I’ve walked the grounds of St. Johns Cemetery one other time in my life: the day of my mother’s interment. That day was like a journey into hell. James kept me upright by holding me tight against his chest while I tried to cry. The tears were hiding just below the surface, but they never fell. I was too numb from the tranquilizing pills I’d taken on his insistence. Today, I’m not even carrying them with me. My mind and heart belong to me alone.
Now, I stand at the edge of the cemetery’s interior road, alone in a place filled with hundreds of resting souls. I bow my head in a silent prayer, needing to lean on something stronger than myself. My fragile emotions are as delicate as a baby bird’s wing. If I have one slight twist in my heart, I’m afraid I’ll break apart.
Old memories from Sunday mornings remind me I’m never truly without God’s help. Resolved to press on, I open my eyes and start to walk forward through the scores of marked graves in front of me.
Though the sun shines bright overhead, my heels sink into the damp ground from yesterday’s summer storm. My pace slows as I release each shoe from its entrapment.
Step. Pull. Step. Pull.
Finally, I give up trying to fight Mother Nature and bend over to take off my heels. The cool, wet grass tickles my feet as I walk farther into the cemetery. The sensation between my toes reminds me of my childhood when I’d run barefoot through the fields near Lake Blackburn. It was my mother’s favorite place to escape with me during the summer months.
Someone created a small sandy beach on a bank of a nearby lake. She dubbed it Minnesota’s Malibu and we’d pretend to be sunning ourselves in California. Playful and carefree, remembering those good times makes me forget where I am for a brief second, until I see her headstone ahead. My eyes blur and I blink away the moisture so I can read the words on the granite—words I chose for her.
Beloved Mother
“Mom …” I settle a hand on top of the unpolished stone and fold to my knees. The impact makes my bag drop beside me and the contents spill onto the grass. My pent-up feelings spill out too as the tightness in my chest releases into sobs. Seconds evolve into minutes as a river of grief flows freely. The ache in my heart hurts so deeply, I can’t catch my breath.
Slowly, my crying subsides and some of the heaviness on my shoulders melts away, but my heart still aches deep within me. I have so many unspoken words to say.
As my breathing calms, I reach for the tissue pack lying spilled from my bag and wipe my cheeks. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long. I’ve just never had the courage to face being here alone. But I had to come today. I miss you so much, Mom.” I pause to choke back the tears when I remember her last birthday alive with me. It was a happy day, just the two of us. I baked her favorite carrot cake from scratch and we ate almost the whole thing.
“I’m so sorry. You being here … I feel like it’s my fault.” I take a second to steady my breathing. I’ve uttered my confession of what I did that night to only one other person—James. “I tried to stop Tony and grabbed his arm. Then, the gun … it went off.” I bow my head as tears fall, reliving that moment in my mind—the chain reaction following my action. Would he have shot her if I hadn’t pulled on his arm? The possibility eats at me constantly.
“I’ll never forgive myself. You might still be alive. James, the doctor I met who’s taken care of everything since you ...” I can’t speak, the word died out loud, “he tells me not to blame myself and to tell no one what I did.” I clasp my hands together as they begin to shake.
“I miss you so much and need you now more than ever. James asked me to marry him, and I wanted you with me when I chose my dress. The lady asked if I wanted to take a photo to send to my mother.” I remember the owner’s sad eyes and apologies. It ruined the special day.
“I planned to wear your strand of pearls when I walked down the aisle, but now, I don’t even know if I should marry James. He saved the pearls for me after he had people clean up the apartment. He was so good to me. Helped me with everything at first, but now, he’s changed. I wish you were here to tell me what to do. I’m so confused.”
Before I can continue, James’ ringtone sounds out from somewhere next to me on the ground. I should’ve known he’d call me. There’s no hiding from him. My car has a GPS system attached to it and James can read my location in real time. He says it’s for my protection, but I’m not convinced of that anymore. I think he’s desperate to know what I’m doing at all times.
I scurry to find my phone. The case is wet from the damp grass and by the time I clean it off with a tissue, the ringtone stops. I hold the phone and wait for the voicemail alert.
I hear the ping, and sure enough, I have a message waiting. I’m inclined just to call him and skip listening, but I’d prefer to know his mood. I hit the screen for the message to play.
“Harlow Masters. Call me as soon as you listen to this. I know where you are,” James says in a strangely calm voice, but his use of my last name spells trouble. He only uses it when he’s introducing me to others.