Chapter 28

The Anniversary

"I think I tied my tie too tightly," Alan said upon exiting the limo.

It was Halloween afternoon, and the weather had never felt more appropriate. The sky was a solid, never-ending blanket of clouds the color of steel. The air was cold and still save for an errant breeze that occasionally blew past. It was also the second anniversary of Lydia's death, and the limo sat parked outside the Elwood City Cemetery, not far from the main gate. Alan paused to fidget with the tie that matched the black suit he wore. It had been fine when he left home, but now it felt constricting. Muffy had suggested they come here dressed for a funeral.

"It's not pointless," she had explained when he protested. "How you dress affects you, whether you realize it or not. I'm not trying to be morbid or anything. I'm just saying there's a difference between showing up in jeans and sneakers and actually dressing for the occasion. The more official you make it, the more official it might feel. I don't want you to have any regrets."

Muffy stepped out of the limo and was quick to don her fitted, expensive-looking peacoat, which matched the clouds above them perfectly. She had not worn black today. Alan was not sure she owned any black clothing. Instead she had worn a calf-length dress in an inky-dark shade of eggplant purple, which was appropriate enough for mourning, he supposed.

"Let me see," Muffy said, sliding her thumb between his tie and shirt collar, checking the knot herself. "Nah, there's plenty of room. You're good. Are you ready?"

Alan inhaled deeply. "No, but let's do this."

The front passenger window rolled down as Muffy motioned with her hand. She reached in and withdrew a stunning bouquet, a mixture of white roses and calla lilies. She held them out to him, on the defense before he could even open his mouth.

"I know you said no flowers, but I got some, just in case. I didn't want you to have any—"

"Regrets…" Alan conceded. The flowers really were beautiful, and he was somewhat glad Muffy had not listened to him. "Thank you," he said, taking them.

They had managed only a few steps down the sidewalk when Alan's gaze was drawn to three familiar people exiting the cemetery gate, halting him in his tracks. Mr. and Mrs. Fox each held one of Brandon's hands as the boy, who was surely three years old by now, skipped and toddled along between them. Alan seized Muffy's arm to stop her.

"What?" she said, only to be shushed by him.

"Ahead. Those are Lydia's parents," he hissed. "We' have to turn back until they leave."

He backed up, towing her along, hoping they could make it back inside the limo before they noticed him. Muffy continued to chatter, albeit quietly.

"But why do you—"

"Dammit," he muttered, letting go of Muffy in defeat.

They had been spotted. Lydia's father was pointing in their direction, while her mother waved at him.

"I don't want to do this," he said quietly after blowing out a frustrated sigh. He weakly waved back in spite of the anxious feeling that rose in his chest. "I do not want to do this."

Muffy placed a bracing hand on his back and said. "Talk to them. It's all right. Just breathe…"

"Hi, Alan," said Lydia's mother once she and her family were closer.

"Hello, Mrs. Fox, Mr. Fox. Hi, Brandon."

What do I say now?

"Hi," said Muffy, offering her hand, "I'm Muffy."

"Right!" said Alan. "Right. Excuse me. This is my friend, Muffy Crosswire."

They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

"What beautiful flowers," Mrs. Fox marveled, taking in the bouquet.

"I selected them," Muffy said proudly.

"We just left a jack-o'-lantern for Lydia," said Mrs. Fox with a sad smile, "just like last year. It's sort of becoming a tradition, I think."

"A jack-o'-lantern?" said Alan. "Really?"

Was that sort of thing appropriate?

"This was her favorite holiday," she explained. "She even tried to hang Halloween decorations on our Christmas tree. We've carved one for her every year—just a tiny one, out of a sugar pie pumpkin."

"With the curliest and most-twisted stalk we could find," said Mr. Fox, "because she was always a stickler for that detail."

"We think she'd appreciate it."

Alan thought about this. As unusual as the notion of a jack-o'-lantern being left behind in a somber place such as this might seem, it held great meaning to Lydia's parents. Perhaps that fact alone made the gesture appropriate. And they were right—Lydia would be endlessly amused to know they had done this for her.

"She did love Halloween, didn't she?" he said. "I wish I had been that clever. Thoughtful… I'm sorry."

Don't break down… Don't break down…

But his eyes were already welling up.

