“No, I haven’t, okay? The memories I have of my mother are of her alive. And that’s the way I like it.” Lips pressed together in a hard line, he dropped the rose on the dash, put the Jeep into gear and took off again.
Swallowing a sigh, I buckled in and stared at the bouquet on my lap. He still hadn’t let go of her death.
How could he when he blamed himself for the accident and, worse, he couldn’t recall how it had happened?
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed. It’s just that you dedicated that beautiful music to her, I thought…guess I was wrong.”
The silence between us thickened, and by the time he stopped at the apartment, I decided a little distance between us would probably be for the best. Knowing Max, he’d brood for a bit. As I got out, he retrieved a cigarette pack from the glove compartment.
I hated that he smoked, but now I understood why, too. Sighing, I entered my apartment, found a vase for the flowers, and set them on the dining table. As I passed the foyer to my studio, Max walked in, and I could feel his gaze following me.
Truth was, I only wanted to make this day special for him, but my plan had backfired. And that hurt. Stopping at the easel, I studied Gus’s painting. It was almost done, just the background needed a little more work. I should get changed and start on this.
“Logan?”
I looked up. Waited. Max halted in the doorway briefly, hands in his pockets then he walked inside, stopping a few feet from me. “I’m sorry…I can’t face seeing her there, Logan, I just can’t.”
My own hurt forgotten, I closed the small distance between us, wishing I could do something to help him. “I shouldn’t have assumed—”
He shook his head. “I know I can’t keep running because it doesn’t make it better, but nothing does.”
“I’ll be there with you,” I said quietly, rubbing his corded forearm, and realized he didn’t reek of cigarette smoke.
He inhaled roughly then nodded, grasped my hand and pulled me along, heading for the front door.
“Max, wait.” I ran to the dining table and grabbed the flowers. As I followed him down the steps to the Jeep, I saw the crushed cigarette on the ground between the shrubs as if he’d squashed the thing and tossed it aside.
A half hour later, he pulled up outside the cemetery. The street was quiet, the day suddenly eerie. I rubbed the chill off my arms as Max came around to my side, grasped my waist, and set me down on the cracked asphalt. Then he reached past me and picked up the pink rose from the dash.
A hand on my lower back, he ushered me through the huge wrought iron gate and into the silent, garden-like cemetery. “Do you know where it is?” I asked softly.
“At the back, beneath a cherry tree, or so my father told me when I was discharged.”
A soft breeze drifted through the place. Some marble headstones withstood the passage of time while others had cracks formed over their weathered surfaces and moss creeping over them. Leaves and petals lay scattered over every surface.
Max led me some distance to the back that was fenced off, the place a little more private.
Cherry blossoms grew in abundance, scenting the air. Beneath a tree was a marble headstone in the shape of a musical note balanced on a podium that rose from a bed of pink petals. On the smooth, white surface, etched in the marble read:
Claudia Rose Meade-Sinclair.
Beloved wife and mother.
Taken too soon.
Rest in peace.
I knelt on the freshly fallen petals and set the flowers on the foot of the headstone then glanced back. Max stood there silently. At the torment on his pale face, his damp eyes, my own misted. Lips tight as if holding in his anguish, he stepped around me and set the pink rose on the podium at the foot of the musical note.
Unable to bear his suffering, I rose and slipped my arms around him and hugged him. He didn’t react for a second, then his arms came around me, and he buried his face in my hair. “I still remember her smile… God, Logan, I just wish I knew what had happened.”
There was so much pain in his voice. Nothing I said or did could take away that, so I just held him, my feeling for him expanding, deepening. I cared deeply about him. I wanted him to regain his memories, to heal. And if he did eventually leave, then I’d just have to be strong and let him go. At the thought, my stomach twisted painfully.
A long moment later, Max stepped back but didn’t look at me. Discreetly, he swiped at his eyes.
In silence, we navigated the leaf-strewn path to the cemetery entrance and his Jeep. He unlocked the door.
“Are you meeting Jack and War at Mulligan’s?” I asked, trying to bring some normalcy back as I stepped on the running board. His hands cupped my backside, helping me inside. I rolled my eyes at him. “Really?”
