Chapter 50: At the graveyard

Back outside Ann let out a whoosh of air. This had gone better than she had thought. As far as her mother's standards went an unusual streak of sanity had shown today. Part of Ann's heart loved her mother dearly, but loving her was a lot easier when you were a few miles away.

Lost inside her thoughts she steered the Titan to the cemetery. She had gotten back into the flow of driving a bike easily. She didn't understand it but her mind saw no connection between the dreams at night and the actual driving of a bike. On the plus side that meant no problems with the bike, on the bad side it meant no end to the dreams.

She left the Titan in front of the entrance beside a Harley. So Mark was already there.

She found him in front of Ally's grave, squatting in front of the cross and staring into space.

"Hey", she walked up to him.

"Hi, darlin'." Standing easily he took her hand, giving her a small kiss before leaning back to study her. There was a certain reserve about him.

"So you introduced yourself already, huh?" He was looking for some sort of change in the way she saw him, she was sure.

"Sort of."

"I hope she hears. She'd like you. Ain't it true, Ally?" Ann kneeled down, as usual when she wanted to talk to her sister.

Mark looked at her questioningly, "Shall I give you some space?"

"No. I come here alone often enough."

He nodded and squatted down beside her, his guard finally beginning to ease.

She leaned into him, smiling as she asked her sister, "And, did I promise you too much?" She brushed some dirt away from the cross. "I visited Mom today", she shifted her attention to Mark, "she did let me in after all."

"Good, that."

„Grumbling, but she did. And the better so, there is no one but me." Ann leaned her head on Mark's shoulder, looking up into the sky. The cirrus clouds were torn into long narrow strips by the icy winds of the upper atmosphere. "She hasn't really been on this plane ever since Ally died. Not that sanity was one of her particular emphasized features before."

"Coping with the death of a child is…" He broke off.

She pulled his arms around her, the wordless acknowledgement of a pain she knew nothing about. "But she's got a second child and I am alive. I wish she could see that. We lost the same person, we should help each other instead of fighting."

"Grieve is always lonely", Mark drew her closer. "It was so when my parents died, it was so when Bekk died. Even if you lost the same person… you can share some pain but the heart of it will always be your own fight."

"Doesn't that scare you?"

"It does." He softly kissed her hair.

She tilted her head upwards, smiling at him. Her sadness mingled with her feelings for him. His mouth curved into an understanding smile. It was odd how much comfort you could find in someone who never knew the person you lost.

"When we were kids, my sister and I, we used to paint the life we wanted onto the streets with our crayons. Happy families. Rainbows. Apple trees and horses. We never played inside. Couldn't keep track of the rules. We always did something wrong. All their arguing usually ended in us getting confined to our rooms. But we'd sneak over to the other."

Which mostly ended in a disaster once they got caught. Ann had taken most of the trouble, keeping her sister safe the best she could. "God, she was so tiny. I couldn't let them take it out on her, could I?"

"Your parents hit you?"

Ann shook her head. "Not regularly or anything. My Mom just got – upset at times. When my father wouldn't come home another night."

"So she did hit you." He sounded angry.

"It was his fault. He should have been the husband and father he promised to be when he married her."

When Mark didn't answer she looked up at him again. The disagreement was clear on his face.

She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the subject. "Why wasn't I able to keep her safe?" She winced at the whine in her voice, the desperation she felt much clearer than she wanted to show.

The compassion in his eyes almost hurt. He gently brushed a finger across her temple. She closed her eyes, following the soothing touch with a shiver. His lips found hers, covering them lightly. There was no pressure to them, just a continuation of the comfort, like a balm upon a wound. Something resonated deep inside her, calmed her, made her stronger. The security she felt had no match in her life up to this moment.

They only broke the kiss when they heard steps approaching. They were at a cemetery after all, no need to attract attention. Still, the steps stopped behind them.

Ann turned to look who it was. "Oh, Ms Monaghan!" She quickly rose to greet the female priest.

"Good to see you, Ann, and…?" The priest turned to Mark, who had risen to his feet as well.

"Mark, hi", he extended a hand, which the priest took warmly.

Ms Monaghan was a prototype priest and its opposite in one person. She was warm and affectionate, personally caring for all the lambs of her flock, but her Irish temper often flickered, matching her curly red hair that licked around her head like flames.

"So you are still visiting your sister's grave every other day?"

"I try."

"Well, I'm sure she understands if you don't manage every time", Ms Monaghan said with a smile in Mark's direction. „Have you decided on what to do with the house yet?"

„Yes. I'll keep it."

„So you're staying?"

„For the time being." Ann smiled at the priest.

„Whatever decision is right for you, Ann. He…", she gestured to the sky, "will show you the way. Have faith." Ms Monaghan's eyes twinkled as she took in the both of them, giving them her silent blessing.

"Take your time here. I'm going to have a little chat with Mrs Miller now, see if she did go to the doctor's tell him about her bad joints." Nodding a last time, she sat off towards an elderly woman who watered the flowers beside a grave that might have been fresh a decade ago.

"She's the priest?" Mark asked.

"Yes. She performed the service at the funeral. I always wonder why she still knows my name. It's not like I'd be showing up in church ever."

"Well, if you come here every other day…"

"True."

The green of his eyes surrounded by the red of his hair gave a perfect contrast to the torn skies. Irish. He had to be part Irish like the priest. There was something else though. A certain erectness maybe. A simpleness. The way he fit into the woods as well as the way his cheekbones curved.

She couldn't help herself, she just had to step closer to him, to feel him. She laid her hands on his chest, her eyes still tracing his face, looking for the subtle clues. Not completely Irish despite his fiery hair.

She could feel the movements of his muscles as he circled his arms around her waist, her thoughts drawn away from his roots and into the present. Her own little fire, the small but distinctive ache in her groin, threw a few sparks, just enough to remind her of its presence. It had hurt so much to acknowledge it in the beginning but now it was a constant companion. She brushed a strand of hair out of his face. Leaning down he placed a soft kiss on her lips.

Oh yes, she would definitely break anyone's nose who tried to touch him.