"What on Earth for?"

Mrs. Fox reached for him, placing a hand on his shoulder. She should not be bothered with consoling him, especially not today, especially not after the way he had treated them. Alan straightened up and wiped away his tears with his free hand.

"For my abhorrent behavior after it happened," he said apologetically. "For not attending her funeral. You were so kind and generous to me, and I couldn't even express my gratitude because it…hurt so much. I felt awful about it afterward. I still feel awful."

"Alan, sweetie, we understand. It's hard. It's still hard. We didn't take it personally."

Mrs. Fox pulled him in for a hug. "Don't you dare feel bad about that," she said, patting his back before pulling away. "Now, promise me you're not going to dwell on it anymore, okay?"

Alan nodded.

"How did you do it?" he asked. "How did you move on?"

She blinked, considering his words.

"I don't think you ever really move on, Alan. It's more like you're moving through. Not having her around still hurts. It probably always will. But we try to honor her memory as much as possible and find the joy in the things she cared about."

"You'd better believe we put those Halloween decorations on the tree now," said Mr. Fox. "They are ugly, no doubt, but they make us laugh, so it's worth it."

"I'm sorry this still upsets you," she said. "I hope you feel better and have a happy life. We're not far away if you ever need to talk. Remember that."

"I will," said Alan. "Thank you."

"We won't keep you any longer. And anyway, we need to get this one home so we can get ready for trick-or-treating," Mrs. Fox said, looking down at Brandon. "He loves Halloween, just like his sister."

"Tell Alan who you're going to be for trick-or-treat, Bran," said Mr. Fox.

"Ironman!" Brandon said instantly, his eyes lighting up.

"He's been babbling about it all morning," she said. "It was nice to meet you, Muffy. Take care of yourself, Alan."

Alan was quick to ask before he could chicken out.

"Before you go," he said, "I have rather an odd question. I'm not sure if you have the answer, but I'd at least like to know what you think about it. The chess set you gave me…I noticed something scratched on the bottom of the white queen. At first I thought it was a stick figure, but on closer inspection it appears to be the letters O and K. Did those letters have any significance to Lydia?"

Mrs. Fox's eyes widened with recognition.

"Not to Lydia, no. They were my mother's initials—Olivia Keegan. That was her chess set."

"Olivia Keegan…" Alan mused.

All this time…

"My mother had a habit of putting her initials on everything. I think it had something to do with being an identical twin. My father was a bit upset when he found out what she had done to the queen, but Mom just said it made the set more special."

All this time it had been Olivia Keegan's initials.

"It's a beautiful set," Alan said. "I never thanked you properly for it, but it really is."

Was.

Until he had ruined it. If Lydia's grandfather had been upset over his wife carving her initials into the bottom of the queen, where no one was likely to see, what would he have thought of Alan flattening one corner of the board?

"Thank you for thinking of me."

"You're very welcome, Alan. And I mean it—take care of yourself."

Muffy and Alan waved goodbye to Lydia's family as the trio walked toward the car parked down the street.

"I will," Alan called after them, as if the request were no big deal at all rather than an enormous undertaking. "You do the same."

He stared after them.

"So, I guess that answers that question," Muffy said cautiously. "Are you okay?"

"To be honest, I'm relieved. I feel foolish, but relieved."

Muffy said nothing but offered him a sympathetic look and her arm. He linked his arm with hers and the two entered through the gate.

Not wishing to wander the cemetery grounds until he eventually found Lydia's plot, he had searched for its location earlier in the week via the cemetery's online directory and committed it to memory. As he and Muffy navigated the cobblestone pathways, wading through the dead leaves tumbling across on the gusts, Alan spoke up.

"I begin a prescription regimen soon."

"Medicine?" Muffy said. "For your…?"

"Yeah."

"You look torn. Should I say congratulations?"

"Only if it works. I feel anxious about it, but what else is new? Dr. Hartmann-Krause assured me that, if one prescription doesn't work, we'll keep trying until we find one or even a combination that does. I don't know what to expect, not until I know what I'll be taking. I just thought I should tell you in case you notice a change."

"Thanks for telling me," she said. "I hope it helps."

"There it is," Alan said, and Muffy followed his gaze.

