"Come with me," Steve asked nervously.
"I will join you in a few minutes," Maggie promised. "You need some time alone with her."
Steve nodded, and, taking the flowers Maggie handed him, he nervously headed into the cemetery. The sky was still overcast this chilly early morning, and the clouds didn't show any sign of breaking in time for the sun to warm him. The dreary dawn matched his mood. This was going to be hard, really hard.
Last night's storm had blown debris and grass clippings against the headstone, and he bent down to clear away the mess. When he was finished, his fingers sketched over the carvings for a while, two delicately wrought angels, her name, the words 'Beloved daughter,' the date of her birth, and the date of…the date he had killed her. He lingered over the last date, a tangible link to that terrible day, and he felt a knot of sorrow form in his gut.
As the knot rose, it forced tears to his eyes and put pressure on his chest making it hard to breathe. When he spoke, his voice was a tight whisper.
"I'm sorry, Lynn. I wish it could have been different."
He traced her name several times, and smiled as a crack of sunlight broke free and gilded his hand and the letters his fingers were outlining. The tears didn't stop falling, but he breathed easier, and, as he had hoped, he found it easier to talk to her than he had just four days ago.
"I think I'll always love you, Lynn. Since I've been here, I think I've gotten to know you. I've met a friend of yours, your English teacher, and your coach, and I read some articles about you in the local paper. I even met your mom and dad. They're good people."
He crouched down and combed his fingers lightly through the neatly trimmed grass over the grave.
"Everyone I've talked to has told me something different about you. I gather that you were a complicated, talented lady, but I already knew that. I wish I had known you then, before…before you got hurt. Don't get me wrong, Lynn, I liked you just fine, but there was always something about you a little…I don't know. Angry? Defensive? Anyway, I didn't figure out what it was until it was too late."
His knees were complaining, so he laid the flowers on the grave and stood up.
"Your dad told me you would have said I shouldn't blame myself. My dad and my friends kept telling me that, too, until I had bottled it up enough that they thought I was over it. Until they thought I was over you, I guess. But it's hard, Lynn, when you feel that…close to someone."
His voice broke, and he scrubbed away his tears with the heels of his hands.
"When you feel that *much* for someone, it's hard not to blame yourself when they're in trouble, when they need you, and you just don't see it."
He stood quietly for a moment, thinking, sniffling.
"Your dad also said you…at least the person you were before the attack…would want me to go on. I've been *trying* to go on, Lynn, but I guess I just wanted to convince myself that what *you* would want didn't really matter to me. I needed to show everyone that after what you had done to me, I didn't give a damn about you anymore."
Again, he paused for thought. His tears were drying up now. He was all cried out.
"It was a lie, Lynn," he said, bereft. "I *did* give a damn. Still do, always will. After talking to your father, I have to believe that you didn't deceive me completely. I have to believe that you, or at least some part of you that wasn't twisted and ruined by what had happened, really cared about me, too, and does want me to go on. I have to believe that the part of you that still remembered how to love would want me to let you go."
He turned and looked over his shoulder, squinting as the sunshine squeezed through a break in the clouds, and spotted Maggie standing beside a nearby tree. He waved her over.
"You ok," she asked, coming to stand beside him.
"Yeah," he replied, staring at the slightly rounded mound of grass-covered earth in front of him.
She looked at the grave, too. It seemed right to do that now.
They stood together in silence for a while, not touching, but with not enough space for a breeze to blow between them, and watched last night's leftover raindrops sparkle like diamonds in the grass. Their shadows stretched out across the grave before them, made impossibly long and thin by the just-awakening sun.
Steve spoke softly, his voice, hardly a whisper, almost lost in the slight breeze. Maggie strained to hear him.
"I think I am ready to go on, Mags."
"I am happy for you, gringo."
"But I'm not sure I'm ready to go on with you, yet. I'm sorry."
"Está bien, gringo."
"No, Maggie, it's not all right. You've done so much to help me these past few days. It's just not fair to leave you hanging after all this."
"Steve, we will go on together when you are ready. Until then, we can just be friends."
Steve felt shaky inside. All this time, unable to face her, he hadn't looked up from the grave. He didn't want to lose Maggie, but he wasn't sure he could ever give her what she was looking for. He wasn't sure of a lot of things right now. He just felt empty.
"What if I'm never ready?"
Maggie heard the fear in his voice. She took hold of his arm and lifted it up to drape around her shoulders. Then she moved closer and wrapped her arm around his waist. She reached up with her other hand and brushed a stray hair from his face, then she gave him a squeeze about the waist.
"Then we will always be amigos…friends for life."
As she kept her arm around him, she felt the tension ease from his body.
"Aw, Mags, you're the best," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. With his arm still around her shoulders and hers still around his waist, he turned her around, and, squinting into the sun that had finally broken free of its gray prison, they began to leave.
After just two steps, Steve stopped them.
"Stay here," he told Maggie.
He went back to the grave and crouched down again. After tracing the angels, the name, the words, and the dates one last time, he put his hand flat on the mound that covered her.
"Good bye."
He remained just a second more, then stood up, and returned to Maggie. He draped his arm about her shoulders again, and took her arm and wrapped it about his waist, and, sharing that friendly embrace, they walked off together into a golden California morning.
