14
Ten years after the murder, Cleo returned to Saint Aurelia.
She had refused every earlier invitation.
The island government planned to dedicate a memorial near the eastern trail.
The Freeman family declined to attend.
Renee said, “My son does not belong to that cliff.”
Isaiah agreed.
Cleo went for a different reason.
She wanted the place to become finite.
Robert traveled with her, though he remained at the hotel.
“You do not need a witness,” he told her. “You need to know one is nearby.”
The eastern path had been rebuilt.
Steel barriers replaced the broken wood.
Warning signs appeared in three languages.
A small plaque stood before the observation point.
IN MEMORY OF JAMAL ISAIAH FREEMAN
SCHOLAR. ATHLETE. LEADER. BELOVED SON.
MURDERED HERE AFTER SAVING ANOTHER LIFE.
Cleo read it twice.
She disliked the list.
Scholar.
Athlete.
Leader.
The same measurements.
She took a folded card from her pocket and placed it beneath the plaque.
On it, she had written:
He laughed too loudly at bad movies. He forgot onions. He loved his parents. He loved me. That was enough.
The ocean moved below.
Cleo approached the barrier.
She did not imagine Jamal falling.
Not at first.
She imagined him at her apartment table holding a turkey egg-white sandwich.
The valedictorian face.
The laugh.
His promise.
Cleopatra Brooks, I am coming home.
“You did,” she whispered.
Wind moved across the cliff.
She allowed herself to cry.
No cameras.
No speeches.
No legal argument.
Only grief in the place where argument had replaced a life.
After several minutes, a voice spoke behind her.
“I didn’t know whether you would come.”
Cleo turned.
Lauren stood several yards away.
Older.
Hair shorter.
No attempt to hide.
“You were invited?” Cleo asked.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you attend the ceremony?”
“I didn’t want my presence to become part of the story again.”
Cleo nodded.
Lauren looked toward the plaque.
“They still listed everything.”
“I added something.”
Lauren read the card.
Tears filled her eyes.
“He did laugh loudly.”
“You heard him?”
“On the plane. Cameron played some terrible comedy.”
Cleo almost smiled.
Lauren stood beside her, leaving enough space.
“Do you think he knew how much you loved him?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Lauren looked relieved.
“Good.”
They remained near the cliff.
Not friends.
Not enemies.
Two women who loved Jamal in unequal and entirely different ways.
One loved him as a person.
The other had briefly loved what he represented.
Both had learned the difference too late.