Chapter Nine
Summer parked next to the gate for the Echo Falls Family Cemetery.
The wrought-iron fence ran for a couple blocks on either side of the entrance.
A long wooden fence on the west side separated the cemetery from houses in the neighborhood.
Grassy spots of freshly mowed grass mixed with numerous tall, swaying trees, many dropping leaves and filling space around the headstones.
A long gravel road ran through the middle.
According to Lori Devlin, the cemetery had its beginnings with the town, and many of the long-time families had loved ones buried here, her grandparents included. Her parents were buried in Lubbock for unknown reasons, and she hadn’t cared to find out.
But she never came here. Actually, she hadn’t been here since her grandfather’s funeral years before, and a lot of those moments were lost to the shock of loss and tons of guilt.
She couldn’t even remember where their plots were.
Wandering the cemetery wasn’t the most efficient way to find out.
Yet, there was history here that might help her with her mural.
Exasperated, Summer blew out a breath and popped open her door.
Did everything always come back to her art?
It had framed her break up with Tom before their marriage, and it sat like a boulder in the midst of every road she tried to traverse.
Did she use it as her only coping mechanism?
The habit might explain all her periods of artist block.
She stood still and listened. The wind stirred the trees, traffic rumbled from two streets over, and the quiet stirred complicated emotions.
“Summer LeFey Applegate.”
She’d missed the footsteps and turned. A tall, blond man dressed in jeans approached her. He wore a black long sleeved t-shirt, red high tops, and a grin. He pushed a green wheelbarrow with a tree trimmer and shovel in the base.
Summer relaxed at the familiar face. “Gage Caldwell.”
He held out a hand. “Haven’t seen you lately.”
“Ditto.” She took his hand in a quick shake. Summer might be married to the most handsome man ever, but she wasn’t dead. The grin, the muscles, the charm oozed off of him. The NYTimes best-selling author title didn’t hurt.
She tilted her head and studied him. “NY Times? Again?”
Gage blushed, then pointed a finger at her. “Art galleries all over God’s green earth?”
Summer shrugged. “Truth. Loved your last novel.”
“Saw the little girl drawing at Clem’s. Top-notch. What are you doing here?’
“Honestly, I buried my grandfather a few years ago and haven’t been back. Can I confess I can’t remember where the plot is?”
“Halfway down on the right side by the Carnahan section. I’ll walk you.”
“And how do you know?”
“I live right there.” He tipped his head toward the houses. “I’m the head of the cemetery committee. We do a running check on all the graves, keep track of the who and when, and make repairs.”
He started along the road, and Summer kept pace even though her stomach jumped with acid-sour reluctance. Why? No one would leap out of the grave and haunt her.
“When I moved back home, Rand found me a house to rent. He attempted to be funny by putting me at the graveyard. Brothers, right?”
“I don’t have any, but I hear that’s true.”
“Well, I’ll loan you mine next time I’m irritated.”
Summer laughed, understanding why this man was famous. He could tell a story to strangers, a skill she’d never considered having. “So how weird is it to live by all this?”
“At first, very strange, honestly. When I first moved in, there were meth dealers using the graveyard as a hiding place, and the noises coming from their activities were spooky. We, of course, didn’t know what was going on.
Honestly, I wasn’t discounting ghosts. It was Halloween, and that didn’t help. ”
“We?”
“Ruth, my wife. She owns the house next door to mine and works at the hospital. We’ve since combined households and rented out mine, but still the graveyard is a constant.”
Putting Gage together with the Ruth she knew didn’t take long. “I take it you discovered the activity?”
He nodded. “Oh yes, whole big hullabaloo. In the process, we discovered many of the headstones had been damaged and time was taking it’s toll on the whole cemetery.
So, we put together a committee, and we do monthly checks and repairs.
” Gage stopped by the middle-row and pointed.
“On the end where the white poinsettia is. You’ll find it. It was good to see you.”
Summer banished the nerves and smiled. “You and I should get coffee at Clem’s some morning?”
“Sharing our famous exploits?”
“I’m going to paint a mural for the town. The where is still to be determined, but Mrs. Heigl suggested family histories as a theme, and I agreed. Sounds like you might be a good resource. There’s the famous thing, too. We gotta stick together.”
Gage laughed, relaxed and full-throated. “I’m all for new and famous friends. “How about in the morning? I’ll meet you at ten? We’ll avoid the breakfast rush.”
