forevermore,” Sage calls. “Lucky guys.”
I’ve been so lost in my thoughts, I haven’t even paid attention to our surroundings. When I look up, expecting more coast and wildflowers and interesting cliff formations, the actuality of what looms in front of us freezes me.
I stare. I just stand along that terribly cruel trail and stare. I try to move, to think, but my body freezes, and my mind numbs. Row after row after row of gravestones rise out of the ground to the right of the trail. Hundreds, no, thousands of graves mock me.
Silently, I hike off the trail and through the old metal gates. A sign, preserved with time, reads, Waverly Cemetery . Somehow, I’m walking among the graves. While some of the tombstones are the modern kind, flat slabs of marble resting on the ground, the majority feature elaborate stone statues and carvings rising high above my head.
I shouldn’t be here.
I walk faster, read dozens of names as I pass by. No matter how fast I walk, I cannot escape the reminders. Finally, I break into a run then sigh as the names morph into a long, etched blur.
Until two interlocked hearts, engraved into one statue’s marble, catch my eye. Our symbol. I stop to glance at the stone, which is a terrible mistake, for my pause is long enough to read the first name. Robert. His name.
While the centuries are different, the continents are different, the combination of that symbol and that name are my undoing. I collapse to the manicured grass, lie across the sun-warmed stone, and sob. Long, painful wails combine with raspy gasps for air. Liquid grief pours down, covering my face, sliding down my neck, soaking my shirt.
Muted footsteps pound the cement path. Hands hold my heaving, aching body. A voice says, “Abby, oh Abby.”
None of it helps. I couldn’t care less about Sage’s soothing words, his loving hands, or his comforting body. I tried to run. But my grief has finally caught up with me, even though I’m half the world away. I guess sorrow is one of those inescapable things.
So I lie across the cool marble and whisper my apologies. Even though it’s the wrong Robert, I imagine my words carving a path straight through the earth. Waverly Cemetery, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia to Holy Souls Burial Ground, Cleveland, Ohio, United States.
When I’ve cried every drop out, when my body cannot heave a single more time, I finally stand. Sage sits quietly upon a bench, far enough away to give me privacy but near enough that I can easily spot him. He watches, still and silent, as I approach.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know.”
“H-how would you?” My throat’s raw. “I don’t talk about my past.”
“Ever?” Sage searches through his backpack until he finds a water bottle.
I take the bottle that Sage offers. The cool liquid soothes the parchedness, but my abused voice still sounds raspy. “S-since he, you know, d-d…”
“Died?” Sage whispers.
All I can do is nod. Since Robbie died. After all these months, all these years of knowing and expecting the inevitable, why can’t I speak the words?
“That’s what you’ve been running from?” Sage studies me, but he doesn’t try to touch me, thankfully. I don’t know if I could bear his affection in front of the other Robert’s grave.
“I-it happened last summer. I shut down. We were together for nearly five years, since my sophomore year of high school, and then he was just gone.”
Sage studies his shoes, as if he’s searching for the right thing to say. “An accident?”
I take a few moments to gather my thoughts. I’ve never told anyone the story, not the complete one, anyway. “Can we talk somewhere else? Away from—”
Sage jumps up. “Absolutely.”
As we head to the next beach, visible on the horizon, I think of where to begin. “I met Robbie in my algebra class, freshman year.”
“Was he a freshman, too?” Sage studies me, checking that his question was okay.
“He was a sophomore. I’m
I’ve been so lost in my thoughts, I haven’t even paid attention to our surroundings. When I look up, expecting more coast and wildflowers and interesting cliff formations, the actuality of what looms in front of us freezes me.
I stare. I just stand along that terribly cruel trail and stare. I try to move, to think, but my body freezes, and my mind numbs. Row after row after row of gravestones rise out of the ground to the right of the trail. Hundreds, no, thousands of graves mock me.
Silently, I hike off the trail and through the old metal gates. A sign, preserved with time, reads, Waverly Cemetery . Somehow, I’m walking among the graves. While some of the tombstones are the modern kind, flat slabs of marble resting on the ground, the majority feature elaborate stone statues and carvings rising high above my head.
I shouldn’t be here.
I walk faster, read dozens of names as I pass by. No matter how fast I walk, I cannot escape the reminders. Finally, I break into a run then sigh as the names morph into a long, etched blur.
Until two interlocked hearts, engraved into one statue’s marble, catch my eye. Our symbol. I stop to glance at the stone, which is a terrible mistake, for my pause is long enough to read the first name. Robert. His name.
While the centuries are different, the continents are different, the combination of that symbol and that name are my undoing. I collapse to the manicured grass, lie across the sun-warmed stone, and sob. Long, painful wails combine with raspy gasps for air. Liquid grief pours down, covering my face, sliding down my neck, soaking my shirt.
Muted footsteps pound the cement path. Hands hold my heaving, aching body. A voice says, “Abby, oh Abby.”
None of it helps. I couldn’t care less about Sage’s soothing words, his loving hands, or his comforting body. I tried to run. But my grief has finally caught up with me, even though I’m half the world away. I guess sorrow is one of those inescapable things.
So I lie across the cool marble and whisper my apologies. Even though it’s the wrong Robert, I imagine my words carving a path straight through the earth. Waverly Cemetery, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia to Holy Souls Burial Ground, Cleveland, Ohio, United States.
When I’ve cried every drop out, when my body cannot heave a single more time, I finally stand. Sage sits quietly upon a bench, far enough away to give me privacy but near enough that I can easily spot him. He watches, still and silent, as I approach.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know.”
“H-how would you?” My throat’s raw. “I don’t talk about my past.”
“Ever?” Sage searches through his backpack until he finds a water bottle.
I take the bottle that Sage offers. The cool liquid soothes the parchedness, but my abused voice still sounds raspy. “S-since he, you know, d-d…”
“Died?” Sage whispers.
All I can do is nod. Since Robbie died. After all these months, all these years of knowing and expecting the inevitable, why can’t I speak the words?
“That’s what you’ve been running from?” Sage studies me, but he doesn’t try to touch me, thankfully. I don’t know if I could bear his affection in front of the other Robert’s grave.
“I-it happened last summer. I shut down. We were together for nearly five years, since my sophomore year of high school, and then he was just gone.”
Sage studies his shoes, as if he’s searching for the right thing to say. “An accident?”
I take a few moments to gather my thoughts. I’ve never told anyone the story, not the complete one, anyway. “Can we talk somewhere else? Away from—”
Sage jumps up. “Absolutely.”
As we head to the next beach, visible on the horizon, I think of where to begin. “I met Robbie in my algebra class, freshman year.”
“Was he a freshman, too?” Sage studies me, checking that his question was okay.
“He was a sophomore. I’m
Similar Books
