“A little bit of Mams’ ashes,” Lynn said near my ear. “We figured you might want to spread them on your uncle’s grave alone.”
Vaguely, I remembered thanking her, remembered asking if I could sit a little longer as everyone left. But as for everything else, I couldn’t recall it. As much as I hated to admit it, I didn’t even remember Heathcliff.
There was only me, a long table, and a pair of old boots.
Chapter 37
For an hour, I sat in the conference room staring at the boots. I knew why Mams had given them to me. I understood it more than I’d like to admit, my heart filling with fondness for the old woman as I finally stood.
Reaching for the shoes, I picked them up, cradling them against my chest, my eyes welling with tears. To most people, they were shoes. For Mams, I had no doubt they’d been filled with memories. Shoes are often overlooked by people. They were worn on the feet, after all. How many stop to look down at their feet?
However, it was the feet that did the walking, the feet that did the running, and the feet that did the resting.
There was no going home now.
Climbing into the catering van, I set Paps’ boots and the small container of ashes reverently in the passenger’s seat, my fingers lingering over them before starting the vehicle.
As I backed out of the lot, I rolled the windows down, the wind rushing in around me, the gravel crunching under my tires.
The wind freed me. It tugged at my hair, pulling and pushing it around my face, the sun pouring in through the windshield. The smell of honeysuckle, azaleas, magnolias, and even the occasional rank chicken house flooded my nostrils through the window, hugging me. The wind smelled like home. The wind was home. Like shoes, the wind saw everything, and then carried what it saw to the four corners of the earth. If the wind could talk, it could tell an infinite amount of stories.
I was almost out of town when I turned onto a long dirt road. On one side was a large grass-covered hill, trees in the distance. Wild yellow flowers bloomed like a blanket of melted sunshine over the expanse. On the opposite side was a cemetery, an arched wrought iron gate marking the entrance.
Parking on the side of the road, I climbed free of the van, stopping only long enough to get the small container of ashes out of the passenger side. The boots I brought with me, too, even though I had no intention of leaving them behind.
My uncle’s grave was just inside the gate on top of a rise, his tombstone overlooking the sea of yellow across the road. In the sky, buzzards circled, probably eyeing a dead carcass, but it seemed fitting somehow.
Pausing before the simple arched stone that marked Gregor’s resting place, I nodded at the yellow hill. “You have a nice view. That’s good.” Setting Pap’s boots just at the foot of Gregor’s grave, I held up the container of ashes. “I brought you a visitor.” Lifting the lid, I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I poured the ashes into my palm. “She’s going to keep you company, Uncle, when I can’t be here.”
Maybe there should have been more words than that, but nothing came, my throat closing up as I sprinkled Mams’ ashes over the ground at my feet. The wind carried some of them away, twirling them up toward the sky and down into the sunny field, and I watched them.
“I’m going to keep you both,” I whispered, patting my chest, “here.” My hand came down to rest on the tombstone, the etched words, Here rests a kind soul and a doting father, staring back at me. “You’ll always have a place at my table.”
Across from us the yellow field shone. Above us, the buzzards flew. Clouds sent shadows over the area, but it never rained. The sun beat down, lighting the grave, the old pair of boots, and a wild-haired woman holding an empty silver container.
The wind blew, carrying away my story.
Epilogue
Paps’ boots got a place of honor just inside the front door, forever a symbol that he was a part of the plantation. Things returned to normal around the house. The catering business bloomed, and Rebecca set up an online service that let us ship all over the States, with the hopes that we could eventually make it international. Caffeine’s also flourished, and we built on an extra building that offered baked goods from the plantation. Against all odds, we were becoming a success. It would take a long time to pay off the debts I owed because of school and the upkeep the plantation required, but I was making it.
Once again, Heathcliff left. There’d been no good-bye. I think, in retrospect, we were past good-byes. He had a job out-of-state, a life away from our small town, and it was enough for me knowing he was still wandering, trying to find that piece of his soul that was missing. No matter the distance, no matter what he needed to find out about himself, I wasn’t going anywhere.
My table was full, with ghosts, family, and friends. Even so, I left one space open … waiting.