Present: Crawling Towards the Sun
Shepard stood alone in front of the memorial, head half-turned so that he could both read the names etched on the glass and keep an eye on the two children weaving in and out of the granite and glass memorial pillars. In his hand, he held a bunch of sweet-scented Copper Queen flowers, native to Mindoir. Clara's favorite.
For some reason, even though he came back every year to visit with them all and let his family know he hadn't forgotten the first people he'd loved, Shepard could never find his first girlfriend's name on the memorial as easily as he could find the names of his parents and sister. He'd even written down which pillar Clara's name was on last year, assuming it would help him. Of course, he had lost the paper in the intervening year. He suspected it had fallen victim to Arthur's need for drawing paper the afternoon his son had turned Shepard's small home office into a studio.
Putting a finger on the memorial to hold his place, Shepard turned to watch his children. He'd made them stay close by and listen as he told them a little about the grandparents and aunt they would never meet—Kate was already older than Willa had been when she'd died—but he had let them go now. Kate chased a gleeful Arthur through the memorial, adjusting her own speed so that her little brother thought he was outrunning her because of his skill.
"Slow it down, Katydid," Shepard called as the two veered uncomfortably close to one of the pillars. "If you fall and crack your skull open, your mo—" He caught himself and changed what he had been going to say. "If you fall and crack your skull open, you're going to be in more trouble than you've ever been before." Kate glanced in her father's direction and waved. Sure, Dad. Whatever you say. Despite himself, Shepard laughed. The warning had sounded hollow even to him. It had always been the threat of their mother that frightened his children into behaving.