Tattooed Hearts by Mika Jolie Page B

congregation like a black shroud. Claire blew out a breath and slipped one hand in the crook
of her mother’s arm, a desperate attempt to stabilize
the wobbly nerves roiling in the pit of her stomach. Instead a fresh chill ran
along her spine. Shadows of ghosts lurked in the open space, watching,
whispering. She shivered. Cemeteries were places to kee p the dead, held them prisoners, entombed in cement and dirt. The last
time she stepped foot on this barren and shallow place was six years ago to bid
farewell to Jason’s mother. It felt like yesterday.
    “You okay?” Her mother
asked as they headed toward th e site where Luc was to
be buried.
    Under the wintry air,
her breath rose in visible puffs. She glanced at her mother. Long braids
sprinkled with gray streaks pulled back into a bun away from her barely
wrinkled face. As always, her mother’s skin had a glow ,
despite the heartbreak from her first love, left alone pregnant at twenty-four,
the financial hardship she faced growing up dirt-poor, she’d always maintained a positive outlook on
life. And for that, Claire always found herself in awe of her mother.
    “I’ m fine.” She looked up to the sky. Overhead, dark clouds
blotted out the sun, hanging over the stones of the dead like a heavy,
suffocating sheath. Yet, the air smelled clean and crisp, nothing at all like
rain.
    Snow. A storm was brewing. The gods were eit her happy to welcome Luc home or upset over their tragic
error.
    She scanned the
graveyard, hundreds of tombstones around her, each one bearing the name of
someone who once lived on the island. Now, as the myth said, their souls roamed
these lands, right wh ere she stood. “I feel like I’m
being watched by thousands of restless souls.”
    “We think graveyards
are spooky because we fear death,” her mother said in a reflective voice. “Why
not think of it as a resting place?” She glanced at Claire and smiled. “A pea ceful
place to recall good memories.”
    “Everything here
screams final.”
    “You think so?”
    “I do.” Her gaze
stayed on the six men carrying the mahogany coffin–Forrest , his
lifelong friends , his godfather, Charles , and Adam’s father, Christiano–all
dressed in black. Six strong men, yet, from time to
time they had to stop and garner their strengths.
    Claire’s gaze followed
the multitude of mourners turned out to bid adieu to Luc. All around were
tear-stained faces, shoulders slumped under the weight of death’s ha nd. Some chatted in a hushed tone, nodding
with a smile over words spoken amongst them.
    Once the coffin was
placed by the dug-up soil, Charles and Forrest trudged over to Marjorie.
Claire’s heart clenched at the sight of Forrest’s mother. Her eyes swollen with saturated grief, acknowledging the finality of death,
never to look upon her husband’s face again, feel his embrace, or surrounded by
his love. Charles said something to Forrest then wrapped Marjorie in the
comfort of his arm. Pain etched the older ma n’s face.
He’d been down this road before , this was his second time burying a loved one. His wife and now his best friend.
    Claire peeked at
Forrest–shoulders squared, face still and serious as he stared
straight ahead into nothingness. The only thing that gave
a hint of his agony was the few days old scruff he neglected to shave. Still,
he looked perfectly put together. He always had a way of maintaining full
control of any situation. She’d known him all of her life and could count on
one hand the few times he’d lost control, most of
them with her.
    Along with her mother,
Claire huddled by the tombstone next to Adam, Jason, Blake, and their wives.
Greetings and hugs were already exchanged at the church, now as they stood by
the cold earth where Luc was to be laid, silence
prevailed.
    “Would anyone like to
say something before the final farewell?” the pastor asked.
    Without a word,
Charles released Marjorie to Forrest and walked up to the coffin. His fingers
lingered on