After taking a cab from the hospital back to the hotel, Buck Wilmington spent a restless night tossing and turning. As he listened to Josiah snore, he scratched himself raw and mulled over his life in general. There had been a brief rekindling of hope when Carrie had called him "my love" as she lay bleeding in the jet but seeing her family had put everything back into perspective. That and the fact that she had been high as a kite when she'd said it.
But no one ever forgets his or her first love. It was just a fact of life and he would rather live apart from her in that love than try to force her to choose...again. Besides, Mick O'Fallon, former Miami-Dade Boxing team champion, still looked pretty damned fit in his Captain's uniform.
Buck had just nodded off when he was reawakened by Josiah's deep baritone as the profiler sang in the shower. Giving up the ghost on trying to get any sleep, Buck got up, poured two packets of coffee into the tiny coffeemaker and, after a few minutes, sat back down on his bed to savor a hot cup of just plain nastiness.
Josiah walked out of the bathroom wrapped in only a towel and Buck begged God to strike him blind when he dropped it and started to dress.
"We gotta be at the airport at oh six hundred...unless you got some more business here in town."
Buck yawned mightily and then started to cough. Mornings were usually rough for him but this one was a bitch. "I just need to make a quick stop," he told Josiah then headed into the bathroom to shower and shave.
Thankfully, his roommate was completely dressed when he emerged from the hot, moisture clouded room, his bumps and lesions clearly visible on all the parts of his body not covered by his own towel.
"This quick stop..." Josiah started then trailed off waiting for Buck to offer up more information.
"The cemetery," the ladies' man said casually, although he was feeling anything but.
Josiah stared at him dumbly. "I thought you said she was gonna be okay."
"Carrie's fine. Came through with flying colors," Buck said and left it at that.
Josiah sat, eyes averted, as Buck quickly dressed. The silence stretching out before them drove him crazy and he finally said. "Listen, I couldn't help but overhear..."
"Yeah?" Buck replied scratching his arms.
"You know, Carrie's comment about her telling Chris that you had a wife and a kid.
Since Buck never mentioned them, Josiah figured they were probably divorced but asked anyway, "Are we ever gonna meet 'em?"
Buck stood up, shoved his DEA voucher cash into the pocket of his freshly laundered jeans and smoothed back his wet hair. "You've just had the pleasure of working with my ex-wife," he said then added stoically, "and I'm goin' to see my baby girl right now."
As he walked through the door, Josiah just stared after him his mouth agape as the second puzzle piece fell into place.
It was barely light out and Buck stood in the middle of Our Lady of Mercy Cemetery near the children's area. The wind had kicked up off the ocean and he heard a disquieting noise, kind of like the purring of a hundred metal cats, as he walked on. His daughter's grave was further in than he realized as life had gone on and many, many more children had slipped their earthly bonds since Hanna had died but he knew he was close. He could feel it.
In the dawn's early light, the cemetery was oppressive as hell and the wind gusted again and the purring grew louder. He was tempted to not only leave but to run away as fast as he could. But Buck Wilmington had made a promise and, as he knelt down in front of a small stone, the sun broke over the horizon and the gravestones and monuments began to take shape all around him.
Hanna's marker was fairly plain and simply read:
When she was born, the hardest thing was to hear her crying.
When she began to crawl, the hardest thing was to corral her creeping.
When she stood up and walked, the hardest thing was to see her leaving.
When she learned to run, the hardest thing was to watch her falling.
When she skinned her knees, the hardest thing was to hear her weeping.
And when she died, the hardest thing was to give her into Heaven's keeping.
Hanna Dowd Wilmington
Daddy's Girl
March 22, 1989 - March 16, 1991
Hanna's daddy knelt by her grave, tears rolling unchecked down his cheeks, listening to what now sounded like children's laughter as dozens and dozens of pinwheels spun wildly and sparkled brilliantly in the morning sun.
FIN
As always I appreciate all of the hits and the reviews. They help me forge ahead when writer's block becomes almost painful.
Hanna's middle name is actually my daughter's middle name. She is named for my father, an Air Force pilot and died when I was a kid on March 16th, the hardest thing for me.