impulse she drove back to her church, parked her car and walked out into the cemetery. She wanted to see her grandfatherâs grave and make sure the silk flowers sheâd put there for Fatherâs Dayâtodayâwere still in place. Sometimes the wind blew them around. She liked talking to him as well; catching him up on all the latest news around town. It would probably look as if she were crazy if anyone overheard her. But she didnât care. If she wanted to think her grandfather could hear her at his grave, that was nobody elseâs business.
She paused at his headstone and stooped down to remove a weed that was trying to grow just beside the tombstone. Her grandmother was buried beside him, but Sara had never known her. Sheâd been a very small child when she died.
She patted the tombstone. âHello, Grandad,â she said softly. âI hope youâre in a happy place with Granny. I sure do miss you. Especially in the summer. Remember how much fun we had going fishing together? You caught that big bass the last time, and fell in the river trying to get him reeled in.â She laughed softly. âYou said he was the tastiest fish youâd ever eaten.â
She tugged at another weed. âThereâs this new guy in town. Youâd like him. He loves to read and he owns a big ranch. Heâs sort of like an ogre, though. Very antisocial. He thinks I look like a bag ladyâ¦â
She stopped talking when she realized she wasnât alone in the cemetery. Toward the far corner, a familiar figure was tugging weeds away from a tombstone, patting it with his hand. Talking to it. She hadnât even heard him drive up.
Without thinking of the consequences, she went toward him. Here, among the tombstones, there was no thought of causing trouble. It was a place people came to remember, to honor their dead.
She stopped just behind him and read the tombstone. âEllen Marist Cameron,â it said. She would have been nine years old, today.
He felt her there and turned. His eyes were cold, full of pain, full of hurt.
âYour daughter,â she guessed softly.
âKilled in a wreck,â he replied tonelessly. âSheâd gone to the zoo with a girlfriend and her parents. On the way back, a drunk driver crossed the median and t-boned them on the side my daughter was occupying. She died instantly.â
âIâm sorry.â
He cocked his head. âWhy are you here?â
âI come to talk to my grandad,â she confessed, avoiding his eyes. âHe died recently of a massive coronary. He was all the family I had left.â
He nodded slowly. âSheââ he indicated the tombstone ââwas all the family I had left. My parents are long dead. My wife died of a drug overdose a week after Ellen was killed.â He looked out across the crop of tombstones with blank eyes. âMy grandfather used to live here. I thought it was a good place to put her, next to him.â
So that was the funeral heâd come here to attend. His child. No wonder he was bitter. âWhat was she like?â she asked.
He looked down at her curiously. âMost people try to avoid the subject. They know itâs painful, so they say nothing.â
âIt hurts more not to talk about them,â she said simply. âI miss my grandfather every day. He was my best friend. He taught history at the local college. We went fishing together on weekends.â
âShe liked to swim,â he said, indicating the tombstone. âShe was on a swim team at her elementary school. She was a whiz at computers,â he added, laughing softly. âIâd be floundering around trying to find a Web site, and sheâd make two keystrokes and bring it up on the screen. She wasâ¦a childâ¦of great promise.â His voice broke.
Without counting the cost, Sara stepped right up against him and put her arms around him. She held on tight.
She felt the
Lawrence Anthony, Graham Spence