In Her Wake (Ten Tiny Breaths 0.5)(37)

Waiting.

I was here to greet the groundskeeper this morning at eight o’clock, when he eased the cemetery gates open. With flowers in one hand and directions to the tombstones in the other, I made my way through the small Catholic cemetery. It was extremely easy to find where the Clearys were laid to rest. The information was in that thin yellow folder that my dad now keeps at the back of his home-office filing cabinet, along with a number and a receipt for a local florist that will deliver straight to gravesites. My parents, as thoughtful as they are, sent flowers on the first and second and third anniversaries of the accident. Based on the florist truck that’s pulling up near the graveyard now, and the bouquet of flowers that the deliveryman has in one hand, I’d bet money that they plan on doing this every year until they die.

I wonder if Kacey knows who they’re from.

If she even comes.

I can’t believe that she won’t. Then again, I’m not in Rochester to stop by Sasha’s graveyard today.

But they’re her parents.

I haven’t seen Kacey since that night back in January, keeping myself busy at my new condo and with work. There isn’t a day that hasn’t gone by, though, that I don’t think about her, or check in on her email.

Twice, I’ve called her, just to hear her voice.

But I had to come today. You can learn a lot about a person from poignant moments like an anniversary at the grave of someone that person loved. Things you definitely can’t learn through reading email or spying in coffee shops.

And so I sit on this bench, watching from behind my thick aviator glasses as people filter through the cemetery to leave flowers and words of longing to their loved ones. The sun plays hide-and-seek behind billowing clouds, and I absorb the heat from its rays in a way that I didn’t allow myself to for so long.

And I wait for her.

If I thought for a second that she’d recognize me, I wouldn’t be here. But, for all the times she’s seen me, she’s never really looked at me. She’s never so much as made eye contact.

Finally, the navy-blue Camry—the one I recognize as Aunt Darla’s—pulls up. Sliding off the bench, I take six quick steps to kneel before a random stone, offering my apologies to Jorge Mastracci for using his resting place as a cover.

The car is barely in park when Kacey jumps out of the backseat. I can’t really see her face. The top half is hidden behind giant dark sunglasses. The bottom half looks rigid, as usual.

She hangs back like a statue as her sister and aunt approach the twin tombstones, Livie hugging a large wreath of purple flowers, her aunt with a rosary dangling from her fingers, both wearing solemn expressions. Even from this distance, I can see Kacey’s throat bob up and down as she swallows repeatedly. As she fights against the emotions. I know that she’s a fighter. She’s strong. But, after four years, she needs to find a way to let go.

How much longer can she go on like this?

“Are you kidding me?” Suddenly Kacey’s diving toward the graves. Only when she stands up with a bouquet of flowers and tosses them to the side, her mouth pressed in a thin line of anger, do I know.

“Kacey!” her aunt cries out, her mouth hanging open. Livie doesn’t say a word, simply scooping the flowers up and adjusting some of the bent petals. She makes a move to place them back.

“Don’t you dare, Livie.” The iciness in Kacey’s tone as she warns her sister off sends chills down my spine.

“It’s a nice gesture,” Livie argues in a soft, even tone. A tone much too old for a fifteen-year-old to be using.

Snatching the bouquet from her sister’s hand, Kacey marches off.

I bow my head, my heart speeding up with each angry step as she cuts through the grass.

Heading straight for me.

Fuck. Not again.

“Here.” The flowers land in front of me. “I’m sure Jorge could use them.” Without waiting for my response, she spins on her heels and marches back. And I release the air held tight in my lungs.

I check the small tag peeking out, to confirm.

We are always thinking of you. The Reynolds family.

She can’t even handle a simple gesture like flowers from us.

They stay for another half hour, both Livie and Darla talking to the tombs while Kacey stares off into nothing. I keep my head down the entire time, not wanting to attract her attention. Only when they pile into the car and drive away do I get up, settling the flowers from my parents back in between the two tombstones.

I’ve definitely learned something by coming here. That forgiveness isn’t in Kacey’s vocabulary.

Chapter 20

August 2012

Miami?

I give my eyes a good rub before checking my computer screen again. “How long was I asleep?” I mutter, checking the time stamps to the emails. They started at ten last night. Four emails in total between Kacey and a guy named Harry Tanner, property manager of an apartment building in Miami, Florida.

Where Kacey and Livie are apparently moving.

Next week.

“Fuck!” Miami is a helluva lot farther than Caledonia, Michigan. “Why?” There’s not much to go on from the email. Kacey answered an ad on an online site, asking for a two-bedroom. When Tanner requested references, she said she’d pay him six months’ rent upfront, cash. The subject line in his responding email said, “Sold!” on top.