“My aunt’s name is Sheryl. She’s a police officer. You know her?”
Will tries to keep his emotions away from his face. Does he know her? Yeah, he fucking does, and he’ll be a damn fool to have anything to do with any family member of hers. Besides, it’s not like she’ll ever let her nephew be friendly with Will, which makes this whole conversation rather pointless.
“I know her,” he says flatly, just when Bradley returns to his seat.
“What did I miss?”
“Nothing.” Will leaves a bill on the table. “Sorry, boys, but I need to take a painkiller and go to bed.”
“You sure? It’s super early,” Bradley says, while Owen watches Will with a frown.
“Yeah, I’m beat. Have a nice evening.”
He makes his way out into the chilly night, feeling he dodged a bullet.
*
Such a cloudy day feels appropriate for a visit to the cemetery, and Will can afford to do that now because he’s still taking time off to heal. He starts by visiting his mom’s grave. He sits on the soft grass next to her tombstone.
“Hi there, Mama.”
Unlike Julie, who is slowly fading away in front of his eyes, their mother’s death was sudden. The road was slippery, and she hit a tree. They needed to cut off half the car to get her out, and by the time Will and Julie were told to get to the scene, she was already gone. He hopes she died instantly without knowing how hopeless her condition was.
When Will speaks with his mother, he lies. She has no business knowing the things he needs to deal with while she’s up there drinking her favorite mint tea in heaven. She doesn’t need to know that soon Julie will join her and that her stepbrother, the mayor, is still a horrible human being. Instead of opening up about the shit in his life, he talks about things like his work, about the weather that is finally getting warmer, and about a fishing tournament on Current River he and Bradley are planning on checking out. He briefly mentions the young man he met at Rodie’s, who seemed nice, but it’s not in their cards to be friends considering who Owen’saunt is.
By this part of their conversation, his mother—if she were alive—would have asked about his love life. She was supportive of his relationship with Joel, though she wasn’t alive to see the dark times that followed.
“I’ll see you soon,” Will says and places a pink flower on the headstone. He stands up and walks over to the far side of the cemetery, where Joel is buried. He wishes to skip this part of his visit, but his guilt has been guiding his legs to Joel’s grave week after week for almost five years. He stops at the foot of a beautiful willow, the long branches stroking the simple headstone.A beloved sonreads the engraving, and the dates make it clear a young man is buried here.
Although he visits Joel regularly, he never speaks with the man. They hadn’t really spoken during the last months of their relationship, so it feels unnecessary to do so now.
The sun is beginning to set, and Will still has to walk back home. He chose not to take his truck because he wanted to get some exercise if he’s to return to work tomorrow.
He reaches the road and makes his way toward town. It’s impossible to see any houses with how clustered the trees are. It’s quiet as he walks, making it easy to notice the sound of an approaching car. He sticks to the side of the road where he shouldn’t be in anyone’s way. Out here, there are no streetlights, forcing you to pay attentionand not daydream.
Will only turns to look when he notices the car slowing down. He shields his eyes to see through the headlights, and his stomach drops when he recognizes a police car. He can’t see who the driver is, but he can tell there’s only one person inside. The car slides closer until it stops next to him. Nate lowers the passenger window and turns off the radio.
Will knows he should keep on walking, even though he promised himself long ago not to give the local police force any reason to arrest him.
“Hi there,” Nate says cheerfully.
Will sighs and leans down, his face leveled with Nate’s. The man is beaming, but Nate always has a broad smile like he’s either won a prize or has taken a happy pill.
“It’s polite to say hello, Will.”
“Hi.” His throat feels thick, and his pulse is too fast. This hyena of a man should not have this effect on him.
“You had a nice visit to the cemetery?”
“How do you know where I was?”
“Why else would you be out here?”
Will tries to relax. Last time, he was intoxicated and hazy, his brain floating in fog. He’s sharp now, in full control of his body and mind. “I’m just heading home. Have a good evening.”
“I’ll take you.”
“It’s not far. I’ll be fine.”