"I will join you in a few minutes," Maggie promised. "You need some time alone with her."
Steve nodded, and, taking the flowers Maggie handed him, he nervously headed into the cemetery. The sky was still overcast this chilly early morning, and the clouds didn't show any sign of breaking in time for the sun to warm him. The dreary dawn matched his mood. This was going to be hard, really hard.
Last night's storm had blown debris and grass clippings against the headstone, and he bent down to clear away the mess. When he was finished, his fingers sketched over the carvings for a while, two delicately wrought angels, her name, the words 'Beloved daughter,' the date of her birth, and the date of…the date he had killed her. He lingered over the last date, a tangible link to that terrible day, and he felt a knot of sorrow form in his gut.
As the knot rose, it forced tears to his eyes and put pressure on his chest making it hard to breathe. When he spoke, his voice was a tight whisper.
"I'm sorry, Lynn. I wish it could have been different."
He traced her name several times, and smiled as a crack of sunlight broke free and gilded his hand and the letters his fingers were outlining. The tears didn't stop falling, but he breathed easier, and, as he had hoped, he found it easier to talk to her than he had just four days ago.
"I think I'll always love you, Lynn. Since I've been here, I think I've gotten to know you. I've met a friend of yours, your English teacher, and your coach, and I read some articles about you in the local paper. I even met your mom and dad. They're good people."
He crouched down and combed his fingers lightly through the neatly trimmed grass over the grave.
"Everyone I've talked to has told me something different about you. I gather that you were a complicated, talented lady, but I already knew that. I wish I had known you then, before…before you got hurt. Don't get me wrong, Lynn, I liked you just fine, but there was always something about you a little…I don't know. Angry? Defensive? Anyway, I didn't figure out what it was until it was too late."
His knees were complaining, so he laid the flowers on the grave and stood up.
"Your dad told me you would have said I shouldn't blame myself. My dad and my friends kept telling me that, too, until I had bottled it up enough that they thought I was over it. Until they thought I was over you, I guess. But it's hard, Lynn, when you feel that…close to someone."
His voice broke, and he scrubbed away his tears with the heels of his hands.
"When you feel that *much* for someone, it's hard not to blame yourself when they're in trouble, when they need you, and you just don't see it."
He stood quietly for a moment, thinking, sniffling.
"Your dad also said you…at least the person you were before the attack…would want me to go on. I've been *trying* to go on, Lynn, but I guess I just wanted to convince myself that what *you* would want didn't really matter to me. I needed to show everyone that after what you had done to me, I didn't give a damn about you anymore."
Again, he paused for thought. His tears were drying up now. He was all cried out.
"It was a lie, Lynn," he said, bereft. "I *did* give a damn. Still do, always will. After talking to your father, I have to believe that you didn't deceive me completely. I have to believe that you, or at least some part of you that wasn't twisted and ruined by what had happened, really cared about me, too, and does want me to go on. I have to believe that the part of you that still remembered how to love would want me to let you go."
He turned and looked over his shoulder, squinting as the sunshine squeezed through a break in the clouds, and spotted Maggie standing beside a nearby tree. He waved her over.
"You ok," she asked, coming to stand beside him.
"Yeah," he replied, staring at the slightly rounded mound of grass-covered earth in front of him.
She looked at the grave, too. It seemed right to do that now.
They stood together in silence for a while, not touching, but with not enough space for a breeze to blow between them, and watched last night's leftover raindrops sparkle like diamonds in the grass. Their shadows stretched out across the grave before them, made impossibly long and thin by the just-awakening sun.
Steve spoke softly, his voice, hardly a whisper, almost lost in the slight breeze. Maggie strained to hear him.
"I think I am ready to go on, Mags."
"I am happy for you, gringo."
"But I'm not sure I'm ready to go on with you, yet. I'm sorry."
"Está bien, gringo."
"No, Maggie, it's not all right. You've done so much to help me these past few days. It's just not fair to leave you hanging after all this."
"Steve, we will go on together when you are ready. Until then, we can just be friends."
Steve felt shaky inside. All this time, unable to face her, he hadn't looked up from the grave. He didn't want to lose Maggie, but he wasn't sure he could ever give her what she was looking for. He wasn't sure of a lot of things right now. He just felt empty.
"What if I'm never ready?"
Maggie heard the fear in his voice. She took hold of his arm and lifted it up to drape around her shoulders. Then she moved closer and wrapped her arm around his waist. She reached up with her other hand and brushed a stray hair from his face, then she gave him a squeeze about the waist.
"Then we will always be amigos…friends for life."
As she kept her arm around him, she felt the tension ease from his body.
"Aw, Mags, you're the best," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. With his arm still around her shoulders and hers still around his waist, he turned her around, and, squinting into the sun that had finally broken free of its gray prison, they began to leave.
After just two steps, Steve stopped them.
"Stay here," he told Maggie.
He went back to the grave and crouched down again. After tracing the angels, the name, the words, and the dates one last time, he put his hand flat on the mound that covered her.
"Good bye."
He remained just a second more, then stood up, and returned to Maggie. He draped his arm about her shoulders again, and took her arm and wrapped it about his waist, and, sharing that friendly embrace, they walked off together into a golden California morning.