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“You’ll be okay,” her father had said.
“I don’t think so.”
He stared into her eyes. “You’re strong.”
She was only eighteen. Life wasn’t supposed to be this way. She had her entire life in front of her, but if this was a sign of her future, she didn’t care anymore.
“You hear me, Chantelle?” Her father’s eyes had widened as if to bring emphasis.
She nodded and wiped her face. Then Lance had returned to her room. His smile was sad. Her father had left them alone to talk.
Standing to her feet, Chantelle grabbed her purse beside her. Those days were long gone. The pain had subsided. The cuts weren’t as fresh, but the scars remained.
Chantelle ran her fingers through her hair. A month would go by in no time. She would do her job. Would Lance agree? If he was over her, why the awkwardness?
She sighed. It was best to head back to her mother’s house. She could use some more rest from her trip. Then she spotted Lance a few feet away from her.
Chantelle blinked, realizing who he was visiting. She drew back from her father’s gravestone. Turning her back, she headed for her car, but paused. She couldn’t leave without paying her respects.
***
Lance switched the dead flowers for the fresh roses in front of his sister’s grave. He released a shallow sigh. Fourteen was too young to die. Why his sister? She had practiced her laps over a hundred times. Why did the day she won the competition have to be her last?
He ran his hand over the polished smooth headstone, feeling the tickle of cut grass underneath his knees. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday yesterday.” He loosened his tie. “Just thought I’d stop by and bring your favorite flowers.”
“Are you okay?” a familiar voice asked.
Ripping his eyes away from his sister’s gravestone, he caught Chantelle standing behind him.
“I didn’t mean to bother you, but I stopped by to visit my dad. I saw you here and…” She stopped. “I’ll leave you alone. I should’ve left.”
“No,” he said. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
She bobbed her head, and he gestured for her to come closer. The wind picked up, blowing her loose curls in the wind. She brushed them back as best she could.
Lance asked. “How are you? You know… visiting your dad.”
She looked upward and even he detected the change in the weather noticing a grayish cast to the light.
“I’m okay. Every day gets
easier.” She rubbed her forearms. “If you’re that uncomfortable with me doing this story, I’ll ask my boss to—”
“No, Chantelle don’t do that.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You want me to stay?”
He stood to his feet, dusting off his clothes. “It would have been nice if I knew it was you.”
“Your fiancé didn’t tell you?”
“She’s busy with her photo shoot. Her agent was supposed to get back with me, but Andrea is good at staying busy.”
“You must miss her?”
Lance cleared his throat. His lips parted to ask how she’d been, but a rain droplet hit his forehead. “Not good.”
Chantelle used her purse to cover her head as she dashed ahead of him. Lance followed behind her. He heard the gentle patter as droplets hit foliage. His clothes stuck to his skin as rain slid down his collared shirt. He spotted a puddle ahead. How did Chantelle run in heels? He would never know.
