"Gilbert Blythe?" A familiar voice calls from above me, my gaze darting from the pages of my newspaper up towards a beautifully aged Diana Wright.
"Hello Diana, it's good to see you," I lie, my heart hammering in my chest. Diana still meant Anne to me - like a pair of mittens, they were practically strung together and I wasn't prepared to see her. Not yet.
"I could say the same - it's been years since you've been back to Avonlea!" She greets, her hands about her face as her cheeks flame. I can't quite perceive what her look is trying to say to me and a part of me hopes maybe I'm not supposed to.
"Yes - well, almost that I guess. Work has had me busy - I'm only here for…" I look away and chew the inside of my cheek, the reason for my returning to Avonlea hanging like a cloud overhead.
Marilla Cuthbert had died one week ago, asleep in her bed and with Rachel Lynde down the hall. The news had spread quickly and though my family hadn't asked, their call to me was accompanied by the subtle hint that it would be nice for me to return home for the funeral. Mary wouldn't say it outright but there was no way denying she had hoped that my coming home would create an opportunity to repair old bridges. Even ones I was determined to let crumble.
"Ah, yes. Well, it should be a lovely service. Rachel is making every effort," she adds on a low breath, her eyes averting. "Will we see you then, tomorrow?"
"Yes - I likely won't stay long, I've got to catch the evening train home again." Diana nods and bites her lip, her mouth opening and closing as though she were about to say something. I can practically hear her thoughts in my head and it churns my stomach, my hands lifting my newspaper slightly. "I guess I'll see you there then," I add hastily, turning my attention back to the pages before she can muster up the courage to say what she wanted.
The dismissal works well enough and soon I'm left to read in peace. Well, almost in peace. My thoughts were at war with themselves, spinning and sparking off one-another in the way they used to whenever I was thinking of Anne. It had been years since we'd grown apart - I'd completed medical school and taken over my Uncle's practice on the Island. She'd apparently married Roy Gardner two years after turning me down, settling into Kingsport and living in the society scene that I couldn't bear to follow anymore.
We were surely different people now and attending her old guardian's funeral was unlikely to result in anything more than a blip on the radar of our new lives. But still. My stomach was in knots at the prospect of seeing her again. Of seeing her with him.
When the train pulls into the station I beeline for my family and force myself to wipe all thoughts of Anne Shirley from my mind, determined to put the past behind me.
She wasn't there. Anne wasn't there.
I look around the graveside again, my eyes casting a wide net at the few faces around us and coming up empty. It felt off, like something wasn't right, and I couldn't figure out why she hadn't come to Marilla's funeral. The woman had been like a mother to her - why would she not be here?
The memory of Matthew's funeral and the way she'd crumbled after that, a heap of red and tears, filled my mind's eye and I scanned the crowd again. It didn't make sense for her not to be here. Anne wouldn't miss this. Anne would die before she missed saying goodbye to Marilla.
"I hear the girl is still in Kingsport." One of the Pye offspring mumbles behind me, my ears perking to the gossip as the reverend starts the service.
"Couldn't even come back for her the funeral. Couldn't be bothered, I hear," Josie Pye whispers loudly and Bash's shoulders tighten, his gaze sliding towards mine. I have to close my eyes as she continues on, my heart sinking with every word she spills. "She always was so ungrateful of Marilla's care. I'm not surprised."
"Gil," my Bash breathes, his hand coming to rest at the back of my neck. I feel the tension ease as he slides closer, his touch grounding me as I turn my attention back to the service.
I don't think I can stand attending the wake and instead choose to wait by the grave until the last of the people have gone, the hole in the ground ominous as it lay before me. This was a woman who had so much love to give but struggled with it until Anne came and helped release it out into the world. Her charge had been a catalyst, everyone in the village could see it, and now she lay here alone with no wayward girl to cry at her funeral.
It pained me to realize that she didn't come home, the possibility that her life in Kingsport was too important to leave behind for a few days to come say goodbye to a woman who'd given her everything.
"Dammit Anne," I hiss, setting my flowers down on the gravestone and heading off towards home.
AN: This story is cross-posted to AO3 but someone mentioned perhaps it should be here as well. I will say before we get too deep that there are unintentional similarities to Shore of Dreams (mainly in setting and the existence of OCs) in this story. The plot is all its own and it was written solely from my brain, but apparently my brain also felt like some of that amazing work was now canon to me. So I hope acknowledging this at the start is appropriate and that it can avoid the perception of any nefarious actions as it was not intended and, if anything, is only a compliment to the amazing work that that author has completed.