The Pieces We Keep(110)

They walked in silence past other cars parked along the curb. The long paved road wound through the cemetery. The air smelled of pine and the bloom of flowers. Clouds covering the sky were as white and fluffy as freshly fallen snow. Not until July would sunshine be a daily constant.

Audra followed Tess’s lead in stepping onto the grass, as she otherwise would not have recalled where to turn. The day of Devon’s funeral had been a spinning kaleidoscope of flower sprays and eulogies and condolence offerings that her brain scarcely absorbed.

“We got lucky, no doubt about it,” Tess said. The remark came out of nowhere, as if continuing a conversation.

“With ... ?”

“That February, when the driveway iced over and Russ slipped and fell.”

Audra only grew more confused. “Tess, where are we going with this?”

“I don’t think I ever told you, but if he hadn’t hurt his shoulder from that, he never would have gotten a CAT scan. The symptoms were all there, looking back. The indigestion and heartburn and nausea. We wrote it off as a stomach bug. That, and stress from work. My biggest fear was that he’d been developing an ulcer.”

Audra saw the angle of the discussion now and resented the timing. It was hard enough to come here without an accompanying lecture. “We don’t need to talk about this here.”

“Why? It’s the perfect spot.”

Audra stopped walking. “Tess.”

“If there’s any place you have a chance to finally unload your guilt—none of which you deserve, by the way—this is it.”

“I never said I felt guilty.” Not a lie. Technically, it wasn’t anything Audra had verbalized.

“Are you saying that isn’t a major part of why you’ve never come back here?”

Lacking a defense, Audra looked away. She wished she could discount Tess’s reasoning. But that reasoning, she realized, held truth. Her avoidance of this site derived less from her ban on spiritual beliefs and more from an inability to stand at the grave that she had indirectly helped dig.

“Listen, I’m not an expert on the subject,” Tess said, no longer challenging. “I’m only being a royal pain in the rear because it’s exactly what I’d need you to do if our roles were flipped. Like I said, our family was lucky. But if we hadn’t been, I’d have blamed myself for the tumor in Russ’s stomach—which would’ve been flat-out ridiculous.”

Audra’s emotions, already on edge, were rising to the surface. She focused on keeping them inside. “So, you believe it’s about luck, then. Not that everything is somehow meant to be.” The last sentence emerged without the sarcasm she had intended.

“I don’t know ... I guess I believe in a little of both. What I do know for sure, though, is you have every right to a great life. You really do, Audra.”

No doubt, Audra wanted to believe that. She wanted a great life for Jack even more than herself. The way Tess described letting go of guilt, however, made it sound as easy as dumping rotten fruit in the trash. And it wasn’t going to be that simple.

Tess appeared ready to say more. Before she had a chance, Audra interjected lightly, “Please, whatever you do, don’t start with the whole ‘Devon would’ve wanted you to be happy’ thing.”

Tess scrunched her face. “Oh, jeez, no.”

That much was a relief.

“He definitely would’ve wanted you to be as miserable as possible.” Tess flaunted a smirk, and Audra couldn’t help but smile.

“You are a royal pain, you know.”

“I’m well aware. And you, my friend, are heading over ... there.” She directed her finger farther down the row.

Delaying the task any longer wouldn’t make it easier.

You can do this, Tess had asserted, and she was right.

“Here goes,” Audra said. She bolstered herself with a breath and resumed her strides. The plaques lay evenly spaced and flush with the ground. A married couple ... a devoted teacher ... a mother taken too soon ...

When it’s someone you love, wasn’t it always too soon?

At the sixth plaque, Audra halted.




Devon Walker Hughes

1976–2010

Beloved husband, father, and son




A wave of feelings passed through her. The epitaph once more solidified reality. It was strange and surreal to be standing here again, this time refreshingly alone. There was no circle of mourners in black. No shiny, body-length coffin hovering over a rectangular hole. It was just her and a plaque and a distant scattering of strangers.

As fate would have it, the grave marker to the right of Devon’s was for a veteran of World War Two. She could laugh at this—but wouldn’t.