A sharp wind cut through the cotton jacket, and Selma Terwilliger shivered,
pulling the garment tighter around her. Noticing this, her husband drew her
to him, wrapping Selma in a warm hug.
"You can wait in the car, if you want," Robert said quietly. "I won't take a moment."
"No, no, I'm fine," Selma assured him. The Irish winter swirling about them didn't seem so harsh when Robert was holding her…
Nodding, Robert disconnected and took her right hand in his left. Selma looked about as Robert led her through the mass of crosses and curved slabs; the sky was a usual stormy grey, clouds an ever-threatening presence. As her eyes of moon swept over lush grass and forestry, Selma had to ask herself how anything grew if the sun never shone.
Slowly, Robert calm to a stop; he fell to one knee then, aquamarine eyes scanning the large granite crucifix before him.
"This is it," he told his wife. "This is his grave."
Selma said nothing, choosing instead to move behind Robert and wrap her arms around his chest and neck.
"Dr Patrick Kincaid O'Connor, born the 19th of October…died the 12th of November…beloved son, brother, and uncle…"
Robert was silent for moments, just staring at the stone. Suddenly, without warning, he fell against it, body shaking with wild sobs.
"I'm sorry…so sorry…" he managed to whisper. "Didn't mean to…"
"Robert!" Selma practically hissed, pulling her husband away from the tombstone. "Robert, what are-"
"Killer…"
Mouth closing abruptly, Selma wrapped her arms around Robert's trembling frame to hold him close to her. Absently rubbing at his back, Selma made comforting shushing noises, rocking the red haired man gently.
"Didn't…didn't mean to…" he managed to choke out. "Didn't…"
"Sh, sh. I know, baby. I know," Selma whispered, grip tightening comfortingly. She pressed a kiss to unruly hair.
Nodding, Robert gripped her jacket, burying his head in her shoulder. Selma smiled forlornly down at her love, then looked up to glare at the offending tombstone, as if her eyes could shatter it and the memories triggered.
After a while, the naturally grey haired woman nudged her husband gently, causing him to look up at her. She closed the distance between them, placing a gentle kiss on his lips before pulling away and tugging on his left hand with her right, the other brushing away the errant tears on the gentle man's cheeks.
"Come on, Robbie," she half-whispered. "Let's go back to the hotel. I think you've grieved more than enough for one lifetime. Besides…" She pulled him in again, kissing his neck this time. "…I'd rather prefer we weren't in a cold, harsh graveyard. Unless that's your thing."
Selma smiled almost evilly against Robert's neck, feeling the heat that was now waving off his face.
She gave a small yelp of surprise, however, when she was suddenly lifted off the ground in one swift motion; she clutched desperately at her husband's neck, and he chuckled lightly, shifting his arms somewhat so that Selma was in a comfortable sitting position in his hold.
"Graveyards, eh?" Robert smiled, leaning forward so that their noses rubbed together in an Eskimo kiss. "No – I've seen more than enough of graveyards. They aren't my 'thing' – you are."
Selma's grip around Robert's neck tightened then as she pulled him in for a real kiss, her fingers traveling upwards to tangle in his curly blood red hair.
"Take me home, Robbie," Selma murmured as they separated.
The redhead smiled and hugged his wife as he carried her out of the cemetery and towards the car, all the while whispering how much he loved her.
"You can wait in the car, if you want," Robert said quietly. "I won't take a moment."
"No, no, I'm fine," Selma assured him. The Irish winter swirling about them didn't seem so harsh when Robert was holding her…
Nodding, Robert disconnected and took her right hand in his left. Selma looked about as Robert led her through the mass of crosses and curved slabs; the sky was a usual stormy grey, clouds an ever-threatening presence. As her eyes of moon swept over lush grass and forestry, Selma had to ask herself how anything grew if the sun never shone.
Slowly, Robert calm to a stop; he fell to one knee then, aquamarine eyes scanning the large granite crucifix before him.
"This is it," he told his wife. "This is his grave."
Selma said nothing, choosing instead to move behind Robert and wrap her arms around his chest and neck.
"Dr Patrick Kincaid O'Connor, born the 19th of October…died the 12th of November…beloved son, brother, and uncle…"
Robert was silent for moments, just staring at the stone. Suddenly, without warning, he fell against it, body shaking with wild sobs.
"I'm sorry…so sorry…" he managed to whisper. "Didn't mean to…"
"Robert!" Selma practically hissed, pulling her husband away from the tombstone. "Robert, what are-"
"Killer…"
Mouth closing abruptly, Selma wrapped her arms around Robert's trembling frame to hold him close to her. Absently rubbing at his back, Selma made comforting shushing noises, rocking the red haired man gently.
"Didn't…didn't mean to…" he managed to choke out. "Didn't…"
"Sh, sh. I know, baby. I know," Selma whispered, grip tightening comfortingly. She pressed a kiss to unruly hair.
Nodding, Robert gripped her jacket, burying his head in her shoulder. Selma smiled forlornly down at her love, then looked up to glare at the offending tombstone, as if her eyes could shatter it and the memories triggered.
After a while, the naturally grey haired woman nudged her husband gently, causing him to look up at her. She closed the distance between them, placing a gentle kiss on his lips before pulling away and tugging on his left hand with her right, the other brushing away the errant tears on the gentle man's cheeks.
"Come on, Robbie," she half-whispered. "Let's go back to the hotel. I think you've grieved more than enough for one lifetime. Besides…" She pulled him in again, kissing his neck this time. "…I'd rather prefer we weren't in a cold, harsh graveyard. Unless that's your thing."
Selma smiled almost evilly against Robert's neck, feeling the heat that was now waving off his face.
She gave a small yelp of surprise, however, when she was suddenly lifted off the ground in one swift motion; she clutched desperately at her husband's neck, and he chuckled lightly, shifting his arms somewhat so that Selma was in a comfortable sitting position in his hold.
"Graveyards, eh?" Robert smiled, leaning forward so that their noses rubbed together in an Eskimo kiss. "No – I've seen more than enough of graveyards. They aren't my 'thing' – you are."
Selma's grip around Robert's neck tightened then as she pulled him in for a real kiss, her fingers traveling upwards to tangle in his curly blood red hair.
"Take me home, Robbie," Selma murmured as they separated.
The redhead smiled and hugged his wife as he carried her out of the cemetery and towards the car, all the while whispering how much he loved her.
