ARIANNE SAT AND TRACED THE LETTERS carved on the headstone. The marble played between cold and warm, since the often cheerful sun hadn’t quite made up its mind yet, still holding on to a last few snatches of sleep. The blades of grass that tickled her calves still held moisture from their morning shower. A breeze made friends with her hair, teasing strands out of the loose bun she’d twisted them in. She’d removed her wide-brimmed hat seconds after she’d arrived. It sat content on her lap as she conversed with Carrie.
“It’s weird, really,” Arianne said. “I wish I’d gone to talk to you sooner. Niko kept telling me how I can continue to remember you without being consumed by my grief. A couple of months ago, I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to let go of the pain I was in. Mom has grown to like him. Dad says we dated before the incident with Darla.” She paused, recalling the events that still made her arm ache when the weather got a little too cold or damp. “I feel sorry for her. I wish things could have turned out differently. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I should never have led her on the way I did. I thought enduring the bullying she’d put me through was my way of atoning for what I did. But I just couldn’t take it anymore. I snapped. And she lost everything.”
Arianne traced the scar that reminded her never to pretend to have feelings for someone. If she didn’t feel the same, she needed to be honest about it. When she’d sought comfort in Darla’s company, she should have said no the first time they’d kissed. She should have stopped it then.
“There are many things that I wish I hadn’t done,” she continued. “I think we all feel that way.” A deep sigh came from a sad place in her heart. “Darla’s in good hands now. The judge sent her to a facility instead of juvi. I pray for her every night.”
A brown thrasher burst into a medley of songs.
“Visited Ben before you.” She chuckled. “I know, I know, I should have come to you first, but you’re a talker. He, at least, just listens. I’m still mad at him for not being strong enough to stay alive. He’s so selfish sometimes. But we’ll figure things out. He loved you so much. I wish I could find someone who’d love me like that.” Her mood dropped a degree. “I miss you both so much.” A sniff turned into a whimper. Arianne fished out a tissue from her dress pocket and blew her nose. “I know I promised not to cry. So sue me.” She chased away her stray tears.
The scent of Old Spice aftershave passed by.
“Good morning, Mr. Freeman,” Arianne greeted. “Ben’s waiting.”
A callused hand touched her cheek.
Mr. Freeman never spoke when he came around, and Arianne didn’t push him. She waited until his concrete-heavy feet moved away before continuing.
“I wish I could do more for him. But until he wants my help, there’s only so much I can offer.” Arianne breathed in the cusp of spring and summer, tilting her head to receive a kiss from the sun. Niko’s question the night before entered her mind.
“He asked me out last night,” she said. “I’m not sure how to respond. Dad says we dated. Darla went crazy because apparently Niko and I were in love, but I don’t remember any of that, Carrie. Sometimes Niko gets really intense. Even if I can’t see him, I can feel the way he looks at me, like I’m about to vanish into thin air or something. And the way he follows me everywhere…It freaks me out a little. I let him come to the house because he says he wants to help me.” Arianne played with the wadded ball of tissue in her hands. “It’s either talk to him or go to therapy. He’s sweet and he really does help. I wouldn’t be here talking to you if he wasn’t.”
Blades of grass rubbed against each other in the breeze to create a hushed shhh.
“I know.” Arianne nodded once. “I should give him a chance. Darla stabbed him, did I tell you that? Oh, wait, I guess I did. And I know that’s not a good excuse to agree to go on a date with him, right?” She slapped the stone. “Don’t call it a pity date. It’s not like that. I don’t understand how I feel. He makes me laugh. He teaches me how to move on, move forward. And he actually quoted Kofi Annan. Can you believe it? ‘To live is to choose.’” She imitated Niko’s soft yet often serious voice.
Beyond the reach of her senses, a figure stood under the shade of the massive oak that watched over the residents and visitors of Blackwood Cemetery. He studied her a moment longer. Then he replaced the baseball cap he’d removed earlier, covering his sandy locks from view. He made sure he had no curious onlookers before he disappeared.