Finn paced endlessly between the rough, worn sandstone columns of the all-too-familiar entrance. He didn't know whether to take the plunge and walk down the drive, or to turn his back on Rachel once again. Today was different, though. It was the same day that he had left her, and his home, five years ago to pursue his studies at Ohio state. Her fathers' vehement words, after Finn had begged for Rachel to join him, still resonated in his ears.
"Irresponsible fool! You are not to take my daughter away from Broadway! She has her own dreams, and you haven't even got a job! Don't even think of showing your face here again, until you are ready to commit."
So they had promised to write to each other until he finished his degree. Hopes and dreams had been shared in frequent missives, scented on her part with the familiar fragrance of cinnamon. Even when the precious letters came less often, finally stopping after a couple of years, he remained steadfast and constant in his affections.
Since arriving back home on an extended leave, he had come here every week, waiting for the 'right' moment to tell her; and every time he had buckled under his self-imposed pressure and gone home.
His watched buzzed, startling him. It was 3pm. He had an hour.
Noisy sparrows fluttered above him, and everywhere he turned hot air seemed to intensify the humidity of this January day. The smooth leather almost slipped through his hands as he pulled the crumpled, tear-stained photo out of his wallet. Finn glanced at the olive-toned face with sparkling eyes that grinned cheekily at him. He remembered that last afternoon, now captured in a familiar jumble of multicoloured pixels, so well. It was as though he had relived it every day for the past five years: their innocent promises, whispered to each other while sitting in his truck, exchanging little mementoes. Finn wondered if she'd kept hers. He had always cherished his;though they were now stashed at the back of his drawer so his workmates wouldn't tease him.
He'd just been over to his brother's house that morning, sobbing convulsively and begging for his advice yet again. Kurt and Rachel had always been cronies.
"What if…" he'd started to say to Kurt.
"What if what, Finn?" He'd cut in, almost spilling hot coffee on him in his excitement. "What have you got to lose? Go on, tell her. She'll want to know."
He glanced at the photo again. Collapsing onto the rusty bench, Finn stared at the bracelet in his hand.
The beads seemed to describe his and Rachel's past so well. They were chipped and cracked, aged and worn; yet to him they appeared to retain a little of their past brilliance, a false glimmer of hope.
"It means 'love'," Rachel had said quietly.
She had then laughed uncomfortably at the idea of her and Finn being 'in love' with each other. Yet when he had gazed into her deep chocolate eyes, twinkling mischievously at him, he believed he had seen what was hidden within and now cursed himself for not telling her right there and then how much she meant to him. So now, five years later, he had everything he had ever wanted – a teaching degree, a stable job and a suburban unit – everything except her.
3:45pm. He'd have to leave soon. His palms began to sweat profusely and his legs turned into jelly. It would be so shameful, offering her his weak excuses for not coming to see her sooner. After all, he could've visited her every time he'd come to New York. The hand holding the bouquet of lilies went limp and he almost dropped them.
Perhaps he should just throw away the bracelet and the rest of the keepsakes, he thought, as he started to drag himself towards the bin, stumbling over the cracked pavement and squeezing the worn bracelet so tightly that he almost crushed the fragile beadwork.
A wet sensation in his shoes caused Finn to look down. Rachel's likeness seemed to gaze up at him from the puddle with reddened, questioning eyes.
Maybe…it wasn't such a good idea. After all, he'd been trying for so long and there was no use in giving up started shuffling down the path. He knew he had to do this. He had procrastinated for too long.
Finn inhaled the exotic scent of the oriental lilies – the same flower they'd chosen for her Prom corsage and his boutonniere. They carried with them the bittersweet memories of all the blissful afternoons they had spent together, shrugging off all the wolf-whistles and mockery.
"Ignore them," Rachel had retorted the first time, when he had been about to yell obscenities back at them. "They're just jealous."
He had hoped, rather than known, that what she said was true. Looking back, Finn saw all the time he had 'lost' sitting with her and not 'being a man', as his mates had put it. He had no regrets, though. Nothing else had mattered to him as long as he had Rachel.
The iron gate groaned as his shaky hands slowly swung it open. A hot flush swept over him as the blood rushed to his head. Shaking violently, he took a tentative step forward. His body seemed to mirror his indecision, swaying backwards and forwards with the wind.
Beside him, a smattering of half-withered Chardonnay Pearls also trembled in the breeze. A threatening grey-green curtain rumbled as it rolled across the sky. Not far from where he stood, a mossy carpet flourished around a mouldy Madonna sculpture, and a young fig tree was beginning to twist its way out of the ground. "To keep our memories alive," he shivered.
Suddenly the wind stopped. An eerie silence surrounded him.
Finn carefully placed the bouquet on the smooth gravel and knelt down, resting his damp cheek on her headstone.
"I'll always love you, Rachel," he whispered.