I brushed the wet heavy snow off the stone bench and laid down my blanket and thermos. "Hello, Lu," I said. "It's sunny today, one of those thaw days in February when all you can hear is trickling and dripping water and you can smell the cedar and yew trees and that indefinable something in the air that promises that spring will eventually arrive." I poured myself a cup of cocoa. It steamed; even a warm February day is cool.
Every day for the fourteen months since the car accident, I had trekked up the hill to the cemetery. Lucy's grave had a nice view, a breeze, and the stone bench. Because I worked the seven-to-three shift, there was always daylight, even in February. For the first two months, I had sat mutely; for a month, I had wept; and since then, I had talked to Lucy of my life and how I missed her. By now, I recognized some of the other regulars, and even spoke to some of them. Today, I saw that Elizabeth was there, visiting her husband Donald. I waved to Elizabeth; she waved back. I debated going over to talk to her, but decided to wait until after my visit with Lucy.
I didn't mention Elizabeth to Lucy today, and I felt vaguely guilty for that. Instead, I held the mug tightly in my hands, feeling the warmth of the hot cocoa through my damp knitted gloves. "You used to love these days, Lu, when you'd come back from classes soaked to the bone and you'd take a hot bath, maybe with bubbles, and then you'd call to me when I came in from my classes, and I'd join you in the tub...." I paused and sipped some cocoa. "Awkward slippery love in the tub. I was always half-afraid we'd slip and break our necks but couldn't stop.
"I haven't even touched myself for months because I end up thinking of you, as you were at the end, all...broken and red. But yesterday morning, something shifted inside me."
I didn't know how to say what I was thinking. It wasn't because I was afraid she'd be offended -- she was dead, after all. It was because saying these things makes them real, makes them concrete. "I've been thinking of dating again," I told her. "I know you wanted me to start sooner, but I just... I
couldn't
..." I looked down into the cocoa. The color of it was shades lighter than Elizabeth's skin, and I was embarrassed to be thinking of her that way. "Lu, I get so
lonely.
Mike, he keeps trying to set me up with Frieda Jaeger, but you know the kind of woman Mike likes. I want a woman I can talk to, not just roll with." I took another sip. "Though that has crossed my mind. I invited Frieda over for last Friday, knowing what that would lead to." I shook my head. "But I just couldn't. At the last minute, I phoned her and cancelled. I want more than just exercise." I had another sip of cocoa and sat there, mustering nerve.
"I lied to you, Lu. I keep thinking of somebody, of Elizabeth -- I told you about her, her husband was the police officer. But I'm ashamed of myself because her loss is so much fresher than mine. If it's taken me a year to get to this point and she's had half that time..." I blinked and a tear ran down my face. I sat there, frozen for a while.
The sun was almost down now, and the wind shifted. I could hear someone speaking. I recognized the musical contralto as Elizabeth's. "...mind with loneliness. All of the nice men I know are waiting until I give some sign that I'm ready, so the only men who approach me are assholes. But sometimes, Donald, I'm almost willing to fuck an asshole." She stopped, and chuckled. "You wanted to do that, and I wouldn't let you. I'm sorry, dear." I could almost hear her nod. "The answer would still be no, but I'm sorry you got so frustrated." I heard her sigh. "Do you remember that night when I still lived at home, when we couldn't find a place to go? And we ended up making love in the climbing fort of the children's playground? When the weather's nice like this, I think about that a lot. Thought about it this morning, it made me late to work." She chuckled once more. "I had to shower again."
I blushed. It's not polite to eavesdrop, not in the cemetery, and I knew that I should leave. But my cock was hardening, and I told myself that eavesdropping was harmless.
"Anyway," she went on. "I won't be coming back for a while. I've got to get on with my life. There's more than just standing in a graveyard talking to a memory. I've got to get on, make new memories for myself. I'll always love you, but talking to you won't fill this hole in my heart."
I had thought I was immune to heartbreak now, but I was wrong. Elizabeth, gone? We talked occasionally -- I knew she was a student, and I knew about her husband's death. She knew that I had taken the factory job when we discovered that Lucy was pregnant, because there wasn't a big job market for philosophy majors. She knew about the miscarriage, and the car accident. But while the deaths were important events in our lives, they didn't define us as
people.
I had no idea of what she liked or disliked or what she believed, and she knew nothing about me. We had shared cocoa during the cold snap, and she had brought eggnog for me at Christmas. My conversations with Lucy's gravestone had far more depth than anything I had ever said to Elizabeth.
"I have to go," I told Lucy. "I have to go."
I grabbed up the blanket and thermos and walked up the hill to where Elizabeth was. She was walking towards me, and we met at the huge monument to the Gunderson family. "Hi," I said, struck by sudden stupidity, wishing I were clever.
"Hello, Charlie." How had I never realized how attractive she was? Her skin was a rich warm chocolate color, a shade lighter than her eyes. Her long coat was the orange of a campfire.
