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He placed the new plant he had brought to the side with the umbrella as he touched her name—Emily Caldwell. “I’m here,” he said. His eyes closed, and he listened to the leaves in the nearby trees wisp in the wind of the mild storm. In the distance, a car door slammed, and a bird trilled in protest.
He’d read about how others claimed to have heard the dead, but her voice had never spoken to him. There had been no shadowy figure, no sudden shift of clouds to provide a beam of light, no waking up in the middle of the night, certain that her presence had been there. No matter how much he wished for even a moment more, she was gone.
Trenton didn’t tell her all about what had happened since he’d last visited. If she was hovering near him, she would have seen it. No, he was there to keep the promise he had made at her bedside in the hospital. The monthly timeframe was his own logical spin on it.
He weeded the unwanted greenery from the edges of the stone. The cemetery she had chosen used the flat grave markers that had become more customary over the years. They were more appropriate for walking among the graves, but also lacked the presence of a stone pointing toward the sky, declaring to any that passed that a person had been on this earth.
Trenton’s hand hovered over the last plant he had brought. Already it had withered, as most of the ones he’d chosen did. He’d never had a green thumb. His gaze shifted to the new plant, and he sighed. He’d forgotten the shovel he’d meant to bring. That was unlike him, but a call from a new client had come in at the last minute.
He dug his hand into the dirt instead, digging around the plant that had died until its roots loosened in the soil enough to let it go. He added it to the pile of weeds he’d pulled. Lifting the pot of the replacement, he took in the cheery, yellow blossoms. The happy color had seemed right for her.
He tilted the shrub to remove the plastic pot, remembering at the last minute to tear the dirt a bit to help the roots break free, and placed the new flowers into the hole. A few handfuls of dirt, and he was smoothing the ground around her new plant. The drizzle of rain fell on his messy hands, but it wasn’t heavy enough to wash away any of the dirt.
“Such pretty chrysanthemums.” A wheezy chuckle followed the words.
Trenton lifted his head to take in the older woman who stood not that far away. She swayed where she stood, leaning heavily on the walker her wrinkled hands gripped. The older woman’s eyes were sharp, though, and the color of a cloudless day.
“Thank you,” he said, nodding to her.
“I’ve always been partial to yellow. A sunny color, if you ask me.” Her gaze lifted to the gray sky above. “A sight better than what we have today. Fitting, though. It was raining the day I buried my Henry.” She nodded to a grave farther down the row.
Trenton took in the remaining distance with a frown. He stood, dusting off his hands on his black slacks before moving to her side. He offered her an arm. “May I help you the rest of the way?”
The woman grinned at him. “Not just a looker, I see.” She nudged the walker with a sigh. “This blasted thing hates the grass.” Then she wrapped her hands around his arm.
Trenton allowed her to lean her weight on him as he escorted her to the grave she had indicated. “Do you want to sit?” he asked.
“Good Lord, no. I’d never get these stick legs to lift me back up again.” She kept her grip firm on Trenton’s arm as she stared down at the grave.
“I’ll give you a moment,” Trenton said, trying to gently disengage her.
The older woman shook her head. “I’ll only be a moment, anyway.” Her smile faded, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the stone. “I’m still mad at you, Henry. You went and died first. I miss you like the devil, but that doesn’t take away the mad.”
Trenton blinked as he stared at her.
“I’m doing fine. Better than fine, you old fool. I even got to talking with that one friend of yours. You know the one. So I’m not lonely, but I do miss you.”
She nodded and then tilted her head back to Trenton with a new smile. “All right, back to the sidewalk.”
Trenton supported her as she turned from the grave.
“You should see your expression, young man. Very proper, or so you seem to be.” She took a few more limping steps with his help. “Something you should remember: it does no good to lie to the dead. They’re dead. What can it help, telling them what they want to hear?”
“I don’t talk to her much,” Trenton admitted, surprising himself. He grabbed her walker with his free hand as they passed, lifting it to his shoulder, well above the grass and stones.
“A wife, was she?” the woman asked.
“Yes.” Trenton led her the last few steps to the paved path, placing the walker back on the ground.
“A shame, when they’re taken so young. Henry was ten years my junior. I was certain he’d last longer than me, unlike the husband before.”
Trenton blinked at her. He knew the next chuckle was at his expense.
“Life is short, young man. Those flowers, the ones you planted?” She waited, and Trenton nodded. “They symbolize loyalty, you know. Loyalty and devoted love. It’s a shame, if you ask me.” Her eyes crinkled in the corners as she smiled. “If you were a few years older, I’d be tempted to turn your head. Remind you how to live.”
Trenton let out his own grin. “I’m flattered, ma’am.”
She swatted at his arm. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. You’re too young to have built up enough stamina to keep up with me, that’s all. Besides, I’ve got twelve other beaus I’m leading on.”
