“That wasn’t to say I hadn’t tried. Four times, most of them in the last three months, I’d pulled into the parking lot and stared out at the cemetery, trying to persuade myself to get out of the truck and just do it. Twice I even had the engine turned off, the key out of the ignition and my seat belt off. This time, I was halfway down the winding concrete path, the afternoon sun on my shoulders and a yellow rose in my hand, before doubt stopped me. I looked back. Looked forward. Asked myself if ...I could do this, told myself I would. And finally, I convinced my feet to move, and I continued down the path. I didn’t have a map of the cemetery. Didn’t have a note explaining how to find his grave among the hundreds of others. I’d brought that with me the last few times, and I’d memorized it enough that I didn’t need it now. Past the white archway, I remembered, fifth row on the left, seventh headstone from the end. The summer air was fragrant from the wet, freshly cut grass and the evergreens that threw long shadows across the cemetery.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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