Chapter 48 Present
It was time to mark off the last two names on my list.
We pulled up, and Mom put the car in park.
She didn’t rush me. She didn’t have to.
We sat in silence until I finally said, “I can do this.”
I wasn’t sure if I was telling her or myself, but either way, she nodded.
“Yes, you can.”
I opened the door and let it close behind me with a thud—a sound sharper than I expected. It made me jump.
I steadied my breath and took a few cautious steps forward, toward a place I hadn’t been in nearly sixteen years.
It’s been sixteen years since that night.
Sixteen years since I felt him breathe me in… since I last heard him say, “Love ya, honeysuckle.”
Sixteen years since I stood in the place where I lost everything.
The plantation house is long gone now.
Phil Newsome donated the entire property to the town a few years after Paul died. He lives in a retirement home on the north side of the lake now—or at least that’s what Mrs. Betty told me during our interview.
The townspeople all agreed the land would better serve Shay as a public space.
Now, you can sip coffee, walk your dog, and pretend this is a peaceful place.
But I still hear the splintering wood and screaming.
I still hear the gunshots.
There’s nothing peaceful about this place.
Well, maybe one thing.
There are benches tucked beneath the honeysuckle bushes. Three of them.
Each one marked with a plaque.
Katie Newsome
“Shay’s Sweetheart. A loving mother and devoted teacher.”
Paul Newsome
“Paulie” — Forever our town hero. Beloved son and brother.
Nicholas Newsome
“Nick” — Our All-American boy. Loyal son and brother.
Nick died fifteen years ago—almost a year to the day after Paul took his last breath.
I was away at school when it happened. My mom sent me the article.
A freak accident. They said he fell from the deck of a ship.
Thankfully, they recovered his body.
He was given a full military funeral: a 21-gun salute, a folded flag, and all the honors.
Phil Newsome accepted the flag on his behalf.
I walked over to Paul’s bench.
As much as I wanted to sit and stay awhile, I couldn’t.
Instead, I took a deep breath and let my fingertips trace his name—just like I once did with the scar on his neck.
Funny how something so small—just a few carved letters—could carry the weight of an entire lifetime.
I stood there, letting the silence settle around me, trying to remember the sound of his laugh, the warmth of his hands, the way he used to say my name like it was the only one that ever mattered.
For a moment, it almost felt like he was there.
And maybe, in some strange way, he was.
…
There was one more stop before heading home.
Mom didn’t ask where—we both knew.
She waited in the car while I crossed the gravel path toward the cemetery gates.
This time, my legs didn’t feel like lead.
This time, I didn’t hesitate.
I found them—Paul, Katie, and Nick—lined up like chapters in a story with an unfinished ending.
The grass was soft and even, the flowers freshly placed.
Nick’s headstone had a crisp little flag fluttering in the breeze.
I knelt down and pulled three letters from my bag.
One for each of them.
Words I should’ve said.
Words I never got the chance to say.
I tucked the envelopes gently against the cool stone.
To Paul’s, I added something extra—
A honeysuckle bloom from the bush near the bench.
Then, before I stood, I whispered one last thing:
“I love you. Always.”
And then I stood.
Let the wind carry the rest.
And walked away.