“That’s just it,” Gale said, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t know what to feel. Mad? Sure. Plenty mad. But there’s also this... I don’t know. This tiny part of me that wonders if people can change. If there is some miracle where he can come to and at least apologize or something.”
They lapsed into a silence charged with unspoken words as Gale navigated the familiar streets to the cemetery. As they pulled in, Harriet spoke up, her voice tender. “You know, you don’t have to see him. Not if you’re not ready.”
Gale parked the truck and turned to look at her. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with a potent mix of understanding and something deeper, something neither was ready to name. “I know,” he said softly. “But I need to. For Mom, if nothing else.”
They walked among the headstones, Harriet’s arm linkedthrough Gale’s. The gesture was familiar, yet charged. A few familiar faces nodded in greeting—other regulars sharing this ritual of loss and remembering.
“Evening, Mr. Kim,” Gale called out to an elderly Asian man tending a nearby grave.
“Ah, Gale.” Mr. Kim straightened, wincing slightly. His weathered face creased into a smile that spoke of shared understanding. “Good to see you. It’s been a few weeks.”
Gale smiled back. “You too, sir.”
As they walked on, Harriet bumped into Gale. “Remember when we used to sneak into the cemetery as teenagers with the Ouija boards?”
Gale’s skin tingled at her proximity. “Yeah, Brooke was convinced it was haunted and you liked those ghost stories.”
“And you tagged along.”
“Excuse me? I was protecting you. Knight in shining armor, remember?”
“I think you cried once.”
“Ha. In a very manly way.”
They reached his mother’s grave, a simple stone bearing her name and the dates that bookended a life cut too short. Gale knelt, removing the wilted flowers from the small vase.
“Hey, Mom, sorry I don’t have fresh flowers today,” he said softly. “But I did bring an old friend.”
Harriet knelt beside him, her hand finding his. “Hey, Mrs. K.”
Gale’s fingers traced the engraved letters, a gesture so familiar it was almost ritual. “I miss her,” he said after a while, his voice thick. “God, I miss her so much.”
Harriet squeezed his hand. “I know.”
A sad smile tugged at Gale’s lips. “Remember how she used to come to all my games? Even when I was just a kid playing peewee?”
Harriet laughed softly. “Oh god, she was always the loudest one in the stands. So proud of her baby boy.”
“Yeah.” Gale’s voice was wistful. “She never got to see me make it to the NHL. Sometimes I wonder...”
“She knew you would,” Harriet said firmly. “She always believed in you. On and off the ice. You and Brooke were her whole world.”
“She got pregnant with Brooke so young. And then I came. I wanted her to have her time. She always wanted to go to Paris. When she got the cancer, she could have had the best treatment available. But Dad blew all the money. I can’t ever forgive or forget it.”
“No. But Brooke has told me about all the money you donate to the ovarian cancer center at the hospital now. I know it’s because you never want another woman to face what she did.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, lost in memories. Finally, Gale spoke, his voice low. “I don’t know what I’m doing. About so many things. I’m goddamn lost.”
Harriet leaned her head on his shoulder. “You know what your mom would say?”
“That I need a haircut?”
She elbowed him gently. “No, smart-ass. She’d tell you to trust yourself. That you’ve got this, even when it feels like you don’t.”
Gale let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, maybe. I just... I wish she was here. To tell me what to do about my father, about everything.”
“I think,” Harriet said slowly, “she’d want you to do whatever brings you peace. Whether that’s seeing him or not.”
