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I’ve won.
I’m doing the one thing I promised myself I’d never do.
The Alliance graveyard sign sends a chill down my spine. The way the font makes it look like some sort of happy place, cursive lettering where there should be something you’d see on Friday the 13th.
The only funeral I’ve ever been to was Ma’s parents, my grandparents. Though, I don’t think we viewed them as such. Mama held her the whole time as she tried to keep her stoic expression, but the minute my aunt and uncle left, she broke down.
Ma didn’t have a good relationship with her family. It wasn’t until she found Mama that her genuine family was born. I remember standing off to the side because we were considered outsiders. So, my view of the service didn’t leave a good taste in my mouth.
I look over at some of the graves as I walk through. Some are full of flowers, jewelry, and even some beer bottles. Then you have the ones that didn’t seem to get shown love, with moss growing around the edges. Some of them are even so badly damaged you can’t even make out the names.
Gordon.
My birth last name. Finding the graves, still freshly made and without moss, doesn't take long. Still, the site is empty, void of any love that friends and family might show off to the other visitors.
I’m not even sure why I’m here. Maybe for some kind of peace of mind.
Oliver forgave his mom after she abandoned him. Even after ten years of being alone with his absent father because of her, he still finds some place in his heart for her. Miguel has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. He’s moved past what his father did to him.
I think the reason I was so obsessed with finding the letters was because maybe, just maybe, I could understand them both. Understand how they could forgive the people who have wronged them. The answer is still nowhere in sight, and it might be time to give up.
I press my finger against the groove of my birth mom’s name, tracing along.
“Miss?”
My head shoots up at the sudden voice. An older man stands just five feet from me, wearing khaki pants and a light-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“Um…hello?”
“Sorry to startle you. I called out a few times.” He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “This is going to sound forward, but are you Sally?”
My brow shoots up. “Who’s asking?”
The old man holds up a worn envelope with ‘Sally’ scribbled across the front.
I shoot up. “Where did you get that?”
Relief covers his face before looking down at the paper in his hands. I have to hold myself back from advancing on him and snatching the letter from him.
“Well, you’re the first person that’s come to visit the Gordons, so you must be their daughter. I usually make sure the new graves stay especially clean to give the family time to get here to visit.”
He smiles like he’s happy they have family. Something churns in my stomach since I’m not here for them.
“Did you know them?” I have to know the answer.
“Not extremely well, but they always walked through the park while I was feeding the birds. Did you know they can’t actually eat bread? My entire childhood was a lie. Anyway, we talked a few times, and at some point, they mentioned having a daughter and that they might see her soon.”
The churning in my gut turns into a pitfall. None of it makes sense. I know my parents were in contact with the Gordons, but they thought we’d see each other again.
“Then that terrible accident happened, and…well, I was the one to cremate them.” He looks sad at that fact. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get a hold of you to decide what to do with the bodies. This letter was found with them, and I’ve held onto it since then in hopes that you’d visit your parents someday.”
He holds out the envelope, and with a shaking hand, I take it. It feels heavier than the other letters. What more could they have to say? The envelope appears unopened but worn from the crash.
“Thank you.” God, my voice doesn’t even sound like me. Not my passing voice or even the natural one I use with family. This voice sounds like I just had a mouthful of sand shoved down my throat.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before walking back to wherever he came from.
It’s a good thing he left because I have to bite back the urge to say it’s not much of a loss. He seems more hung up than me.
