Wind came, scattering silver snow beads. Near the top of the hill a fawn stood watching the two men, graceful and supple against the white hills and the cloudless blue sky.
Wagner stared into the empty hole of the grave. 'I'm never going to be the same, Brolan.'
'I know.'
'She was some goddamned kid.'
'She sure was.'
Wagner started crying. 'I don't have anybody,' he said. 'And I'm going to miss the hell out of her.'
Brolan put his hands on the wheelchair handles and started pushing Wagner through the snow to where Brolan's car sat on the winding gravel drive.
At the car, after Brolan had helped him inside and folded up the chair and made him comfortable on the front seat, Wagner said, 'Think you'll ever come over and see me, Brolan?'
Brolan didn't answer. He closed Wagner's door and then went around the car and got in behind the wheel. The car had just had a tune-up. It started almost silently. He drove them out of the cemetery.
'I don't think I probably will come to see you,' Brolan said as they reached the two-lane highway and started driving past farms huddling against distant hills. 'You've got rotten taste in movies.'
'What?' Wagner said, startled by Brolan's light tone.
'You like the early Charlie Chans. I like the ones that were done at Monogram.'
'Monogram? You're crazy, Brolan. Did I ever tell you that?' And just for a moment Brolan didn't answer. Wagner saw why. Something had caught in Brolan's throat, and he had a hard time swallowing, and something silver appeared in the corners of his eyes. Wagner had been wondering if Brolan was ever going to show that he, too, mourned Denise. Now Wagner had his answer.
'That's what I mean,' Brolan said, clearing his throat at last. 'Why the hell would I want to hang around with somebody who doesn't appreciate Monogram movies?'
Something like a laugh rumbled through Wagner's chest as he looked out on the vast white mid-western landscape and saw a ghost image of a pretty little girl doomed to run away to the city and die.
Brolan said no more then. They drove for many miles in silence, up and down the rolling white mid-western hills. Wagner thought of Denise. God, how he thought of Denise.
