It was late October, and the area was experiencing one of the nicest Indian Summers in memory. Molly decided to visit Charlie at the grave. She had lunch in town with Jemima and family, and some other friends, then went home to take a nap before dinner.
She arose after an hour and put on Charlie’s favorite dress: a white silk sheath with padded shoulders, beautifully printed with red roses and vivid green leaves. Everyone commented on how nice she looked, and she made a point of hugging everyone, especially her ‘new’ great grandchildren, Ruby, Becky and Martin. They all enjoyed a fabulous meal, and then Molly excused herself at twilight to take a stroll through the garden before retiring. She placed her gold, tasselled shawl over her shoulders and strolled along the path, steadied by her cane, singing the third stanza of her favorite song, the one she had sung ever since he’d died, as she wandered into the garden, toward the golden light she saw shining in the distance ...
When Molly did not come back into the house at dark, Jemima and Prentice went out to look for her. They couldn’t see her from the porch, but noticed the moonbeam shining down on the garden. They walked toward it, flashlights at the ready, and there they found the prostrate Molly, lying on her back in a relaxed state, as if she had lain down to sleep for the night.
After they’d confirmed that she’d passed, and the emergency squad had arrived, the crew and the assembled guests all commented that they were amazed by what they saw as they looked down at Molly. An angelic aura of light radiated from her smiling face, as they gently lifted her away, as if she was greeting someone. Someone she loved very much indeed.
The church was beginning to grow quiet as I heard the end of Jemima’s tale. I squeezed her hand in recognition – although quite what I was acknowledging, I didn’t know – and turned to face the front, but not before I had caught the eye of Martin, the fifteen-year-old.
I winked at him. ‘So, Martin,’ I said. ‘Do you like to drive fast?’
And I knew by the way he snorted with laughter that he’d heard it before, and he would hear it again until the end of his days, from Charlie whom he’d never met, and the people on whom Charlie and Molly had created such an impression - including one man, a lowly reporter, whom they’d once waved at, but never met face-to-face.
That was his loss, he couldn’t help but feel.
Luther met me at the graveside later, once the people in Molly’s huge family network had gathered to celebrate her life. I was simply standing, studying the gravestone she’d had designed for herself and Charlie.
‘I wish I’d met them that day at the lake,’ I said to him, as if he were a dear friend rather than someone with whom I’d once had a conversation. ‘I feel as if I know them, but I’ve been a bit … cheated, somehow.’
Luther nodded. ‘I can see why you’d feel that. That’s why I thought you might appreciate these.’
I stared down at the parcel in his hand – a carrier bag, stuffed with pieces of paper of all shapes and sizes, folded roughly into three inch squares. I pulled some out at random: they were written on time cards, invoices, supply requisitions, note pads, clocking-in cards – all manner of company forms and paraphernalia.
‘I’ve cleared it with the family,’ said Luther, ‘and they agreed you should have them, for the time being, at least.’ He nudged my arm. ‘I guess you’re one of us now.’
‘But what is this stuff?’ I called as he wound his way past the graveside toward his family.
‘It’s their love letters. Charlie’s and Molly’s.’ He smiled again, and I remembered his capacity for making me feel dim. ‘Over to you now, Brendon. Do something with them.’
I stood there for ages, staring into that bag, looking between the little squares of notes and the grave where Molly now lay, beside her beloved Charlie.
‘So, Charlie and Molly,’ I said eventually. ‘What am I supposed to do with this lot?’
But somehow, I already knew the answer.
The end