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Author's Note…THANK YOU so much for all those AMAZING reviews! Keep 'em coming, please!
"To the dead we owe only truth."
-Voltaire
In order to get beautiful women to his doorway, Wilson usually had to lure them there first. Sometimes he complimented them mercilessly, sometimes he pretended he was Romeo and she was Juliet, sometimes he listened and made sympathetic sounds and other times, he just stared off into space and made sympathetic sounds. Women liked the sympathetic sounds. But nevertheless, he had to do some kind of work to get them there.
Which was why Wilson was so surprised to find Allison Cameron on his doorstep and didn't hesitate at all to invite her in.
Cameron anxiously sat on the edge of the sofa and rubbed her arms to rid herself of the goosebumps she had noticed hours ago. "You want a drink? Coke? I've got some wine, if you want."
Much as she wanted to get drunk this night, Cameron knew it would be stupid to be anything but sober. "Water will be fine."
"Water it is." Wilson rolled his eyes as he made his way into the kitchen. If that's how she plays…
"I came to talk to you about your brother," Cameron called out. Wilson dropped the cup he had been holding and stared at the shattered glass for a second. Damn it. Slowly, he walked back into the living room and sat down.
"Listen, I really don't…"
"I knew him," Cameron blurted out. Wilson rubbed his eyes. This was already hard.
"You…you knew him?"
Cameron nodded and held back tears. She really needed to stop crying. Maybe tomorrow.
"Is he…?"
"I'm so sorry." Cameron wished she had a better way of telling him this, but that was all she could manage. Her back straightened uncomfortably as she heard a muffled sob.
"Where is he buried?"
Finally, a question that didn't hurt to answer. "Short Hills Cemetery. It's a couple hours away."
Wilson knew the place. It was where his grandfather was buried. "How'd he…?"
Cameron chose her words carefully. She wasn't ready to admit that Bryan was her husband. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "He had cancer. It was originally in his thyroid, but it spread to his brain. But the time we…he found out, it was too late. He died six months later."
"Cancer. I…I could have helped him."
Cameron couldn't help it. Her heart went out to him. "No, no you couldn't. Even if you had seen him every day, you wouldn't have been able to tell. Not until the last month, at least." I couldn't.
"No, I don't think you get it. I'm an oncologist. I would have known."
Cameron started to get angry. It shouldn't have surprised her. "No, you wouldn't have."
Wilson raised his blazing eyes to her teary eyes. All the sudden, he was furious at her. "Yes, I would."
"Oh, shut up, Wilson! This isn't about you!" As soon as she said it, Cameron slapped her hand to her mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. "I…I didn't mean that. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said…"
The room suddenly got very cold. Wilson stood up, barely making eye-contact. "I think you should go."
"But…"
"Now."
Cameron stood up and this time, she didn't even make an effort to wipe the tears.
XXXxxxXXX
The minute Cameron left, Wilson had thrown on his jacket, made a mad dash for the door, and got in his car. Turning up the radio as loud as he could, he sat there for a minute before he pulled out and drove at least twenty miles over the speed limit to the cemetery. He had to see this for himself; to know it was true. He didn't even realize the radio was tuned to static.
By the time he got there, it was near midnight. 11:48 to be exact. It took Wilson another half hour to even find the headstone, seeing as it was so dark and he had only the flashlight he kept in his car to aide him. Finally, he found it.
It was gray. That was the first thing he thought; that it was gray and it shouldn't be gray because that wasn't Bryan, that wasn't Bryan at all, Bryan was bright and colorful and no matter what he did or what anybody else did, his life was vibrant and beautiful. It was an insult to his existence that his memorial was gray.
In fact, the only thing that wasn't gray was the grass that peaked up around it and the small bundle of deep orange daisies at the foot of the tombstone. He wondered who put it there and how they knew him and how they knew that orange was his favorite color and why they didn't insist that his entire gravestone be orange. Maybe it was because they, like him, didn't know it existed in the first place.
Finally, Wilson summoned up enough strength to shine the flashlight on the grave itself. He silently challenged it: no way could it live up to the man it represented. It was physically impossible and any attempt could only be pathetic. Wilson shouted the message to himself. Anyone who was up at this ungodly hour to hear it should feel honored, not annoyed anyway.
Bryan Jacob Wilson
1978-1999
Beloved Husband, Father, and Friend
"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intentions of a well-preserved body,
But rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up,
Totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming:
Wow! What a ride!"
-Always Missed, Never Forgotten-
Wilson allowed himself a weak smile. This screamed Brian so loudly his ears must be ringing. It felt so weird downing that six feet under his feet lay his brother, pale and cold. Wilson's smile grew as he felt some of the burden being lifted off his chest and sat down. He wasn't going anywhere tonight. Slowly, he traced out the letters, letting the slight indents caress his finger.
His heart stopped when he got to the "beloveds". He was married. And he had a child. It was ironic; marriage was the one thing Wilson couldn't figure out that Bryan could…but it was Wilson that was alive to marry and remarry but Bryan would have been this woman and child for the rest of his life. Wilson had to find them, if it was the last thing he did.
It would be his liberation.
