He remembered sunlight, and warmth. He remembered people reaching out to touch his arm—not his arm, the babies he held in his arms. People had been gently touching the babies, tears in their eyes. There was a glossy wooden coffin. “It was her funeral.”
He remembered something of his wife...finally! And the realization was both a relief and a punch to the gut. He couldn’t remember what she looked like, but he remembered the closed lid of the coffin, some fingerprints on the surface, a bouquet of flowers that someone had put on top. Other people must have been holding the babies for a while, because he remembered putting his hand out, his palm flat against the wood as grief tore through him.
Sawyer pulled to a stop next to his uncle’s vehicle, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. Tears welled up inside of him, but he wouldn’t let them through.
“Sawyer?” Olivia’s hand touched his arm, and he turned off the engine, then let his hands drop.
“It’s okay,” he said. He didn’t want to delve into that memory here. It was private, and he didn’t want to let the lid off of those tears. But he had the memory—and he was holding on to it with everything he had.
“You remember Mia?” she whispered.
“I remember her funeral,” he said huskily. “It’s something.”
His emotions clashed inside of him, and he looked over to see that Lloyd stood outside the church entrance, waiting for them. There were expectations here. Sawyer pushed open his door.
“You okay?” Lloyd asked, frowning and stepping closer. Maybe Sawyer wasn’t so good at hiding his feelings, because Lloyd looked downright scared.
“Yeah, yeah...” Sawyer looked around, trying to center himself. He glanced back at the truck—the girls still in their car seats.
“She’s buried in the churchyard,” Olivia said quietly, and Sawyer looked past the church toward the graveyard beside it. “I could show you where—”
“No.” It came out more gruffly than he’d intended. But he didn’t want any company for this, especially not from someone he’d remembered before Mia.
“Why don’t Olivia and I take the girls into church,” Lloyd said. “And you can go...pay your respects.”
It was like his uncle had read his mind, and Sawyer looked back into the truck window one last time to see Bella trying to reach her little shoe, and Lizzie chewing on a seat belt strap.
“It’s fine,” Olivia said quickly. “Come into the church whenever you’re ready. We’ll sit in the back.”
“Okay.”
Sawyer met her gaze once more, and he could see sadness swimming there. She shrugged faintly. He nodded, acknowledging the gift of some time alone that she was giving him. Then he started off across the gravel parking lot toward the graveyard. He didn’t remember it, but if Mia was buried there, he’d find her. And maybe with the grave, he’d get some peace.
He could hear the babble of his daughters behind him, the gentle tones of Olivia’s voice. From inside the church, he could hear the sound of a piano filtering outside, and the tune sounded hauntingly familiar, but again, he couldn’t quite place it.
The graveyard was fenced off with a low stone wall, and he walked around it to a narrow gate bearing a plaque etched with a verse:
Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.
An ancient tree from outside the graveyard stretched long branches out over the wall and provided a bit of shade. Most of the headstones this close to the fence were old, moss growing up the sides and the engravings tough to make out. Further back, the headstones got newer, and he walked in that direction. He scanned the names—Robert Eugene, Viola Travis, Candy Newhart... Did he know any of these people in his past? Had any of these people touched his life in some way? He strolled past the headstones, reading names and dates, pausing at a few that had his last name. Were they family? Probably. But he didn’t remember any of them.
“Lord, let me remember,” he whispered.
He’d read in Genesis that morning where God said that it wasn’t good for man to be alone, and that void in his head where a lifetime of memories were supposed to reside made him ache with loneliness. Except, he wasn’t entirely alone. He had God. He had Lloyd, his little girls, and now Olivia—this mix of people by his side who kept telling him who he used to be. They’d loved him...or cared about him at least.
Walter West. That name tugged at something inside of him, something that smelled like Old Spice and hay. He looked at the dates. Could this be his father?
A flicker of a face teased in his mind—a man with a bushy beard and twinkling eyes. He was peeling an apple with a pocketknife, the peel winding down in a continuous coil.
Dad. He was certain of it now. This was his father’s grave, and with it came some fragmented memories. A hand on his shoulder, a chipped coffee mug, a deep voice that was slow and quiet.
We’d best head back if we’re gonna beat that weather.
Why would those words stick? Maybe his father had said them often. Sawyer rubbed a hand through his hair. But still, some memories were coming back. His memory wasn’t in one piece, and it wasn’t enough by far, but it was better than this strange emptiness he’d been carrying around.
Sawyer kept walking, and he scanned more names—Taylor, Grouse, McDonald...none of them ringing any more bells for him.
Then he spotted a small gravestone—a flat one. It looked newer than the others. He stepped closer and looked down at the inscription: “Mia West. Beloved wife, young mother, adored daughter. Rest in peace.”
This was hers—Mia’s resting place—and his heart sped up. Sawyer crouched down next to the stone and brushed a dried twig off of the smooth surface. His fingers lingered over the engraved name. He’d found her. He looked around himself, at the other gravestones, at the dappled shade left by that overhanging branch... There was a bench
