Johnny pushed through the cemetery gates, their screams of protest falling on uncaring ears. He glanced back at the dark and empty road before turning to face the headstones, casting his eyes over them, wondering.
"Hang on, Retta. I'm comin'," he said, his grip tightening around the paper bag clutched to his side, hesitating.
He moved up the grassy path, past weatherworn and unsteady graves from a century ago, stumbling over fragmented headstones hidden in the undergrowth. He paused every few minutes, scanning the stones, searching. He ran one hand through his slicked-back hair, sighing. "Aw, help me out, doll. Show me where you are."
Cresting the little green hill, he caught sight of a stately mausoleum, cold and white in the light of the full moon. It loomed over the gravestones, majestic, imposing, contemptuous. A flicker of hope flared in his heart and he moved closer, stumbling down the incline.
Still a few yards distant, he could make out the letters cut into the gleaming marble over the doorway.
" 'Destler'," he read, nodding to himself, and broke into a light jog. "That's gotta be it."
He ran up to the mausoleum and paused, staring up at the name as he ran one hand over the engraved design of ivy and roses on the door. He leaned against the cool marble, silently praying the door wouldn't be locked. It slid inward under the pressure of his body, silent on well-oiled hinges, and he laughed to himself in the darkness.
"Thank God." He stepped into the sanctuary, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
The casket stood in the center of the floor, a box of polished black walnut with cherrywood trim and silver fixtures. He could see it in more and more detail as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, as if it were being revealed from beneath a gauzy veil. When he could see the faint gleam of moonlight reflected on its silver handles, grief overwhelmed him. He threw himself over the box, unable to stop himself from weeping.
Scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his leather jacket, Johnny stood back, reaching into the paper bag still clutched in one hand.
"Here, sweet thang. I brought this for you. I know you.. wanted to keep it.. Thought you might like it to sleep with."
From the bag he drew a squat, badly made stuffed skeleton, a body of black fuzz painted over with round-edged bones. Its rictus grin leered at him. He held it against his cheek for a moment, then laid it atop the coffin.
"You remember when I won this for you, baby? Just a few weeks ago. I never woulda thought.. you'd be.."
Johnny gave a trembling sigh, then, running his hands along the edge of the shining black-and-red box, he pulled at the lid. It remained sealed shut.
Frustrated, he pounded a fist into the box's lid. "It's no good this way, Retta. You can't feel it.. out here.."
He stared at the gleaming black wood, his memory drifting back as he muttered aloud. "Man, we sure had a good time that night? Remember, Retta? You wanted to go on everything.. even the merry-go-round.."