"Why'd you guys choose this place?" Stevie asked. They stood, all five of them, up the hill overlooking the mountains of Virginia. Elizabeth and Henry sat on the stone bench underneath the slight tree, the other kids spread out around the small marker for their brother, Adam. It was a beautiful day, as it always was when they were here. A slight chill, a slight breeze, miles of blue sky punctuated by marshmallow clouds and the distant sounds of a train as it moved through town. Mostly, it was quiet with chirps from birds and the occasional butterfly flying around them.
"We used to own some of this property before it was sold for this cemetery, which is what it is," Henry began. "Actually, what it always was. We didn't know that at the time. Most of the markers are spread throughout the hill over there for easier road access, but Mom and I used to walk over here before you guys were born."
"This view is one of my favorites - you can see so far..." Elizabeth continued.
"We never thought we'd have to choose a place like this for one of you," Henry squeezed her hand. "But if we had to, we wanted the best we could possibly do."
"It's crazy to think that it's been ten years," Aly said, hugging her knees close to her chest. "I have some memories of Mom being pregnant but it just morphs into it being Jason."
"You two were really excited, you knew it was going to be a boy," Elizabeth smiled, gesturing to Stevie and Alison.
"What was I doing?" Jason interjected.
"Mostly being my shadow," she laughed.
"You were a real Mama's boy back in the day," Henry joked. Jason rolled his eyes as the others laughed, nudging him on the back.
"No, you were really protective, Jason. It was really sweet considering you probably didn't know what was going on. You didn't like if anyone got too close to me. You wanted to be the only one who could touch my belly."
"Ugh, God," he sighed.
"You were completely the opposite next year," she sighed.
"I think it's neat that you come here every year. Do you think you always will?" Stevie asked.
"I don't know," Elizabeth said. "We didn't mean for it to be a tradition, but we felt compelled to come. This year feels different for some reason."
"I think just knowing he's not really here," Henry started. " Knowing that this is just a marker of his life, it's nice to be close, to see his name in print. But he's really wherever we are, whenever we think of him — it's the same thing."
"But I do like to see this view," she squeezed his hand. "As crazy as the past year has been for all of us, it's nice to have a place of quiet that no one really knows about — or knew about. I'm a little sad to know it's not our own private place anymore." She looked up and down the hill to where the cars were parked. The detail stood beside the vehicles as they'd done the first time she'd visited. Another unmarked vehicle parked a decent distance behind, but there was no doubt a telephoto lens behind the window.
"You know, if you guys walk down the hill that way," he pointed. "There's a little general store that sells snacks and knick knacks. Why don't you guys go check it out while Mom and I take a walk, okay?"
The kids mumbled, hugging their parents one by one then trailing off down the hill. Elizabeth smiled hearing them laugh. She knew she was lucky, she'd always been lucky, to have kids like this. To have been able to raise those kids with Henry for so long in such safe spaces with few worries to cross their minds. She thought in that moment of Abdol Javani, likely terrorized by the death of his Father more than she would ever be. She thought of the Abdol's little brother and Mother and how quickly their lives had transitioned from relatively carefree, to always on guard and aware of the suddenness of death.
She swallowed hard thinking it was possible that in those flashbacks, in the memories of Iran that had plagued her for so long, it was partially Abdol, and partially Adam she was seeing. Another child she couldn't save despite her best intentions, despite doing everything in her power, despite hoping and praying against all odds.
"Hey, where'd you go?" Henry asked softly, reaching for her hand.
"I was just thinking how our lives have changed since then," she smiled. "I've been thinking about it all week, I guess. How we used to spend our days back at the farmhouse before I started teaching at UVA. I was out of work for over a year, what was I doing all that time?"
"You were raising the kids, Babe. Being their personal chef and punching bag, their therapist and best friend."
"Henry, I was not their personal chef."
"I didn't say you were a great personal chef. They had nothing to compare it to." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they ascended a hill slowly. She could see Frank trailing at a respectful distance, his eyes peeled over the open countryside.
"Can you imagine us with four kids? Even as a professor, I felt like I was always missing something in their lives — big, important things. And now," she held our her arms. "Now I'm lucky to have dinner with you guys once a week."
"Babe, you're way too hard on yourself."
"You're too forgiving is what you are, Dr. McCord."
"It would be fine. We've always managed the cards we've been dealt — not always in the best ways, but we're here, we survived." They reached the summit, an even more expansive view of the surrounding mountains, and waterfalls and lakes that comprised the property. Cows mooed in the distance, and they could just spy an old man and his likely grandson sitting in foldout chairs near the riverside, fishing poles outstretched into the slightly rushing water.
"Do you ever feel like something's missing? That you can't be totally happy because a part of you is always grieving? Not just for Adam, I mean, but for other things and people we've lost along the way."
"No," he said quickly, squinting in the sunlight. "I guess that's a thing you can spend your whole life struggling to overcome. But I'm surrounded by you, by our kids, by some really great friends and some okay family," he smiled. "By the integrity of my work and I feel…"
"What?"
"I feel fulfilled. Eating pizza and lo mein the other night — all of us in the same room, laughing and having a good time together... that's my fantasy. That's my dream. If I really stop to think about it, maybe I'd wallow in the fact that we had a baby who died in our arms. And I'd think that could've destroyed us but instead it made us stronger," he shook his head, laughing at himself. "And now I'm a walking book of quotations."
"Henry," she laughed. "You've always been a walking book of quotations."
"Yeah, but I'd like to think I'm usually more philosophical than 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger'."
A few moments of silence passed between them as they took in the view and held on to each other.
"You don't ever make me feel like a failure, Henry," she looked up at him. "You don't even let me think that way about myself." She stood up on her toes to kiss him, a soft press to his lips that sent a chill down her spine. "I'm grateful for you, you know that?"
He smiled, that sideways smile he wore when he was just on the verge of embarrassment. He leaned down to kiss her. "I'm grateful for you, too. Now," he said, grasping her hand again. "Let's find our kids and get something to eat, do you have time?"
"It's Saturday," she mumbled as they started to descend.
"No rules Saturday, that's right. Does that mean we can go to that little diner that serves the fried everything?"
"You don't even like fried everything."
"I might. It's been so long that I might like it again. Don't forget I subsisted on MRE's for a time, so I have a special place in my heart for all food, fried or not."
They stopped again by Adam's gravestone. They were drawn to it - even atop the hill, the view was just better right here. The shade of the tree, the little stone bench. She kissed two fingers, then dipped down to touch the stone. Henry did the same.
"Bye, baby," she whispered. Her eyes welled up but she didn't cry. She took a deep breath, held onto Henry who seemed to be doing his own emotional avoidance. "Okay," she said. "I'm ready now."