why that happened to such a young soul. My feet walked over, on their own mission, and my palm smoothed over the pale gray marble, stopping to let Abby know someone was there.
“Good to meet you too, Abby. I’m going to take care of your mom. Sound good? Yeah?”
My words were a whisper, and once they were out, I felt a weird relief wash over me.
Being a guy, I decided to leave before my body, mind, and spirit became mush with estrogen.
“See ya, Abby.”
Back in my pickup, I thought about the farmer again.
What had been wrong with my grandparents that they were happy when my mom left?
Or what had been wrong with my mom?
My truck rolled down Main Street, and I watched the coeds running to get coffee or beer…
I hadn’t done college this way, and watching them, I didn’t think I’d missed out on a thing. My dad always said I was an old soul. I was beginning to think he was right.
First, I heard the barking.
Next, came moaning and swearing.
