Page 117 of Worth of Waste

Karen threw her car back in park, left her purse and everything else sitting on the passenger seat, and even the keys remained in the ignition as she got out and headed for the cemetery. She went through the large gates, the only opening in the high stone wall that kept the graves protected.

It was as empty as it always was.

She weaved in and out of tombstones, careful not to step on graves, as she found the familiar one that had started it all.

How appropriate, she thought.

How appropriate that it was here where she said goodbye.

Karen wiped the blades of grass and other dirt from the stone of Valerie DeLuca, fixing the string of rosary beads hugging the headstone. She didn’t stay long, maybe only a minute or two, but she felt better when she finally stood to leave.

Not okay, not whole, but better.

It was something.

Karen turned to leave, settling herself with the idea of coming back next week to do the same, and froze right where she stood.

He sat there on that bench where she had waited for him once.

He sat there with a sad smile and brown eyes trained on her.

He sat there like a statue, cold and unmoving.

Karen wondered if she was going crazy.

God knew she had felt insane for a while, now.

Dino patted the spot beside him on the bench, never once looking away from Karen. “Come and sit. I think I have to apologize again.”

Karen blinked. “You’re not real. You’re dead.”

He couldn’t be.

Dino smiled, his hand lifting to show a bandage covering a great portion of his limb. “Dead people don’t feel pain, Karen.”

“I’m going crazy—that’s what this is.”

“Would that be easier?” he asked.

Maybe.

“No,” Karen settled on saying.

“Let me apologize again, Karen.”

Her heart, and the soul she thought was gone forever, wouldn’t let her refuse.

Even if she was crazy.

Five months later …

Dino

THREE broken ribs.

Burns up his left hand, arm, and down his back.

Dislocated right shoulder.