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“I don’t know if he ever knew just how much, though.” She cleared her throat and blinked several times to clear away the hanging tears. “I wasn’t exactly the most vocal about it. You know me, I’ve never been the mushy type.”
“Keeping a clear head and logical mind.”
My grandmother allowed a soft laugh. “To a fault. Not a lot of balance there.”
The moment of self-deprecation ceased, and her expression attempted neutrality, but failed. “And then I lost your mama.”
I got up, crossed to her, and dropped to my knees so I could look up at her. Her hands entwined with mine and I pressed hers against my cheek. “You couldn’t have prevented that, Gram.”
“No, but it makes a woman wary. I’ve been holding my memories close to my chest, as if letting them out there would somehow diminish them. And I’ve got an awful lot of them. Seems almost superstitious, but it became a habit, I suppose.”
“Maybe you should write them down to preserve them.”
“Maybe.”
“Are you afraid of starting new memories with a new person?” I thought about Noah and all our combined memories. So very many of them, so many more to make, but nothing compared to what resided in Gram’s head.
“Klahanie … you, your brother, and his children are everything to me. Sunny is my sister, but she’s also my best friend. I have a truly beautiful, albeit, small family, and everything I am is wrapped up in them. I don’t know if I have the energy to bring another person into my tiny circle.”
I smiled at her, aware of a sting in my own eyes. “You know something, Gram? I think it’s too late.Everyoneon this island adores you, andeveryoneon this island has wonderful memories of you and your place here. Bringing in another special person can only make your life better. What happens down the line isn’t something we’re privy to. We just need to roll with it.”
She stared at me for a long moment, and I stared back. I hadn’t always been able to do that. She could be a very tough lady. With a full sigh, she brought our threaded hands up and kissed mine. “When did you become all grown up?”
“I’m not sure. It just kind of snuck up on me. It was a bit of a surprise, to be honest.”
“Don’t you dare change, Klahanie. You’re a beautiful girl inside and out.”
Embarrassed, warmth filled my cheeks, and I shifted the topic back to where it started. “So, are you going to invite Mr. Chapman up for tea again?”
“We’ll see.”
Chapter Thirty
I hadn’t visited my parents in years. Somehow, I’d never given myself the time. Each prior trip had been planned down to the minute, which, in retrospect, had likely been avoidance on my part. Less time to contemplate loss.
The cemetery existed on the very south point of the island. Close as the crow flies, but thirty minutes on small rural roads. Not far, either way, but enough for my mind to punctuate my meanderings with memories. Most were hazy, but some stood out as a drop of color in a black and white photo.
“You okay?” Noah reclined in my passenger seat, legs closer to the dashboard than was likely comfortable, but he made no complaints.
“Yeah. Nervous for some reason, though.” Cemeteries didn’t bother me. Most of the time, I found them peaceful and contemplative, but the buzzing in my muscles and stomach reminded me that this was a bit different.
“When was the last time you went there?”
I thought about it. Sifting through the years in my head, I came to a sobering conclusion. It pulled the air from my lungs. “I, um, dimly remember going with Gram. I remember standing back as she kneeled in front of my mother and prayed. She’s not a religious person, so watching her do that threw me off. It felt uncomfortable. It intimated there was something more, and my kid brain challenged it. As far as I was concerned, dead was dead. I guess, in my way of thinking, if they weren’t gone, they would have reached out to me, somehow. To say goodbye, at the very least.”
“How old were you?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure, but I don’t think it was more than a year or two after they died.”
“Very morbid response for a little kid.”
“Yeah, that was me. A regular Wednesday Addams.”
We reached a “T” in the road, and I slowed to make a left. On the opposite corner, a dilapidated boat rested on blocks. Gaping holes in the hull spun a wishful thinking vibe on the first sign hanging on the bow—“For Sale.” A second sign warned “No Trespassing. Attack Dogs on Property.” It had been there for years, and no one seemed to know the origin. I’d always figured it was just a snip of smalltown colorful weirdness to make visitors ask questions.
I followed the narrow strip of road up an incline, as the Pacific Ocean rose and fell to our right. A half-mile later, I turned through the open metal gate at the entrance to the cemetery. A small parking lot spread before a tiny white church with a spiraling steeple. Just next to it stood a large block building used for equipment storage.
I pulled into one of four spaces, cut Corinne’s engine, and stilled for several long moments. Noah said nothing, his quiet patience filled with warmth and support.
