Chapter 37 - Dean
Dean
“Is there anywhere else you want to go before we enter?” Lily asked as we stood at the cemetery’s edge.
“Nothing. I’m ready to visit my mother’s grave, and I need you with me. I don’t want to go alone.”
We paused at its open gates until Lily took my hand, leading me forward. Rows of headstones stared at us, wondering why we interrupted their hibernation. So did I.
“I don’t know where to go.” There were so many, I couldn’t tell them apart.
“I do.” Lily guided me to my mother’s headstone. “Right in the middle, by the bench.”
Simple granite, with no decorative flair, awaited us. Nothing on it suggested it belonged to my mother, apart from a name and the relevant dates.
Beloved wife and mother
I touched the cold stone, unsure of what to do next.
Lily covered my hand with her own. “Talk to her. I can give you space if that’s easier.”
“No, please don’t. Stay with me.”
I hugged her close, and Lily did the same.
Silence returned as I struggled over what to say. I didn’t pray or believe in an afterlife. A conversation with a hunk of granite sounded insincere.
I missed my mom. I missed the security she created. I had hated witnessing her wasting away, knowing it meant she’d leave me.
“Hello, Mom.” I stumbled, trying to find the right words. My tongue formed a knot before any sound formed. “I’m sorry.”
Lily squeezed me, and I flexed at her subtle offer of comfort.
“That’s it. That’s all I have to say.” A cemetery visit shouldn’t be so difficult.
“Then tell me instead,” she suggested.
The tension left my shoulders. Speaking with Lily felt familiar.
Comfortable. “I barely recognized my old house yesterday. It’s like a little cleanup erased my existence.
” None of this explained what I wanted to say.
It didn’t even make sense to me. “My mom died in that house. My father sat at that kitchen table, drinking whisky. He put his belt on me in that house. All gone, like none of it ever happened.”
Lily pressed a hand to my chest. Her left hand, with her ring finger. She’d never taken it off since the night we arrived in Deer Lake. I covered it with my own, waiting for her to speak; instead, she stayed quiet. Her muted response, with the patience she always gave me, was exactly what I needed.
I tried again, and this time the words spilled out. “Henry said I reminded him of my mother. Why? She was sweet and kind. She played games with me and taught me to read. How am I like her?”
Lily took my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. “You took care of Weston Foster when no one else did. You’re giving him the tools to take care of himself. If that isn’t an example of a son acting like his mother, then what is?”
Lily once said I’m not a weapon. I tried again, hoping to explain. “I never expected an apology from Mrs. Willoughby. You know what’s strange? I hate Deer Lake.”
Lily snorted. “Sweetheart,” she started, borrowing my nickname. “That’s not strange. That’s your running theme.”
My lips curved in agreement. “Deer Lake was my father. I associated this town with him. Why return to a place that offers nothing but his memories?”
“So you stayed away? I understand that.”
“And as a result, I didn’t even know where my mother was buried.
” I grimaced at the brutal confession. I’d attended her funeral and never returned.
It was a hole in the ground, surrounded by people who didn’t care about her, while I didn’t care about them.
“She’s been here this entire time waiting for me.
I could have visited her anytime, and I never did. Not once.”
“You’re here now. She’d understand.”
“Maybe. I told the funeral director to toss my father’s ashes in the trash or flush them down the toilet; it didn’t matter to me. I never visited her because I made this town about him, not her. That won’t happen again.”
“It might.” Lily grabbed my jacket to pull me in. “If you do, that’s okay. We’ll talk about it some more. Healing isn’t a single conversation; it’s a process. One I’ll be with you for.”
My body relaxed, soothed by her words and this moment. “If I do, we’ll talk about it.” My lips drew into a rare smile, for Lily and my mother. For me, who confessed all this for the first time. “Thank you for coming with. Today only happened because you’re with me.”
Her eyes glowed. “There’s no place I’d rather be than right here.”
A snowflake landed on the gray headstone, melting before Lily could touch it. Another found her nose, while a few more landed on her auburn hair.
“Our first snow,” I said.
Snowflakes and thin flurries fell from the thick, gray sky. Not enough to stick, yet enough to terrify.
Lily’s eyes widened. “It’s not even November yet. Not for a few more days. So early...”
The snow, and all it implied, dampened our already somber mood.
I pulled up her hood and shivered. We didn’t have a weather app on our phone or the local news anymore. Was this an aberration or a sign of worse to come? After hurricanes and earthquakes, fires and thunderstorms from the wet underworld, only a fool believed it was the former.
“The sheriff was right. I should hurry.”
Lily shivered, and not from the cold. “Maybe you shouldn’t go. Maybe it’s an omen.”
I didn’t have a choice.
Lily’s right hand moved the finger on her left without her realizing.
The snow continued.
“What about me?”
I did it for her. “I’ll take care of you. A few snowflakes are nothing.”
My father kept me out of Deer Lake for years, and I was done with that.
My mother lived in this town, and I’d visit her again.
Perhaps years from now, if Lily agreed, we’d bring our children to meet their grandmothers.
I couldn’t do that if we left Deer Lake.
No private resort or remote farm was in our future.
My life was in this town, the one place I promised never to see again.
“Before we go…”
I pulled off my gloves and stuck them in my coat pocket. The hard ground fought me, but I picked up enough dirt to smear it across the headstone. When finished, I stepped back to admire my handiwork.
June Eloise Montgomery.
Beloved Mother
“Now we go. We’re hungry, and there’s plenty of work before tonight’s meeting,” I said.
The snow stopped as we left the cemetery.