From the tension in the air, I didn’t think these people were all on the same side exactly. No, this felt more like a strained truce that would remain long enough to see their mutual enemy, or friend, buried.
It probably mattered a lot who I decided to stand by. But it wasn’t a hard choice. I strode up the open pathway through the crowd and climbed the stairs to stand next to two people, Violet Beckstrom and Zayvion Jones. Just to make sure they got my point, I turned to look out at the crowd. We stood, Zayvion on one side and Violet on the other, shoulder to shoulder.
I liked that feeling. Liked the guarded looks of respect, and anger, and curiosity it brought from the crowd.
And no matter how much my logical mind doubted I was making a good choice, since I didn’t even know what the hells I was choosing, my gut, my heart, knew I was right where I should be.
“Is this all of us, then?” I asked in a calm voice.
Violet, next to me, nodded. “We may begin.”
The big double doors behind us opened, and a group of six men brought out a casket. Instead of carrying it on their shoulders, they carried it low, at hip height. And instead of the lid being closed, it was open, from head to toe.
We stepped to one side, and the pallbearers brought the casket forward and paused in front of us, letting us take a long look.
That was my dad. No doubt in my mind. That was my dad’s overpreserved, leathery, gray, rotting corpse. He was naked except for a black blanket across his hips. Zayvion squeezed my hand gently in silent sympathy. Violet, on the other side, placed a lavender handkerchief on my dad’s chest, over his heart.
The pallbearers moved on. They walked slowly down the stairs, pausing every five steps so those in the crowd could look into the casket and agree that the body in that coffin was my dad. Once everyone got a chance to see him, the lid was placed upon the casket, and the pallbearers began the slow, long walk to my father’s grave.
We followed along behind, and no one spoke a word. Only the sound of our shoes on the grass and the rain on our umbrellas stirred the silence. Zay was beside me, his hand still in mine, no mint, but the scent of pine and a familiar warmth that was solid and real in this surreal moment.
We walked out to the thin gathering of trees, barren of leaves, stone angels grieving at their roots, black limbs spread against a stormy sky. A draped lowering device surrounded the newly re-dug grave.
The pallbearers placed the casket on the lowering device and lifted the lid on the casket one more time. All of us could see it was still his corpse. Wetter now, but still the same. A few people leaned in closer to get one last look. I did not feel the need to do so.
The pallbearers closed and locked the coffin lid and then worked the controls so the coffin could be lowered.
No one moved forward after that. Everyone watched as the coffin sank to the bottom of the grave, the equipment was removed, and the cemetery grave diggers-three of them wearing black raincoats and carrying shovels-cut shovelfuls of dirt and threw it into the hole.
No one sang. No one cried. No one gave words or comfort or remembrance. There was no sound at all except silence, raindrops, and the heavy thud of dirt upon pine.
After an unspecified time, the crowd began to break up. Each person walked past me and Zayvion and Violet. Some stopped and spoke to Violet in a low tone. No one spoke to me. Some made eye contact, looking for something or maybe trying to tell me something, and then looking away. Some turned so I never got a good look at them.
I tried to commit as many of their faces to memory as I could, inhaled to get the scents of them. Then they were gone, black coats beneath black umbrellas, beneath a dark sky.
The grave diggers were still filling the grave. Violet stood at the edge, watching each shovelful of dirt cascade down. Kevin, hands folded behind his back, stood by her side. I thought they looked good together, him painfully reserved but radiating strength and loyalty, her small, pale, and, I knew, fierce.
Violet’s shoulders shook and she put her hands over her face.
Kevin lifted his hand, hesitated with it just above her shoulder, as if weighing the consequences. Then the moment was gone. He quietly drew his hand away and stood, once again as only her guard-near her, but not touching her, his hands folded behind his back.
My heart hurt. For her. For him. For what they almost had.
“Allie?” Zayvion’s voice was quiet.
I looked over at him.
“Would you like to get out of the rain?”
What I would like was some kind of an explanation. Of where he had been the last five days.
But suddenly I realized I was really cold. My feet were numb from standing in the same place for so long. “Fine,” I said.
I walked over to Violet. Caught Kevin’s gaze. He sized me up.
Unreadable, that man. He tipped his chin down, just enough, I knew he was giving his okay.
I gently put my hand on Violet’s back. She had both her hands across her stomach now. She was shorter than me, thin, petite. Standing this close to her, touching her, made me realize how small and breakable she was, and I felt an overwhelming desire to protect her, to not let her, or my sibling she was carrying, get hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She did not look at me. Did not look away from the grave.
“So am I,” she whispered.
“Are you going to be okay?”
She nodded. “It’s going to take some time. More time,” she said faintly.
“If you need me,” I said, “I’ll be here.”
I wanted to say more, wanted to tell her words of comfort, wanted to tell her that I had spoken to him, to his spirit, but it seemed like the worst time ever to bring that up.
“Take care of her.” I said to Kevin. He nodded. I walked back to Zay, and he fell into step with me as we crossed the graveyard.
“Where were you?” I asked. I hadn’t meant for my voice to catch.
“Lobbying for you.”
“With whom?”
“Them.” He pointed in the direction of the people leaving the cemetery.
“Maeve stopped by.”
Zayvion, the graceful, the unflappable Zen master, tripped on smooth ground. “She did?” he asked as he pulled himself back up and dusted his muddy hands.
“That worries you?” I asked.
He took a deep breath, let it out through his mouth in a cloud of steam. “Honestly? Yes. Yes, it does. What did she want?”
“She and I… talked. She mentioned some teaching.”
Zayvion smiled and put his hands in his pockets. I could almost feel the tension draining from his body. “And you said yes, right?”
I shrugged one shoulder.
“Allie.” He sounded worried. “You did say yes, didn’t you?”
“You never asked me if I wanted you to lobby for me, Zayvion. You went out and decided my future for me.”
He stopped. Looked off at the horizon, his breath coming out in steam. It was still raining and he hadn’t removed his knit cap. He looked like he was trying hard to keep it together. Like maybe a lot was riding on this.
“You should have asked me,” I said.
He turned back to me, Zen, calm. Ready to hear my answer. “I see that now. Did you say no to her?” His eyes were brown, but flecks of gold sprayed through them, as if he were trying very hard not to use magic. Or maybe that was what his eyes always did when he was worried.
“No,” I said. “I told Maeve I want to learn. But don’t ever assume you can make decisions for me, Zayvion
