arms. “ Cynthia says, huh?”
“That’s what she told me to call her.”
“You are quite the charmer, aren’t you?”
Brandon smiles and gently places his hand on my cheek.
“There’s only one girl I’m interested in charming.”
“Well, mission accomplished.”
Brandon lowers his head, kissing me gently.
“You’re sure you want me there?”
“I do.”
He nods and we grab our coats off the couch just as mom returns to the living room. She adjusts the scarf around her neck and zips her jacket.
“Are we ready?”
Brandon and I nod, and the two of us follow Mom to her car.
The small cemetery rests on a hillside just behind the Methodist church. A dusting of snow covers the grass and ice has settled on the tombstones. The rain has stopped for now, but the wind is bitterly cold. I tighten my scarf around my neck, but my body trembles anyway.
“Are you okay?” Brandon asks.
“Just cold.”
He wraps his arm around me as we walk toward the gravesite. Mom is ahead of us, and I don’t know if it’s because she wants to give us privacy or if she wishes it for herself. Her mood has changed drastically since we left the house, but that’s to be expected, I think. And I know, once we return home, we’ll probably have something simple for dinner before Mom heads to her bedroom for the night. That’s been the routine since I was little, and while I didn’t understand it as a young girl, I get it now. She needs her time, too. Time to grieve. Time to remember. I don’t expect her routine to change just because we’re visiting, and I wouldn’t want it to.
A concrete bench rests next to Dad’s grave. It’s damp and cold, but on this day, Mom always brings a blanket. She lays it across the bench and the three of us sit down, with me in the middle. Brandon takes my hand while I reach for Mom’s with the other. She and I never say anything during these visits—at least not out loud—but I silently talk to my dad, telling him about whatever’s going on in my life. I suspect Mom does the same, but we don’t talk about it.
Today, I have a lot to say.
Hi, Dad. I’m graduating this year. I’m going to be an English teacher, and I can’t wait to see my very first classroom. I wish you were here to see it, too. I wish you were here to watch me walk across the stage at graduation. And I wish I wasn’t bitter that you aren’t. Maybe someday, I won’t be. Everyone says I should be proud of your sacrifice, and I guess I am. But I don’t understand it. I don’t see how the war could have been more important than your marriage. Or me. Maybe someday I’ll understand, but today is not that day, and I’m sorry about that.
As if he knows I need the support, Brandon gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.
Dad, this is Brandon. He’s really wonderful. I think you’d approve. I know Mom does. I really like him. I think . . . I could love him. I think he could love me, too.
After a while, Mom sighs softly and rises to her feet.
“It’s getting colder,” she says.
Taking that as our cue, Brandon and I stand up, too.
He glances up at the sky. “Those look like snow clouds to me.”
Mom and I turn to go, but Brandon doesn’t move. Instead, his eyes are now fixed on my father’s grave.
With a solemn expression on his face, Brandon stands ramrod straight and gives the tombstone a salute.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Brandon
Running on a snowy trail is rarely fun, but it’s good practice. As a soldier, you obviously have no idea where you might be stationed, so getting used to extreme weather is part of our conditioning drills. Still, running on ice is kind of impossible, so I’m grateful to find that the roads are snow-covered, giving me just enough traction to not kill myself.
The road crews are already out, clearing the snow from the highway. One of the trucks even stopped for me, and the driver asked if I needed a lift. When I told him I was out for my morning run, he looked at me like I was an
“That’s what she told me to call her.”
“You are quite the charmer, aren’t you?”
Brandon smiles and gently places his hand on my cheek.
“There’s only one girl I’m interested in charming.”
“Well, mission accomplished.”
Brandon lowers his head, kissing me gently.
“You’re sure you want me there?”
“I do.”
He nods and we grab our coats off the couch just as mom returns to the living room. She adjusts the scarf around her neck and zips her jacket.
“Are we ready?”
Brandon and I nod, and the two of us follow Mom to her car.
The small cemetery rests on a hillside just behind the Methodist church. A dusting of snow covers the grass and ice has settled on the tombstones. The rain has stopped for now, but the wind is bitterly cold. I tighten my scarf around my neck, but my body trembles anyway.
“Are you okay?” Brandon asks.
“Just cold.”
He wraps his arm around me as we walk toward the gravesite. Mom is ahead of us, and I don’t know if it’s because she wants to give us privacy or if she wishes it for herself. Her mood has changed drastically since we left the house, but that’s to be expected, I think. And I know, once we return home, we’ll probably have something simple for dinner before Mom heads to her bedroom for the night. That’s been the routine since I was little, and while I didn’t understand it as a young girl, I get it now. She needs her time, too. Time to grieve. Time to remember. I don’t expect her routine to change just because we’re visiting, and I wouldn’t want it to.
A concrete bench rests next to Dad’s grave. It’s damp and cold, but on this day, Mom always brings a blanket. She lays it across the bench and the three of us sit down, with me in the middle. Brandon takes my hand while I reach for Mom’s with the other. She and I never say anything during these visits—at least not out loud—but I silently talk to my dad, telling him about whatever’s going on in my life. I suspect Mom does the same, but we don’t talk about it.
Today, I have a lot to say.
Hi, Dad. I’m graduating this year. I’m going to be an English teacher, and I can’t wait to see my very first classroom. I wish you were here to see it, too. I wish you were here to watch me walk across the stage at graduation. And I wish I wasn’t bitter that you aren’t. Maybe someday, I won’t be. Everyone says I should be proud of your sacrifice, and I guess I am. But I don’t understand it. I don’t see how the war could have been more important than your marriage. Or me. Maybe someday I’ll understand, but today is not that day, and I’m sorry about that.
As if he knows I need the support, Brandon gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.
Dad, this is Brandon. He’s really wonderful. I think you’d approve. I know Mom does. I really like him. I think . . . I could love him. I think he could love me, too.
After a while, Mom sighs softly and rises to her feet.
“It’s getting colder,” she says.
Taking that as our cue, Brandon and I stand up, too.
He glances up at the sky. “Those look like snow clouds to me.”
Mom and I turn to go, but Brandon doesn’t move. Instead, his eyes are now fixed on my father’s grave.
With a solemn expression on his face, Brandon stands ramrod straight and gives the tombstone a salute.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Brandon
Running on a snowy trail is rarely fun, but it’s good practice. As a soldier, you obviously have no idea where you might be stationed, so getting used to extreme weather is part of our conditioning drills. Still, running on ice is kind of impossible, so I’m grateful to find that the roads are snow-covered, giving me just enough traction to not kill myself.
The road crews are already out, clearing the snow from the highway. One of the trucks even stopped for me, and the driver asked if I needed a lift. When I told him I was out for my morning run, he looked at me like I was an
Similar Books
