“Are you sure you want to do this?” Janet asked, swinging her crutches over a crack in the sidewalk.
Michael waited for her to catch up. “I don’t think it’s so much want to as have to,” he said. “But you didn’t have to come with me. You and Ellie can go back to the van and wait. I won’t be long.”
“And leave you in a cemetery by yourself?” Janet chided. “No way, buddy. Last time I did that you nearly destroyed the place.”
“Yeah, well, you know men and their toys.”
She grinned. “I just don’t think you were cut out for tractors, Crip.”
“Hey, you calling me crippled, Crip?”
“A knee brace doesn’t count. You’re the one with the walking cast.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got crutches. That makes you official—Crip.”
Michael’s laughter rang out strong and clear in the warm September afternoon, and the sound of it made Janet sigh with contentment.
They walked in silence for a while, watching Ellie skip from tomb to tomb a few feet ahead. She jabbered brightly and patted headstones as if the people beneath them were long lost friends.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” Michael said, pointing his chin toward Ellie.
Janet shook her head. “Amazing’s more like it. I can’t believe how quickly she bounced back, especially with her remembering most of what happened. How many other kids do you think could do that?”
“Not many. Hell, even I’m still having nightmares over it.”
Janet squeezed Michael’s hand gently. “Sometimes it seems like it happened two hours ago instead of two months.”
“I still can’t believe it happened at all.”
“Look, y’all,” Ellie called. She pointed to a squirrel scurrying up a tree, then clapped and did a pirouette before moving on to the next row of crypts.
“Don’t go too far,” Janet called after her.
Ellie waved and detoured to a nearby knoll where she began to pluck wild flowers.
“Don’t you think it’s kind of strange, though?” Janet asked Michael quietly.
“What?”
“How fast Ellie got over everything. I mean, look at her. After all she’s been through, you’d think she’d be petrified of cemeteries.”
Michael smiled, then hobbled closer to Janet and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Could it be you’re the one afraid of cemeteries now and think she should be?”
Janet stuck out her tongue playfully. “You studying psychology in your spare time?”
“Yep, correspondence course.”
“Okay then, Dr. Savoy, can you blame me for developing the phobia? Remember, I was the one stuck in the van, watching, and hearing mind you, World War III erupting in this very cemetery.”
“Sounds like phobia material to me,” Michael agreed. His face grew somber. “Heard from Theresa lately?”
“Yeah, she says Heather’s still seeing Dr. Orazio.”
“Is he helping her?”
Janet shrugged. “Some, I guess. Theresa said Heather’s nightmares aren’t as frequent, but she still can’t take the girl out when it’s foggy.”
Michael sighed.
They took a left down another concrete sidewalk, and Janet stopped, resting on her crutches. “I’ll give you some alone time and catch up with Ellie. We can meet you over by the gate when you’re done.”
“Since you’re here, would you mind sticking around? You don’t have to, but—”
“I’ll stick to you like glue if that’s what you want,” Janet said, then reached over and squeezed his hand.
Michael squared his shoulders and nodded.
They walked a few rows farther until they reached aisle R, then turned right. Three graves down, Janet spotted a plain concrete tomb. It held a granite plague that identified the body beneath it as Lester Vidrine’s. She felt a chill run down her back as she remembered how the man had been found; shoved behind the hedges near the back of the funeral home with his throat ripped open. He’d had one hand missing and half of his abdomen eaten away. An animal attack, the coroner had said. But the bite marks had been so large and unusually shaped, they were never able to identify the type of animal.
Janet squeezed Michael’s hand again when they finally stopped at a flat gray stone tomb with a statue of The Praying Hands mounted at the foot. A wide marker rested against the head of the tomb like an opened book, and engraved across the middle were the words:
WILSON J. SAVOY
Michael lowered his head, and Janet felt her heart break for her husband. She could only imagine how difficult this was for him.
After a long while, Michael said, “Figured I’d better come over and tell you myself, Dad. We . . . we’re leaving—town I mean.” He took a deep breath. “There’re too many things for me to try and work through here. I’m—I’m not just talking about the deal with the Stevensons. There’s a whole lot more to it than that. You know you and I always did have trouble getting along, so it’s not like I’m leaving great childhood memories behind or anything. But. . . but don’t think I’m only blaming you. I’m not. I’m sure there’re a lot of things I could have done differently, too.”
Janet’s eyes welled up with tears as Michael paused and toed a clump of grass. She felt his palm begin to sweat against hers.
“Okay, so here’s the first part of the hard part,” he continued. “I’ve sold the funeral home. Sold it to Chad. Remember, the apprentice? He’s newly licensed now and . . . yeah, I know what you’re probably thinking, but I didn’t do it just to piss you off. I swear. I wanted to make sure the place went to somebody who’d take care of it and do a good job with the families in Brusley. Chad’ll do that. He even kept Sally on. He wanted to keep Agnes, too, but she wouldn’t stay. She said she couldn’t bear to even look at the place anymore, especially after she’d found you—well—you know—in that casket.”
Michael squeezed Janet’s hand hard and looked away from the grave. “You always were one to do things big, Dad, but how in the hell you wound up in that mahogany is beyond me.” He looked back at the marker. “Then there’re the bullet holes in the lobby—the wrecked door in the selection room—what the hell happened in there?”
Michael blew out a loud breath as though trying to rid himself of the memory “Okay, so here’s the second part. I’m leaving the funeral business. Figure I’ll go be a plumber or something, who knows. I just want to spend more time with my family. They’re . . .” He looked over at Janet, tears raining down his cheeks. “They’re the two most important people in my life, and I want to be able to spend as much time as I can with them.”
Janet gave him a tentative, teary smile.
Michael sniffled and turned back to the tomb. “Well, look, I won’t draw this out any longer than I have to, Dad, knowing how you hate mushy shit and all that.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out two small items, and rolled them around in his hand. “Just figured you might like to have these.” Michael bent over and placed an old Zippo on one side of his father’s headstone and his graduation pin from Delgado Mortuary School on the other.
Rubbing his chin, Michael looked away again. “Guess that’s it, huh, Dad? Be seeing you around.”
Janet waited while Michael peered down at his feet, stalling. She sensed he had more to say.
After another long pause, Michael looked up at his father’s grave. “In case you didn’t know,” he said, his voice breaking. “I love you. I always did.”
Janet bit back a sob as Michael tugged on her hand, signaling he was ready to go. She wanted so badly to take away his pain.
They walked in silence to the center aisle of the cemetery, then Michael let out a deep sigh and put an arm around Janet’s shoulder. She knew it was his way of letting her know he’d be all right. She smiled up at him so he’d know she understood.
Wiping away tears, they headed to the west end of the property, where Ellie was placing a handful of wild flowers atop a black marble tomb. Janet glanced ov
er her shoulder toward the front gate, where they’d parked the van and U-Haul.
They were leaving a lot behind. The funeral home, her flower shop, which she’d sold to Bertha Lynn, but most of all too many horrible memories that would always remain fresh if they stayed.
Janet knew starting over wouldn’t be easy. A new town, new career for Michael, a new home. All hurdles they had to face, but not one of them impossible. She felt as long as they had one another, they could face anything.
She turned back and spotted the sun riding low on the western horizon. Oh, yes—they could face anything at all.
Grave Intent Page 29