He stopped in front of the marker and took a seat on the small bench he’d had installed in her memory, holding the bouquet of fresh daisies in his hand.
“Pretty dumb, huh? Bringing fresh flowers to a cemetery.”
He’d lost the inhibition about speaking to her grave marker on his first visit here two and a half years ago. The cemetery was always quiet and deserted on the days he’d come to visit, and it had felt right to talk to her.
He smiled, imagining the twinkle in her brown eyes as she nodded at his statement. She would think it was stupid and a waste of money. She’d said before she died that she couldn’t understand why people paid money for cut flowers when they could plant a tree or a rosebush and have a living monument to love, instead of flowers that were already in a dying state.
The cemetery had rules prohibiting plantings at gravesides, otherwise he would’ve surrounded her with rosebushes and come to tend them every single day. Maybe that was one reason why they didn’t allow such things. The living needed to be allowed to move on.
He couldn’t bring himself to put silk flowers there. Silk lasted longer, but he wasn’t trying to impress cemetery visitors. The flowers were for her and they should be alive, if only for a short time.
The breath-stealing pain of loss and loneliness he usually felt at visiting her grave had lessened somewhat and was now replaced by the low, dull ache of missing her. Her stone wavered in his vision as tears slicked his eyes, and he leaned his elbows on his knees and dropped his head so it hung between his shoulders.
He knew what she would do if she could see him now. She would plunk down in his lap, put her hands on his cheeks, and lift his face to look at her. Then she’d hash out whatever was bothering him. That was why they had been so perfect together. She’d known how to help him put his feelings into words when he sometimes didn’t. She had been easy to be around, and she’d made life feel less complicated.
After she’d died, there had been no reason to stay in Ruidoso. He’d left and joined the rodeo circuit for a few years with his brothers, riding bulls. He’d done what needed doing every day, rode with the best of them, but hadn’t really been alive. Boone and Kendall had been great, not pushing him to talk unless he wanted to. He’d gradually gotten to where he could wake up in the morning without wishing he’d died, too. It was no loss or hardship for him when the guys began talking about taking their winnings and heading down to Texas, to the old ranch his dad had left to them when he’d passed on a few years before. He’d known they would end up there eventually and it was better to go now rather than wait until they were crippled by injury or life on the road.
The move had been well-timed, even though rebuilding the ranch had been hard-ass work. The fruits were now becoming visible. The thought of having someone to share his life with there made it even more appealing to him. But this still hurt, too. Would the scales ever swing in the other direction, and he could look back and feel only happiness and gratitude for the time Michelle was in his life?
A breeze kicked up and roiled around him, and for a few seconds Richard felt as though he was wrapped up in her arms. Maybe it was only a memory producing the sensation, but he felt it like a comforting hug.
Letting her go three years ago had felt like razor blades shredding his soul. Today, those wounds felt covered over. There was scar tissue that would last a lifetime, but he’d healed and there was no question in his mind that he could move on now.
Serenity leaked into his chest and filled the place that had been painful for so long as he told Michelle all about Maya. Tears made dusty wet blots on the toes of his boots as he let it all out. He told Michelle he was in love again.
* * * *
Boone watched his brother as he made his way back to the truck, almost an hour later, minus the thick bouquet of white daisies he’d carried into the cemetery.
He sighed in relief at the absence of renewed devastation usually showing on Richard’s face after these visits. He seemed at peace, judging by the look on his face and the loose, relaxed way he walked. He’d hoped Richard would eventually get to this place where closure could occur and knew Maya was a big part of it. For a long time after Michelle’s death, Richard had seemed like he was one foot in her grave, wishing he could join her.
Richard stopped and looked out over the sprawling green lawns and seemed to take a long deep breath and let it out. He opened the truck door and climbed inside.
Wordlessly, Boone looked over at his brother and smiled then started the truck and headed for the exit. A thought occurred to him as he put some distance between the vehicle and the cemetery. After they were back on the state highway and pointed toward home he glanced at Richard. His brother sat quietly staring off into the distance, but the grief wasn’t etched into his features like the last time they’d made a stop to the cemetery.