The orange of the jack-o'-lantern had caught his eye, a tiny pumpkin off in the distance, sitting in front of a headstone. His steps instantly dragged. It was like wading through water. Still, he plodded on, with Muffy clinging to his arm tightly now. As it came into focus, he could see that the jack-o'-lantern was not lit, but it bore the classic look of triangular eyes and a lopsided, square-toothed smile. Lydia would have loved it. He grinned in spite of himself. Next to her grave sat a small memorial bench made of black marble to match her headstone, and on it were etched the words:

"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

It was very close to the personal philosophy Lydia had lived by, the attitude that kept her going, kept her successful despite adversity.

"Is that from the Bible?" Alan said, trying to remember where he had heard the quote.

"I think it's from The Lord of the Rings," Muffy said, then offered, "Orlando Bloom," as if that explained everything when Alan gave her a questioning look.

Alan stared at the plot for a long moment.

"Am I supposed to say something?" he said finally. "Is that how this works?"

"I'm not an expert," said Muffy, "but I think you do whatever feels right."

He walked forward and knelt to place the flowers next to the jack-o'-lantern. He could not believe that he had ever thought she was out there somewhere, terrorizing his dreams or trying to send him messages. This space felt so still, so final, so inexplicably a part of him now. There had been the sound of birds, squirrels, traffic beyond the cemetery walls, and even a breeze rustling the vestiges of dried leaves on the tree limbs. Locked in this moment, however, everything melted away to silence. He felt a tremble in his chest and before he knew it, his face was buried in his hands again, and Muffy was quick to hug him. At last, he allowed himself to hug her back.

"I should've come here sooner," he said tearfully. "If I had, I likely never would have bought into Prunella's scheme. This feels too…real to be anything but…I'm sorry. I can't think of the words…"

"You don't have to…" Muffy said.

"It really wasn't her, was it?"

"No. I don't believe it was."

"She's really gone forever, isn't she?"

"I don't know if I'd say that."

Alan pulled away.

"Let me guess, you're going to tell me she's alive in my heart or something."

"Well…yeah. Even if you move past this—or through this, as Lydia's mom says—you're never going to forget her. It seems like what you had was pretty special. Some people go years or even their entire lives without connecting with someone the way you connected with her. It's going to stick with you."

They stood quietly for a while longer before Muffy asked, "Do you want some privacy, or do you want me to stay? I don't want to throw you off, but if you need me…"

"Would you mind?" Alan said, surprising himself. "Just a minute or two? I know I asked you to come with me, so I feel like a heel asking you to—"

"Take your time," she said. "Whenever you're ready, I'll be waiting."

"Thanks."

Muffy left, stepping back onto the footpath. Alan unbuttoned his jacket so he could take a seat on the cold bench, and he settled into his thinking pose. He thought about how this place was nowhere near as scary as he had built it up to be in his mind. It was actually lovely and peaceful here. He had the strangest urge to carve a jack-o'-lantern. What would Muffy say if he asked for a ride to the pumpkin patch so he could pick up his own sugar pie pumpkin, one with a curly and twisted stem? Maybe he should do it, begin a new tradition of his own and burn a candle inside it all throughout the night in her honor. Maybe he should play with the chess set from time to time. He would need an opponent, though…

How odd it was that these were the thoughts that occupied his mind in this moment, not the fact that Lydia was gone and there was nothing he could do about it. Or perhaps it was not. He had been living with that fact for years now, no matter how much he had tried to ignore it. The fact had come as a crushing blow, just as he had been anticipating his future with Lydia, wondering what wonderful moments it might hold and how they were going to figure things out. He had to decide what to do with the new future that lay before him, a future where he was left without a partner, but a future all the same. Allowing himself to remain in a grief-induced stasis would continue to destroy him from the inside out. He was getting his life back soon. He had jobs, responsibilities, friends, and he wanted to find joy in them again. He wanted to fight, to move through, to figure things out.

He pulled out his pocket journal and jotted all these thoughts down. He dogeared the pages so he could easily return to them, remind himself. He added one more thing before closing the journal:

This is going to be hard, but I want to have a life.

Alan stood up, stiff from the cold, pocketed the journal, and rebuttoned his jacket. He kissed his fingertips then placed them atop Lydia's headstone, bidding her goodbye.

"Well, then…" he said softly, "Okay."

To be continued…