Graveminder

William smiled gently at her. “Montgomerys will always look after Barrows, Rebekkah. I would’ve done anything for Maylene, just as Byron would do anything for you.”

Rebekkah didn’t know what to say to that. She wondered if William thought she and Byron had stayed in touch. Really not what I want to ponder. She pushed that topic away and looked at the elder Mr. Montgomery’s tired eyes. The dark circles under them could be normal, for all she knew, but his red-shot eyes revealed that he’d been crying. He and Maylene had been friends forever, and they’d been in love almost as long.

Rebekkah realized that she was staring at him. “Are you … doing okay?” she asked—and then immediately felt like an idiot. Of course he wasn’t doing “okay.” If anything happened to Byr— She shook her head as if it would erase that thought.

William patted Rebekkah’s hand and turned away to refill her coffee cup. “As well as you are, I imagine. The world is lot less worth being in without her here. Maylene has meant the world to me for a long time.” She heard the threat of tears in his voice as he said, “I need to go out front. You stay in here and eat. When they go, I’ll come fetch you, so you have a few private moments with her.”

At the thought of suddenly being alone, she blurted, “Do I need to do anything? I mean, are there papers or … something? Anything?”

He turned back to face her. “No, not now. Maylene’s orders were very precise. She didn’t want you to have to deal with those things, so we made sure everything was taken care of in advance.” William brushed Rebekkah’s hair back as if she were still a small child. “Byron will be down in a few moments, and if you need him you are welcome to go upstairs. The house hasn’t changed. I’ll be out there with Maylene.”

“She’s not here,” Rebekkah whispered. “Just her empty shell.”

“I know, but I still need to look after her. She’s gone to a well-earned rest, Rebekkah. I promise.” He had tears in his eyes. “She was more amazing than most anyone we’ll ever meet. Strong. Good. Brave. And she saw all of those traits in you. You need to be brave now. Make her proud.”

Rebekkah nodded. “I will.”

Then William left her in his kitchen alone with her grief. Her first instinct was to find Byron.

Coward.

Being alone was wiser. She’d lived alone for years; she’d traveled alone. The problem was that it was easier to keep her grief at bay when she had witnesses. Maylene had taught her the importance of hiding the hard parts years ago: Don’t let the world see your soft underbelly, lovie, she’d reminded when the barbs of strangers and classmates had hurt. Part of being strong is knowing when to hide your weaknesses, and when to admit them. When it’s just us, you can cry. In front of the world, you keep that chin up.

“I’m strong. I remember,” Rebekkah whispered.

Byron hadn’t come down by the time she finished breakfast, so she walked through the door separating the private part of the house and the public space and joined the crowd of mourners, accepting their nods and hugs without a flinch as she approached Maylene’s body.

I know you’re gone. I know it’s not really you.

But the body still looked like her grandmother. The familiar keen gaze was absent; the smile was absent; but the form was still Maylene.

Rebekkah knew what she needed to say. The flask was in her bag, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Not in front of everyone. There were words, traditions that she’d observed with Maylene time and again. Soon.

Rebekkah leaned down to kiss Maylene’s cheek. “Sleep now, Grandmama,” she whispered. “Sleep well, and stay where I put you.”

12

REBEKKAH WENT THROUGH THE MOTIONS, ACCEPTING CONDOLENCES AND listening to the reminiscences of strangers and of those vaguely familiar. She did so alone.

Byron had come down to the viewing area, now dressed in one of his dark suits. He and William both kept an eye on her, and she knew that at any time they would extricate her if she sent them a pleading glance. Instead, she gave Byron a small shake of her head when he started to approach her.

I am Maylene’s granddaughter, and I will do as we have always done. Together with her grandmother, she’d gone to innumerable viewings and funerals. She politely nodded and calmly accepted hugs and arm pats. I can do this. She was only there for the last hour of the wake, but it felt longer than any she could recall. Even Ella’s.

Thankfully, Cissy and her daughters had left just before Rebekkah had arrived. Overcome by grief, William had said with a stoic expression.

Then the viewing was over. William took charge of the mourners, and Byron came over to her side.

“Do you want a minute with her?” he asked.

“No. Not yet.” Rebekkah glanced over at him. “Later. At the gravesite.”

“Come on.” Byron deftly avoided several people who wanted to speak with her and led her back into his home.

“I could’ve stayed,” she murmured as he closed the door behind them.

“No one’s doubting you,” he assured her. “We have a few minutes before we go to the cemetery, and I thought you might want to catch a breath.”

She followed him into the kitchen. Her dishes still sat on the table. “Thank you. I know I keep saying it, but you really have been better to me than I deserve.”

To avoid looking at him, she busied herself rinsing her cup and plate.

“Our … friendship didn’t die for me,” he said, “even when you decided to stop returning my calls. It never will.”

When she didn’t reply, he came over and took the cup from her hand.

“Bek?”

She turned, and he folded her into his arms.

“You’re not alone. Dad and I are both here,” he said. “Not just last night. Not just today. But for as long as you need.”

Rebekkah rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes for a minute. It would be so easy to let herself give in to the irrational urge to stay next to Byron. In all her life, no one else had ever made her want to stay in one place; no one she’d met since she left Claysville had made her want to think about commitments. Only you, she thought as she pulled away. She didn’t admit that. Not to him. He wasn’t hers. Not really. Not ever.

Rebekkah smiled and said, “I’m going to freshen up before we go.”

She felt his gaze on her as she walked away, but he didn’t say anything as she fled.

When she returned from the washroom, William and Byron stood waiting.

“She didn’t want a procession. It’s just us. Everyone else has gone ahead.” William held out his hand. In it was the tarnished silver bell Maylene had carried with her to the graveside.

Rebekkah felt foolish for not wanting to take it. She’d stood here innumerable times when William wordlessly held that same bell out to Maylene. Slowly she wrapped her hand around it, tucking one finger inside to keep the clapper still. It was meant to be rung at the grave, not here.

She turned to Byron to escort her to the car for the graveside service, just as William had once escorted Maylene. Byron would take her where she needed to go. His presence at her side since she’d returned last night felt right, just as it had when she first moved to Claysville, just as it had when Ella died, just as it did every time she saw him.

I can’t stay here. I can’t stay with him. I won’t.

As she clutched the bell in her hand, Rebekkah slid into the slick black interior. She put a hand out for the door, effectively blocking him from joining her. “Please, I would prefer being alone.”

A flash of irritation flared in his eyes, but he said nothing about her rejection. Instead, his professional guise reappeared. “We’ll meet you at the cemetery,” he said.

Then he closed the door and went over to the waiting hearse.

I can get through this without him … and then leave.

Without Maylene, Claysville was just another town. It wasn’t really home. She’d tricked herself into thinking there was something special about it, but she’d lived in enough places to know better: one town was no different from the next. Claysville had some odd rules, but none of that mattered anymore. Maylene was dead, and Rebekkah had no reason to keep returning here now.

Except for Byron.