“Yeah, that sounds really nice.” I pulled back, and we made our way into the tent hand-in-hand.
A cold night gave us more reason to draw closer to one another and to feel the natural warmth we were born to give.
Moss-covered cement pillars stood on either side of the cemetery threshold. It was bitter cold with no wind as I entered the gates of the cemetery. Gnarled trees hunched over most of the graves, plunging the rest in shadow. It was fucking depressing. Rows of tombstones sat in silence to the left and right, in front and behind. Some were crumbled from weathering, and some were smooth with new carved writing and laid with floral tributes.
I found my father’s grave further in the back. It was a slab of black granite and stood out among the rows of grey. Fresh flowers framed the slab. I’d remembered he’d told Ma he wanted something like this when I was younger. Evelyn had convinced me to come here when she mentioned the resentment I’d been holding. She was right, of course. I knew that, but now that I knew the truth behind what made him that way, it was time to let go.
I bent down to read the gold lettering.
Frank Rockwell
1953-2015
Gone but never forgotten.
He’d died five years ago at sixty-two from liver cancer. I didn’t go to his funeral. Regret washed over me like long slow waves. Each wave sent shivers down my spine. I wished I’d made amends when I’d had the chance. There was no way to make it right.
When I’d found out about his passing, the flash of anger protected me from the pain, but now I understood why he’d done it. I’d seen some shit overseas, but I couldn’t imagine what he’d seen during Vietnam. I rubbed my face before letting my arms fall to my sides.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to my father. In my heart, I retracted all the fucked up things I ever said or thought. “You were an asshole, but I get it.”
Remorse surged with every expelled breath. “Ma told me about Vietnam. Said you didn’t touch alcohol since I’d left. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it. I forgive you, and I wish I could tell you that. I should’ve come back sooner, but I was a coward. I didn’t want to face you, or Ma, or her.”
I stood up, blinking back the tears that burned at my eyes. “But I get it now. All of it. Sorry it took me so long, old man.”
As I made my way out of the cemetery, I felt ten times lighter. A hint of mournful sadness lingered, but I knew I’d done the right thing. Evelyn was right about resentment. She was right about a lot of things. That kiss from the night we’d camped together still tingled on my lips.
I’d missed everything about her. We went to sleep wrapped in each other’s arms again, and it killed me to part with her the next morning. We’d changed a hell of a lot but still shared the same connection from back then.
My phone vibrated as I climbed into the truck, and I answered it. “Hello?”
“Hey man.” Oliver sounded manic.
“What’s going on?”
A long sigh came from him. “Millie keeps leaving with our daughter to stay with her mom. It’s the fifth time this month, and holidays are coming up.”
I started the truck and blasted the heat. “Is it PTSD?”
“And anger outbreaks. She says she can’t expose our girl to it, but I feel like she doesn’t even care. I’ve started seeing a therapist to help.”
Thank God. “That’s good. Is it helping?”
“With PTSD yeah. But not with Millie. Fuck.” He paused. “She looks at me like the fire in her eyes has been doused. I'm not used to it, it pisses me off. I want her to give freely like she always has but she won't.”
I’d met his wife a few times. She’d dote on him and had a longing look in her eyes whenever she’d stare at him. “She loves you, man. She’s probably overwhelmed and doesn’t realize what she’s doing.”
“I don’t know. I could try every day, work for the love she used to have for me, but there are no paths to success.”
He sounded like he’d given up, and the tone in his voice unnerved me. “What the fuck are you saying? Do you hear yourself?”
His breath became ragged. “You’re not here. You don’t see it. I can’t do this. I need her, Flynn. I need our daughter. But they aren’t fucking here!”
“Then go get them. You’re a good husband and a good father. They love you. It’ll work out. Keep seeing the therapist. Everything’s going to be alright.” I rubbed my worry lines.
“Yeah, it’ll all be alright. Thanks, Flynn. For everything.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood at his tone. He sounded distant, like he wasn’t there anymore. “Don’t give up.”
“I’ll try. Talk to you later.” Oliver hung up the phone and left me with a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.
From the middle of a sensual dream about Flynn, I was jolted awake by the loud shrill of my phone. The alarm was an ear-splitting wail that I’d programmed for my security system at the salon. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my phone, checking the notification from the security app.
Break-In in progress. Silent alarm activated. Security cameras recording. Sending feed. Contacting local authorities.
The feed popped up in live mode, and I sucked in a sharp breath. The front door was shattered, and the man that stood in my salon made my blood run cold.
Gerald drew deeply on his cigar before dropping it to the polished concrete floor and stepping on it. He didn’t wear a mask, just pulled his hood up to shield his face, not
