Page 73 of His Saving Grace

But she hadn’t, and he’d had no choice but to confront her. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he’d done it anyway. It had taken everything in him not to gather her into his arms at the end of her story. He’d wanted to hold her, tell her she didn’t need to worry because he’d protect her.

Feeling restless, he bypassed the house and headed for his truck. He got in and rolled down the windows, firing her up and heading down the driveway.

He had no destination in mind, just needed to get away, take a moment, breathe. Think about what he’d heard and how it tangled his emotions into a huge knot. The kind that sat in his gut like a twisted-up ball of lead.

He hadn’t planned on ending up at the cemetery, but wasn’t all that surprised when he pulled into the parking lot forty minutes later. Cutting the engine, he sat there, staring out at the green grass and headstones. He was well acquainted with his own mortality and what it all meant. He’d spent the last fifteen years in a crash course of life and death.

The same thought kept chasing itself around in his head; if he were to die right now, today, what would his tombstone say? What did he want it to say?

He got out of the truck and walked over to the family plot. The last time he’d been here had not been his finest moment. He opened the gate and stepped inside.

A sense of peace washed over him and, there’s no way he could explain why. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and squinted against the now setting sun. A flock of birds took flight. He stared at his dad’s headstone, so imposing against the dying light. Slowly, he made his way toward it.

The vase he’d kicked the last time had been replaced and was filled with new flowers. Courtesy of his mother, no doubt.

He sat down next to the headstone, drawing his knees up so he could rest his forearms on them. He sat in silence for a long time, just watching, waiting.

“So.” He kept his gaze locked on the trees lining the cemetery. “I’m sorry about what happened the last time I was here. Apparently, I don’t hold my liquor very well. Not that that’s an excuse.” He sighed and dropped his hands to sift his fingers through the soft, dense grass.

A couple, who had been paying their respects to a loved one, walked by, arm in arm. The man nodded at Mason in that way men often did, a complete conversation in a single head bob. Mason nodded back. The couple continued on to the parking lot.

Mason waited a handful of heartbeats, until the stillness returned. He took an uneasy breath and shifted, so he faced his dad’s headstone. The reality, the finality of everything, thickened his throat, made his chest ache.

“I’m also sorry things between us were… what they were.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I should have sat you down, explained why I was choosing my path. I let my stubbornness—I wonder where I got that from? —get in the way of having a grownup discussion. I don’t regret the choice I made, and if I could go back, I would absolutely do it again. I’d just do it differently.”

He brushed his hand against the cold, hard, stone monument. So much like the man himself. “I liked being a soldier. I was good at it. And I know mom told you all of this, even though you made it seem like you didn’t care. But I know you did, and I hope, in your own way, you were proud of me.”

His hip ached from being in the same position for so long, drowning out the ache in his heart. He shifted, stretching out his leg. “I don’t have a lot of regrets, but not making amends with you is one I’ll carry forever. I don’t know if you know, but I’d just put in the request for leave when we were hit. Simon told me you were sick and that you didn’t have long, so I was making arrangements to come back, you know, before it was too late. As you know, I didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

He brushed his hand over the raised letters and numbers on the headstone. His finger lingered on the dash that separated the date of birth from the date of death. A whole lifetime represented by something so small, simple.

Another soft breeze kicked up, ruffling his hair. Like his dad used to do when he was a boy. Tears burned the back of his eyes and he didn’t try to hold them back.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, letting the tears silently slide down his face. But as the moments passed by, the ache in his chest lightened. The sun began its descent on the horizon, bathing the world in a soft, pink glow. He blew out an unsteady breath and wiped his eyes on his t-shirt.

He lumbered to his feet, his thigh and hip screaming in protest. “I love you, Dad.” The words were soft. “I just wanted you to know that.”

Mason limped back to the truck, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.