“It’s made of water and falls from the sky in the usual way, but it never soaks you through. It’s more like a refreshing breeze that clears any mugginess from the air. “Funny, they take the carnations but leave the roses.” I lifted the withered, crackly flowers and replaced them with fresh ones, yellow this time. I had to work with only one hand and slowly; my left arm was still in a tight sling, and the rib wouldn’t hear of quick movements. I’d dragged a light, folding beach chair from my car a...nd down the path with me. I set it up with the help of my right foot. Easing into it, the light rain dimpled my forehead, nose, and cheeks. “Yep,” I said, pitching my voice older, scratchier. “Sure is good to rest the weary bones.” Off to the left I noticed the elderly man again. He still wore the old gray suit, no raincoat, and held the Homburg. He was straightening back up with difficulty after laying some flowers near his headstone. I dropped the imitation from my voice. “Suicide, Beth,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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