Page 96 of Autumn on My Mind

“I didn’t promise a lighter mood,” he points out as he walks past me. “And you’re the one who stopped there.” He gestures to the other side of the little cemetery behind the church, to a spot next to the white fence and grass covered with colorful leaves. “I was always headed this way.”

He continues on, but I look down at my dad’s headstone. It’s simple and neat, nothing fancy, and I crouch down to dust it off.

Nathan and I keep it in pretty good shape, usually. I don’t know if Alvina ever comes. The stone is rough beneath my touch as I brush away a bit of dirt, some errant leaves.

“I miss you,” I say quietly as I trace the grooved letters of my dad’s name—REGINALD BERKELEY. I haven’t been to visit in a while, and I find the words bubbling to the tip of my tongue without much thought or prompting.

“I feel like our family is falling apart, and no one cares but me.” I try to swallow the knot in my throat, but it stays. “You were the glue that held us together. We were even back living in one house again—our house—but it’s not the same.” Tears prick my eyes now, and my voice is thick when I go on. “And I keep feeling like I should try one more time.”

The faint strain of holy hymn reaches me from inside the church, tries to wrap me in something soothing, but the wind blows it away too soon, until it’s lost. My eyes drop to the grass at the base of the rough stone, the weeds fighting for space, and I can feel them around my throat, too.

“Maybe I can make us happy again.” It’s a pathetic, desperate plea, choked with tears and stupid hope. “If I just—” My breath stutters, trembles in my chest, and I try again. “If I can just—do better.”

There’s something about losing a parent, though, that no one ever tells you. They may be gone, but you always know what they would say.

My father is off in the heavenly ether, but I can almost feel him here. He would stand behind me, his hands gentle on my shoulders as I kneel in front of his grave. Sweet girl—that’s what he called me—you’ve done what you can do, he would say. Now let it go.

But let go…what? My entire family? Obviously not. So what does that even mean?

“You’re not very helpful,” I mutter to my father.

I startle when a very real pair of hands rest on my shoulders, standing behind me; I yelp and whirl around, losing my balance and toppling to the ground.

It’s not my dad, of course. It’s Dominic.

I turn quickly to hide my watery eyes, swiping at them before looking back. Dom offers me his hand as a smile touches his lips, not of laughter but gentle understanding. I slide my hand into his gratefully and let him pull me to my feet, dusting my clothes off.

“Want to say hi to my mom?” he says.

I blink up at him in surprise. “I’ve never met your mom.”

“Sure you have,” he says easily. He lets go of my hand and turns away, speaking over his shoulder as he heads back toward her plot. “We’ve lived here forever.”

My cheeks heat, and I give my dad’s grave one last wave before following Dom. “You know what I mean.”

His footsteps slow for half a second. “I do know what you mean,” he admits, so softly I almost don’t hear, and then he starts walking again.

Had I interacted with Sally Harper around town before? Sure. But had I ever met her as the woman her son was dating? Had I ever been formally introduced as Dominic’s significant other?

No.

A faint wind rustles through the cemetery, playing with the leaves of the trees scattered around the edges. The sun is tucked mostly away, but enough peeps through the clouds to lend a few rays to the graveyard, making it feel breezy and bright rather than gloomy.

My heavy heart lifts some as I make my way toward Dom, who’s stopped in front of his mother’s headstone. I slow as I approach, eyeing him, but he seems calm enough, even casual.

I take my cues from him. My feet crunch over the leaves, and I give the grave marker a little wave. “Hi,” I say. “I’m Reese. I guess—you’ve seen me around town before.”

Silence falls for a second, until Dom quirks an eyebrow at me, his hands tucked easily in his pockets.

“That’s all?” he says. “Nothing else you want to say?”

So I look back at Sally. I would recognize your son’s hands in the dark, I tell her sadly. I loved him the way the bird loves the sky.

A crack of sun illuminates before me, casting Sally’s grave marker into a shaft of light; when I look up, more of the clouds have drifted away, revealing bright, vibrant blue.

“Maybe it’s clearing up now,” I murmur to no one in particular. I glance at Dom, but his eyes are still on his mother’s headstone, some of his earlier flippancy gone.

“The anniversary of her death was last week.”