Page 111 of Family Storms (Storms 1)

I would eat with her, but before I did anything else, I asked Mrs. March for a favor, and she called Grover to bring the car around.

He drove me out to the cemetery where Mama was buried. It was one of those wonderful California late afternoons when the shadows from some scattered clouds were refreshing and the air cleaned out by the sea wind was sharp and fresh. When I entered the cemetery, the aroma of freshly cut grass surrounded me. It was a scent that spoke of life and renewal, even in a cemetery.

All week, I had felt guilty about being happy again. It was the old fear that by accepting the Marches’ generosity and affection, I was betraying Mama. I was at the cemetery to ask for her forgiveness again, but I thought I would do it a different sort of way. When I reached her grave, I set down the case and took out the clarinet. Then I sat close to her tombstone and began to play.

And before I was finished, I was certain in my heart that wherever she was, she was smiling.