She and her soon-to-be-ex-husband Cal met for breakfast at The Baconery, an iconic Lakehaven restaurant that served all-day breakfast and was always busy. There were always some of her friends here in the morning, after school started: community groups meeting; committees of volunteers to support football, volleyball, choir, band, robotics, science clubs, and more at Lakehaven’s schools. It was an exemplary school district, nationally ranked, and the parents volunteered many hours to support the teachers and coaches. Supporting it had once been her life. After she and Cal ordered at the counter, they walked into the dining room and, in a slow ripple across the room, heads turned. Perri took a deep breath and steadied herself for the litany: How are you (like she could ever get better), You look so lovely (did not matter), and the dreaded He’s in a better place (that doesn’t matter to me, I want him back). Perri believed they uttered those platitudes as much for themselves as for her. I’m sorry was sufficiently graceful and could never wound, could never subtly suggest that her grief made them uncomfortable or that thank goodness it wasn’t their family, their kids were alive while her handsome, smart, generous son lay in a grave.
Ronnie Gervase, a local luminary who was a fund-raising powerhouse in Lakehaven, embraced them both and dropped two of the three platitudes that Perri expected.
“I’ll see you at the gala meeting next week,” Perri murmured, eager to be left alone.
“Of course,” Ronnie said. “Be strong, darling.”
They sat and ate. Cal didn’t look good, tired and worn, but he took her hand while they finished their coffee. The hand where she’d already taken off the wedding ring.
After breakfast they drove to the cemetery. Cal, a big, strong, determined guy who’d played football in college and then made a fortune in business, always seemed to have trouble walking toward the grave, as if he could not bear to get close to David. He tottered on the grass. Perri tightened her grip on his hand and led him along.
At first when she said, “There’s something on the stone,” he said, “No, that’s just the light” because a tree branch did create shadow on the granite. But when they stood in front of his grave, she saw the words smeared on the tombstone, in white chalk: ALL WILL PAY.
“What is that?” she gasped. The words were small, neat, above his engraved name: David Calhoun Hall. Cal knelt.
“Chalk…” He scraped at it with his thumb.
“What does it mean?” A cold anger stirred in her chest, eclipsing her grief.
“It’s just someone being stupid,” he said. She ran back to the car and got a water bottle and paper towels—still prepared as if she had a kid to clean up after—and washed the words into a snowy smear.
“I should have taken a picture.” He looked around. “It’s not on the other graves. Only David’s.” He embraced her and she hugged him hard.
“What does it mean?” Perri kept her voice under control.
“Thoughtless kids, probably. I’ll call the management and let them know. Let’s have our visit.” Trying to make the morning normal again.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Perri said. She laid fresh flowers on the grave, with the kind of gentleness as if she were putting a blanket on his sleeping form. She ignored the white smear. She talked to David for several minutes about what had been going on in their lives, not mentioning the pending divorce. Cal, she knew, could not do this, could not speak to David as if he were still alive. Her own mother had done it at her father’s grave and she didn’t know what else to do. Not talking, the silence, was worse, the hush from her boy being gone.
She finished her monologue and Cal coughed. She reached for his hand and after a moment he took hers.
What else was there to say? The glue that kept their marriage together was buried at their feet. After a moment he let go of her hand and mopped at his eyes and his face with his handkerchief. Monogrammed, with David’s initials. Perri had gotten the linen cloths for David when he finished Cotillion, a Lakehaven tradition of dance lessons and etiquette that he had hated but endured with his usual smile. Cal had bought him video games. Her gift was better; it could still be used.
“You don’t want to be here,” she said to Cal as if he were betraying her with his hard breathing and his unsteady stance.
“I don’t think this will ever get any easier.”
“It’s not supposed to be easy.” Her voice rose.
“I know that, Perri, for heaven’s sake. Could you let me grieve how I want? Not everyone is you.”
Perri couldn’t believe he’d snapped at her, today, here, with the awful desecration of his son’s grave.
“I don’t want this divorce,” he said, his voice barely louder than the breeze.
“Not here. Not now.”
“Why not, you like to talk in front of him. Shouldn’t he hear what’s going on in our lives? Do you think this divorce is what he’d want?”
“Stop, please, Cal.” She began to hurry back toward the car. She got in. She thought she smelled a perfume different from hers, a scent of lavender, still lingering in the passenger seat, and her stomach clenched. But she had asked for the separation and then the divorce and if he found comfort with someone else—she could not complain. But she hated him a little bit, for being able to move forward.
“Just take me back,” she said as he got into the car.
“I hoped we could spend the day together,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
The lavender tells me you’re not alone, she thought, but today was not the day. “I just need some time alone. I’m sorry.” Why am I apologizing? she thought. She had nothing to be sorry for. The shock of the graffiti turned to a primal rage.
All Will Pay? There was only one who needed to pay: Jane Norton.
She tried not to think of that girl, ever. But to pretend Jane Norton no longer existed was impossible: the Nortons lived next door.
Well, Laurel Norton still did. Jane was gone into the wind, supposedly sinking into insanity, living on the streets of south Austin, according to the Lakehaven gossip chain, a communications network unrivaled in both speed and inaccuracy. Perri had heard several wild rumors about Jane’s current situation. Laurel could not seem to bring her home. Jane’s dad, Brent, had died three years ago, a year before the car crash, so there was no other family to help. Laurel Norton rattled alone in that big house she refused to sell. Now Perri would rattle alone in hers, next door.
Once, both families had been so happy, so whole…now, both houses felt haunted by their losses. Somewhere today that reckless little bitch was breathing, she was walking, the sun on her face, not lying cold in a grave that could be desecrated.
“Perri.” Cal hadn’t started the car. “I am so sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry.” He had his face in his hands. Not crying, but barely keeping tears at bay.
“You don’t need to…”
“I didn’t keep our boy safe. I moved us back to Lakehaven. If we’d stayed in San Francisco; if we hadn’t come back here; if I had put him in private school; if I’d just—”
“You can’t blame yourself. No one knew she would try and hurt him.”
“I know. But I feel I failed him.”
“I used to imagine the worst,” she said slowly. He turned to face her. “The worst. That he would be caught in a fire, or an accident, or come down with some horrible disease. And you see, I believed, really believed, that because I imagined these terrible things, they would never happen; my thoughts were a shield for David. I never could have imagined to keep him safe from someone who decides to kill herself and him along with her.”
He stared at her, his expression softening. He still loves you, she thought. He loves you and you’re pushing him away. You lost your son and now you’re handing off your husband. But there was nothing left to feel. This had ended her heart. She looked toward the grave. Her anchor, her compass.