Page 9

“I’m lucky, you know?” Grammy murmurs, her eyes searching the tombs until they land on her granddaughter. “I lived a long and happy life. A wonderful life. Retired. Widowed. Time spent crafting and playing mah jong with my friends. Then Brenna came along.” She turns to look up at me. “My son and I drifted apart after my husband died. He got married and we’d send cards on special occasions but by the time he had passed I had no idea of his life. That he had a child. Then all of a sudden I had this…ball of light handed to me and in an instant my life changed for the better. Brenna, she’s…she’s the best of this world, Gabriel. And we need to keep her like that.”

I give Grammy a smile, because I can feel it in the marrow of my bones what she’s saying. Brenna may be the woman who serves me coffee when I meet with my mafiosa sister, but she’s more than that.

“Gabriel?” Brenna’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts as I move nearer to where she’s sitting. “Is that you?”

I look to Grammy for help, but she seems to be conveniently not where she has been since she sought me out. Dammit. I run a hand over the back of my neck, madly looking around for a tomb I recognize so I don’t look like a weird stalker.

“Oh, hey Brenna,” I wave awkwardly and then bite back a curse. Fucking calm down, man!

“Hey,” she grins. “Are you here visiting too?”

“Yeah, I’m, ah,” my eyes land on the tomb next to where Brenna is sitting. “Well, I’ll be damned,” I mutter under my breath. In my world there are no coincidences.

“Are you here to visit Miss Fanny?” Brenna asks, twisting in her seat and reading the plaque on the tomb beside her.

“Yeah,” I clear the thickness in my throat. “Ah, yeah. Miss Fanny is an old friend of mine.”

“Well, take a load off man, and tell her about your day. I bet she’d love to hear it.” Her small hand pats the worn wood beside her and I don't even think twice. I sit my ass down, my eyes on Miss Fanny’s name, her plaque complete with a smiling picture of her looking the way she did when I was a kid.

“You got this,” Grammy’s voice whispers from her place beside me.

I open my mouth to ask where the hell she was just before but she places a finger over her lips before pointing to Brenna.

Brenna’s long curls brush against my arm as she looks first one direction, then the other.

“Did you lose something?” I ask, watching as her gaze searches the cemetery.

She takes one last long look before turning toward me, her brows slightly pinched. “Not something. Someone. There was an odd little man on the streetcar. I’m pretty sure I saw him visiting someone over that way. I just wanted to make sure he was OK,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.

Great. I’m pretty sure the one man Grammy and my sister want to keep her away from, and she’s busy looking for him. I slowly turn my head to look at Grammy who doesn't look the least bit surprised.

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

Brenna

Gabriel stares into space for a moment before blinking, his gaze returning to mine. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he says, his voice smooth.

“I hope so.” I reply, turning back to Grammy’s tomb.

I’m unsure what to do now that I’ve invited him to sit next to me. I pluck at my cardigan for a moment and even though I’m comfortable around Gabriel, I always get the biggest urge to talk to him. To say something. Anything.

“I visit Grammy every Wednesday,” I blurt out, cheeks on fire. “I used to visit her at her apartment. Every Wednesday. Now I visit her here.”

Gabriel’s head bobs in my periphery. “Do you, ah, do the same things you used to do with her?”

Turning to look at him, I can’t help the smile playing on my lips. “The only thing we don’t do is bake.” Gabriel lets out a huff and everything that was fizzing inside me settles, just a little. “But I still bring her a beignet and tell her about all the weird and wonderful people I meet everyday. We just sit here, together and chat.”

Gabriel turns toward me, an odd look on his face. As if he’s seeing me. But too much me, if that makes sense. It’s like he’s looking into my soul and I feel the need to sit still and not squirm under his attention even though it's kinda uncomfy.

“Do you think that's crazy? I know it sounds crazy,” I mutter, my eyes on Grammy’s tomb and not on the funny look on his face.

He clears his throat. Probably trying to think of a nice way to tell me I’m as mad as a box of cats. “I talk to the dead all the time. To me they’re not dead. They’re just…waiting.”

“For what?” I whisper, peeking at him through my lashes.

“For their moment.”

I sit back on the bench, eyes on Grammy’s name plaque. “I wonder what type of moment Grammy had?” I ponder, not really talking to anyone in particular. “I bet it's something fabulous. Or intriguing. Grammy loved her murder mysteries, didn’t you, Grams?” I call out to her tomb as if she can hear me. In my world, she does. “Whatever her moment was, I bet it was exciting.”