Anakin digs a hole in the sand for his mother's body. He refuses offers of help from both Owen and Beru. The sand pours from his limbs, each jagged motion dripping with anger. I do not try to interfere. Life seems so much simpler when you're chopping vegetables with Beru.
Together, Anakin and Owen lower Shmi's body into the desert grave. Cliegg watches silently, tears evaporating in the heat as soon as they form. Only once her body has been covered in sand does Anakin stop to rest.
The evening meal is as quiet as it is tense. Beru and Owen do their best to make meaningless small talk, and I try to follow along. It is too early to talk about Shmi, and Anakin's and my own lives are off-limits as conversation topics. Cliegg murmurs few words, though his eyes are teeming with them. Anakin is utterly silent; the Larses to do not know the story of his exit from the Sand People's camp, and I pray they never will. I carry it as a dark secret alongside my joyful one.
We retire to bed in our separate guest rooms, but I can hear the muffled sounds of Anakin crying through my wall. Wrapping myself in a loose robe, I knock on his door.
"Padmé?" he croaks.
I enter the room to find him splayed across the bed, still wearing the clothes in which he dug his mother's grave. The sobbing resumes and I sit quietly beside the bed, taking his hand in mine. "I'm here," I whisper.
Part of me wants to know which haunts him more: his mother's death or the subsequent massacre. But in either answer lies a world of darkness.
I wake with a strained neck and realise I have slept on Anakin's floor. Beru already suspects something, and I don't have the energy to maintain the façade of "old friends." The second thing I notice is that Anakin is no longer in his bed.
Returning to my own guest room, I splash my face with water and dress again in the homespun gown. I emerge into the morning sun and Beru beckons me toward the front door. Outside, a small plinth marks Shmi's grave, by which Anakin, Owen and Cliegg are gathered.
The elder Lars offers loving words about a wonderful woman he was blessed to call wife. Anakin's speech is full of unrealistic expectations of himself. I stand by him and say a silent prayer for Shmi. For the strong and kind person who welcomed me into her home, who trusted us to carry her son to a better life. It must have been so hard, all those years without him. I am glad she found companionship and freedom with Cliegg. My heart aches with so much loss. Shmi's is one death among so many in this war.
After the small ceremony, I pull Anakin aside. "Ani, while I don't want to impose ourselves on these kind people for longer than we are welcome, if you need to stay, we will stay. If you need time here to grieve, we can do that."
He shakes his head. "I need to go back. We have been away far too long. If we're to keep this covert, we should return to Coruscant as quickly as possible."
"So you can jump right back into a war?"
"It's better than having nothing to do," he shrugs.
"Ani, I'm serious. We can take things slowly. Even stop by Naboo for a few days."
"No."
I sigh. "Once we get back to Coruscant, please promise me you will see a doctor. That you will talk to a professional who can help you process what has happened. Do not let this fester inside you."
His eyes meet mine and embers flare there. "No one can know. I can't talk to anyone about this, you know that. The oath of confidentiality means little when that information can expose a Jedi who has a penchant for getting married and breaking rules. Anything can and will be used against us."
I clasp both of his hands in mine. "You have become so much more afraid since Ahsoka's trial."
He looks away. "Be ready to leave this afternoon, okay?"
"Okay," I reply, resigned.