by Lee Driver
During the third week when Dagger made one of his frequent trips to Ada’s grave, he promised Ada he would do a better job next time. Just keep her safe. He could swear he heard Ada say,
She needs some time.
At the end of the third week, Dagger finally shaved. He continued to sleep in Sara’s room, hoping some night she might come home. The patio door was left open in case Sara returned while he was sleeping. He refused all cases that came his way and spent the days reading the newspapers and her favorite magazines to her.
By the fourth week, he trudged through the first dusting of snow to Ada’s grave. The wind whipped his ankle-length trench coat around his legs and he brought one of the thick blankets Ada had woven. Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, he huddled on the ground. He told Sara about the new toys Skizzy had invented and how the squirrelly guy had placed a new and improved Mick in the mayor’s office.
He looked around the dreary acres. Trees were just skeletal remains. Only the tall evergreens stood like sentrys guarding the property.
Everything’s dead now, Sara. Getting pretty chilly these days. All the leaves have dropped. And you know, you left me with the damn garden to clean up. Simon has depleted the freezer of every cake and pie. He blamed the cold for the tears forcing their way to the surface and the chilly air for the ache in his chest.
The flowers on Ada’s grave were yellow and brittle and Dagger shook the thought that had always been in the back of his mind…that Sara was lying dead somewhere, her body as dried out as the flowers.
Einstein misses you. We miss you. Things just aren’t the same. Can’t find one damn file. He pressed his fingers to his eyes, the pain of loss almost unbearable. There were days he had to fight the anger, anger at her for not communicating, not easing his mind by at least letting him know she was alive. Anger for her leaving his life just as mysteriously as she had entered it.
He drew his legs up to his chest and pressed his forehead to his knees. The cold wind bit against the back of his neck and he pulled the blanket tighter.
Dammit, Sara. He blinked wearily, peeking over his knees at the creek below. Maybe it was the rush of water over the rocks or the wind rippling through the naked branches. But he could swear he heard a voice in his head. And this time it said:
I need some time.
# # #
Author’s Note:
For more information on books, essays, and short stories written by Lee Driver/S.D. Tooley, visit her at www.sdtooley.com