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My phone beeps and I take it out, seeing a text from my mom.
Mom:I’m heading home, are you riding with me, or will you be finding your own way home?
Lucy:I’ll find my own way; I won’t be long. I just need a minute.
Mom:I understand. Be careful, I love you.
Lucy:I will, love you too.
I slide my phone back in my coat pocket and keep walking until the cold burns my lungs. I find a bench at the edge of the cemetery, and as I sit down I tilt my head to the sky.
“I would say it was a beautiful service, but we both know I wasn’t paying attention and you didn’t even want a funeral. You wanted an urn and to be tossed into the sea on a god-awful, hot summer day. I’m sorry you didn’t get that, Dad,” I say to the sky.
“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone be so blatantly honest about a funeral, especially one for a parent.”
“God!” I jump and whirl around to see a man in a brown Carhartt jacket and jeans standing a few feet behind me. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on someone in a cemetery. What if I had a gun or something?”
“Who brings a gun to a funeral?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, someone who’s either really twisted or really sad.”
“Or both.”
“Or both.” I agree.
“Do you have a gun?” He tilts his head to the side, studying me. He’s tall and has light brown hair and soft brown eyes. He’s probably a few years older than me, but he’s not dressed for a funeral. His voice is soft and gravely, sending chills down my spine.
“No,” I scoff. “What are you doing here?” I ask after a minute.
“Visiting. I wasn’t stalking you, or trying to sneak up on you, but my mom’s grave is a few feet to your left.” He nods his chin in the direction of a small grave. “I wasn’t going to disturb you, but then you started talking and I was just kind of shocked by the words coming out of your mouth.”
“Oh,” I say awkwardly. “I’m sorry if anything I said was offensive or if I’m ruining your visiting time. I’ll go.”
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and stand, turning to walk back up the hill, when it occurs to me—I’m going to have to Uber back to my house, or call someone to come pick me up.
“No, it’s okay. Really,” the man says. “I found it refreshing—your brutal honesty. The first few weeks after my mom died, everyone just kept talking about how great the service was, but I didn’t even remember it. I just remember watching them lower the casket in the ground and start burying it—buryingher. But all anyone wanted to talk about was the service.”
I look up at him and realize he’s standing right in front of me now, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. I can’t help but notice his eyes, I guess they aren’t totally brown, but have flecks of gold and green in them. They’re nice.
“When did your mom die?” I ask.
“Five years ago, I was twenty.”
“I know this doesn’t help, but I’m sorry. I’m twenty-two, but I can’t imagine burying a parent at twenty. Still, I never thought I would have to deal with this kind of death so soon, you know?”
He nods, his eyes full of sympathy—but not in a pitying sort of way like I was used to—instead it was in the sad, understanding kind of way. I liked that.
“Yeah, I know. My mom had cancer, so we knew it was coming. But it still sucked when it finally happened, even if we knew she wasn’t hurting anymore.”
I look away, back up the hill toward where they were burying my dad.
“My dad had a heart attack. He was. . .so healthy, or at least I thought he was. One second, he was fine, and the next he was on the ground holding his chest. It amazes me, how fast your life can change in just a matter of seconds.”
The man is quiet, but his eyes are studying me intently. He doesn’t move any closer, but he rakes a hand through his hair and lets out a deep breath. It’s cold enough outside that I can see the puff of air.
“You were there when it happened?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say with a nod, “we were sitting on the couch talking about college—about how stupid my professor had been that day. I’d said something sarcastic, he laughed, and then he just doubled over.”
