I set the envelope down and unfold the paper inside. The creases resist, sharp from being folded too long.
It’s my transfer paperwork. Maple Falls Fire Department. Effective August tenth.
Shutting my eyes, I crush the paper in my fist.
You were always right, Mom…
After taking a deep breath, I force back the dark thoughts not yet formed, before I reopen my eyes. Out the window, the forest stares back—still… endless. This place could be where I heal, or where I let myself rot.
Guilt thrashes at me, fast and hot. Like a wildfire, it’s already too far gone for me to smother.
I glance at my watch. An hour until the funeral. Enough time to clean a bit, then make it for the service. Maybe the air will clear my head before I have to say goodbye for the last time.
I can’t believe how much of an idiot I am.
How the hell did I forget the time change?
I’ve always visited in the winter. Arizona and Colorado share the same time zone until summer… I hadn’t set my watch ahead an hour.
The damn funeral was over.
I went to the church where the procession had started, but they told me it was finished and everyone had gone to the burial site. I’m surprised I wasn’t pulled over with how fast I was driving, even in my truck.
No one stands under the blue tent providing shade in the summer heat. The only people I can see are tending to the place where my mother now rests.
Or, well, her ashes.
I slam the car door, ignoring my surroundings, and head straight for the two rectangular holes.
The soft soil sinks beneath my shoes, the tips of them stopping an inch from the six-foot drop. My head shakes involuntarily, andit’s like I can hear her disappointed voice.
“Aue,Keoni. What was so important you missed my funeral?”
I’m always too late… I’m so sorry…
A warm breeze pulls a strand of hair across my face.
“You alright, son?” I slowly look up at the man approaching me. My assumption would’ve been a worker, but to my dismay, it’s a priest. “May I help you?”
Where’s your God now? Where’s any God now?—
I bite my tongue not to curse out a holy man.
A few people are right behind him, and while he stops, they don’t. One of them brushes past me, and I instinctively step back. They begin removing the lowering device and straps from the grave.
I swallow and look down at the man. He eyes me cautiously, as if I might cause trouble. I get it, I’m intimidating, but I really don’t need problems right now.
Sighing while straightening my shoulders, I mutter, “No. I don’t need any help.”
I take another step back until one of the many chairs brushes against the back of my knees. Then I sit, resting my elbows on my spread legs.
For the next several hours, I just remain here while people take down the sitting area and close up the graves. They place a temporary marker between the two plots, and fuck… if I haven’t read it hundreds of times.
Grant Robert Pierce and Leilani Ann Pierce
January 31, 1969 - July 31, 2026 and April 17, 1976 - July 31, 2026.
Section C, Plot 14 & 15.
