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“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. “I’m saving it for that special day. My dad won’t be there to walk me down the aisle, but he’ll be there in my heart.” She lays her hand on her chest. “We never forget,” she says. “I can assure you of that.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” she says brightly. She holds up a single finger. “I will say that I still think about my dad when I do something I’m not supposed to do. I ask myself if he would be proud of me.” She nods. “That’s the truth.” She snorts out a laugh. “Doesn’t mean I always make great choices, but he’s with me all the time, no matter where I am.”
“That’s good to know.”
“When I get married, Jake will walk me down the aisle, and that’ll be okay, because he’s a good man who will only be standing in my father’s place, not replacing him. He knows that and I know that, and that’s what makes it okay. I bet your kids will feel similarly.”
“Actually, I want them to consider their new parents to be their parents.”
She laughs. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes,, I do.” I rush to explain, but she cuts me off.
She laughs again. “No, you don’t. That’s a nice charitable thought to have, but that’s not at the top of your wish list.”
“I want them to be happy.”
“That’s more realistic.” She grins. “Why are you up so early?”
Erik walks up and hands her another flower, which she makes a big deal over, and she sends him to get another.
“I was just watching the sunrise.” I look toward the lake.
“You can see it better over the water.”
I jerk my thumb toward the house. “Kids are asleep.”
She holds out her hands. “I’m here. Go.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Have fun. See all the sunrises you can while you can.”
“Are you sure?”
She scoffs good-naturedly. “Not like I’m doing anything else.” She makes that shooing motion again.
I get up and start to walk away, but I turn back. “Thank you for the talk.”
She smiles at me and shoos me again. “Take your time,” she says.
I walk down to the lakeshore, and I watch as the sun wakes the lake up. A duck bobs on the surface of the lake, occasionally dunking its head. The water is still, not even moved by wind, aside from the ripples from the duck. It’s peaceful and serene and perfect. I pick up a rock and toss it, skipping it across the surface of the lake. I only get four skips, so I look for another. After I throw a second one, the duck squawks at me in protest and paddles off down the lake.
I hear a motor and turn to see Pop on the old red golf cart, heading up the hill. He goes past a row of trees and into the woods down the lane, and I know where he’s going. And I instantly know that I need to go there too.
I follow him slowly, sure that he will need time to himself when he gets to the old cemetery. His wife is buried there, along with a few ancestors. It has a neat little white picket fence around it. I find him pulling up weeds from around one of the older headstones. He looks up at me and grunts. He says nothing. I lean my elbows on the fence and look at the area. “Mr. Jacobson?”
“What?” he snaps in true Pop fashion.
“Can I come in?” I ask. I wait for permission to enter because it feels wrong to just barge in.
A sigh. “I reckon that would be all right,” he says quietly.
I open the sturdy little gate and walk inside.
“You know why they put fences around graveyards, don’t you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Why?”
“Because people are dying to get in.” He doesn’t even crack a smile.