“Can do. See you.”
“Holler if you need anything else. I am acquainted with some of the town’s most famous historians and genealogists.” He winked.
“Good to know, but I’m friends with Adelina, too.”
“Damn. That woman gets around. But do you know Mr. Snidely? Expert right there.”
She couldn’t keep the smirk off her face. “My high school art teacher. He taught me to paint. Plus, I spent some time at Olivia Applegate’s dinner table discussing this subject. Let’s compare notes.”
Gage grinned. “Well, double damn. You do get around. We’ll talk.” He waved goodbye and went to the front to retrieve his wheelbarrow.
Summer carefully picked her way headstone by headstone. She’d never recognized how much of Echo Falls rested here. She’d been too busy avoiding and nursing her anger.
The sign over the gate read Echo Falls Family Cemetery, though she had a vague memory of her grandmother using the Slade-Lopez name.
In truth, this was where the memorial had its roots – a handful of markers on a roped off piece of land.
Over the years, as other families asked to bury their own, the area expanded.
Carnahan here, Applegate over there, Caldwell by the fence.
She walked slowly, reading names she’d only heard at Olivia’s dinner table, and realized the town wasn’t only stories told over supper. It was here, carved in stone, each one a thread tied to her own.
She stopped. Her grandparents. Here they were with leaves piled against the tombstones, as if nobody cared.
Tears flooded her eyes. I do!
She knelt and swept away the debris. She read the words on her grandmother’s stone and traced them with her finger. Shifting to her grandfather’s, she stared at it. Tom must have ordered and placed this marker. She didn’t remember it. Lord, what kind of granddaughter was she?
She thought anger carried her here.
She thought she’d follow Olivia’s advice – yell at him and get it out of her system.
But there weren’t any words she hadn’t already said except I’m sorry and I forgive you. Regret twisted through her insides, aching and pricking.
“I’m the only one still carrying this,” she whispered to the trees swaying with the light breeze. She wiped her eyes. Hand on his headstone, she offered the only thing necessary. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. Please forgive me.”
He had worked through his anger and remorse before dying.
He’d hung her best painting over his bed to honor her work, and he gave away those left to friends.
The act spread her memory through the community.
Humility flooded her. “Grandpa is gone, Summer. Time to recognize he said sorry the only way he could.”
She sat back in the grass and let the tears flow.
She didn’t hear him. She should have. Tom’s uniform creaked with the gear he wore. He knelt beside her, put a hand on her back, and kissed her hair. “I’m here.”
“How did you know?”
“Grandma.” He gazed across the headstones, his eyes stopping here and there.
She wiped her face with her sweatshirt and leaned closer to him. “I came to yell at my grandfather, but I met the whole town.”
“Now you get why I stay.”
She grabbed his hand. “You would have left here? For me?”
Tom nodded. “But you pushed me back, and I’ve been waiting for you to understand it’s your place, too.”
“I didn’t recognize why. I held on to you, but didn’t accept I could be here, too. So trapped in anger, and it’s time to let it go. I love you so much. I’m sorry. I’ve messed us up.”
He rose, pulled her to her feet, and cupped her face. “I’m right here, honey. Not going anywhere, and we aren’t messed up. We’re working out what we need. I love you, too.” He gently kissed her, sliding his arms around her waist and holding her close.
Dusk drew its veil over the cemetery as they moved together, slow and deliberate.
Tom’s murmured reassurances anchored her heartbeat, steadying what had been unsteady for so long.
She listened—to him, to the quiet, to the names around them.
For the first time, she saw her grandparents’ legacy not as a weight but as a place to stand.
Their names carved in stone beside his family’s — LeFey here, Applegate there — a reminder that roots weren’t chains, but were decades of lives built in love that made this town what it was.
She wasn’t outside looking in anymore. She could step into belonging, one choice at a time.
&&&&&&&&&&&
The house was empty. Mia’s brother, Chance, had gone to Fort Worth for a couple of days to watch Phoebe Cara in some ballet program at the Bass Performance Hall. Boy, he was besotted.
School got out at noon with her too sick to attend. Her mother went back to work for the afternoon. Christmas Eve was only days away. Time to wrap up this mess.
Mia waited impatiently by the front door, peering through the glass panel on the side. She’d brushed her hair and changed to red yoga pants, but she couldn’t do more without needing to lay down. Every breath burned.