Dina's Epilogue
Paperwork is often perceived to exist simply to slow people down. In truth, how much it slows a person is much more dependent on the person than the paper. Priscilla Meleori normally could wade across any sea of administrative trivia, but it still took her a week before a very simple task could be concluded.
The task of re-interring Favianne DeAngelis' remains with that of her husband and son.
Only one task remained: the marker. The graveyard in which Piero and Alessio laid in peace was adamant that all the statuary and grave markers come from a specific supplier, and that supplier was equally adamant that the design be selected in-person.
Fortunately, he was willing to meet Priscilla on a weekend. As she motored along on her scooter, Priscilla thought back to the happy few weekends where she visited Alessia at their common school, the laughter shared, the stories exchanged and the memories made.
The stone carver's shop occupied a small corner of the graveyard, next to a sprawling and colourful florist. In contrast, the studio was dim and cluttered. How can he see in this?
The stone carver was a stooped and white-haired man. His gait was unsteady and shuffling, but his arms were wiry and steady. "DeAngelis, hm? I remember them. Half-a-dozen years or so. Father and a little boy. His sister picked it out, dark granite with an angel on one side. That's the mother, you say? We could do the same thing, with the angel on the other side. Bookends, in a way."
Fatigued from her ride and reminiscing, Priscilla simply nodded.
"Only one problem, though."
What is it now? Priscilla hoped he didn't hear her sigh, then realized she didn't care.
He waited for her response, then shrugged and continued. "The DeAngelis marker is a double. Father and son. If we make the mother's marker a single, it won't look balanced."
"A … double?" Her mind flashed to an ebullient little girl with long, dirty blond tresses, a winning grin and deep brown eyes.
"Marker, Signorina. Marker. Two graves, so two names on the stone. Two names on the stone, it has to be twice as wide." His hands fluttered as he spoke, and settled to describe a span roughly a meter apart. "Now a single is this wide. You see the difference? Single. Double. We have a double already, so if we put a single next-"
"Okay." Doctor Bianchi's words battered at Priscilla's memory. At this time, projected life span is five years on the outside.
"Okay what? You want a single or double?"
Her eyes closed, her head bowed, her voice soft, she said, "Double."
Author's Notes: Thanks (again) to PSVT for catching (yet another) typo. You have sharp eyes!