“You really need to learn to drive,” Pops remarked as he eased onto the highway. “Not that I mind driving you, but that way, you wouldn’t ever have to walk if you missed the bus.”
There was still no rabbit in the sky, allowing me to relax. “I know,” I said, imagining him trying to teach me. Him clutching his chest because I accidentally pulled in front of a speeding truck. Him dying in the passenger seat before I could get him to the hospital. “Would you guys be okay with me taking a driving class after school?” I kept quiet about the teacher’s identity. Cole or one of his friends could do it after zombie training. I’d insist.
“That’ll be good for you,” Nana said, reaching back to pat my hand. “I’m proud of you, trying new things, making new friends like Kathryn.”
I opened my mouth to reply but caught sight of the edge of the cemetery. A cold sweat slicked over my skin as I waited for The Spot to appear. And there it was. There was no tire tread, no interruptions in the grass; there was nothing. Time had passed and nature had restored itself, hiding the evidence of foul play.
Pops parked on a gravel path. “I’m glad you’re doing this.”
Me, too. “Would it be okay if I stayed here by myself for a while? I just want to be with them and, you know, talk to them.”
Nana had been in the process of removing her seat belt. After a moment’s pause, she nodded and settled back in her seat. “Of course. You’ve got your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Call us when you’re ready to be picked up.”
“Thank you,” I said, and then I did something I’d never done before. I leaned forward and kissed them both on the cheek.
She teared up, and Pops blustered about me needing to be careful. “Nana worries,” he said.
I walked the grounds for a while, the sun baking me through my clothes. When I found a shaded, secluded spot behind a line of bushes, I quickly changed into the tank and shorts. Sooo much better. The sweat dried in the breeze, and I began to cool down. Besides the whole dead-people thing, the cemetery was a pretty area with trees and glistening headstones and even a few marble angels. A man knelt in front of one of those angels, quietly sobbing.
I wandered around, reading names, wondering if any of these people were—or had been—zombies. Up hills, down hills, around piles of leaves I went. Finally I reached my destination.
Trembling, I sat in front of my father’s headstone and traced his name with the pads of my fingers. Silver stone glinted in the light. Beloved husband and father.
For the first time since his death I let myself think—really think—about his last few minutes alive. He’d gone through the windshield. If he’d lived for even a few seconds longer, he would have had a straight shot view into the car, where all three of his girls were hurt and bloody. Had he seen the zombies approach him? Had he known he would die as his own father had?
Was he looking down at me right now?
“I love you, Daddy. I wish I’d been more understanding, that I’d believed you. I’m sorry for every horrible thing I ever said behind your back, and I’m so very grateful for everything you taught me. I’m going to take out as many zombies as I possibly can and one day, no one will ever have to live in fear again. I promise.”
I’d like to say a wave of peace swept over me, but, no, I felt the same as before. I turned to my mother’s grave. Identical silver glinted. This time, it was hard for me to see through my sudden well of tears. Beloved wife and mother.
“I love you, Mom. I never should have spoken to you the way I did, that day in the kitchen.” My birthday, I realized. I’d lost my family on my birthday. For some reason, that truth had never really hit me.
Now and for the rest of my life, the celebration of my birth would be tainted with the sorrow of my loss. That sucked in every way imaginable. But you know what? That was something else I deserved, and I’d take it as my due. I’d never again forget to treasure my family.
“You did the best you could with us and despite everything, I know that you loved me, too. And you were right. It’s far better to love than to hate.” I paused, thinking. “Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still see you smiling. Or trying not to scowl. I remember the times you helped me with my homework, but you were more clueless than I was. I remember how you’d turn away from the camera any time we’d try to snap your picture.” My thoughts weren’t very sequential. I was skipping from one memory to another, but I couldn’t help it.