Look Back at Me (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 1)

Get It Off My Chest

When they got to the cemetery it had started to snow, and he parked his truck. He climbed out and opened her door.

"Do you mind waiting in the car?" she asked.

"Of course," he said and handed her one of the bouquets.

She balanced them in her arms, gave him a small smile, and headed along the familiar alley. Somehow, every time when she was making this trip, she had the same memory: visiting Rhys' grandfather's grave with Nana. Viola had just married Rhys then. Nana had just had her hip replaced, and Viola had driven her and the large bouquet of red roses to the Fleckney Woulds cemetery. Mable Holyoake had had four husbands in her lifetime - and Patrick Holyoake, her first husband had been the love of her life, according to her. Viola had felt then that it was quite unfair towards her next three Mr. Nana's. These days, she could see the irony in the indignation she'd felt ten plus years ago.

That day they'd come to the cemetery, Nana had sat down on a bench in front of Patrick's grave - and started talking to him. She told him the news of his grandchildren, the latest gossip of Fleckney, and what the doctor had said about her surgery. As Viola found out later, Nana never behaved this way near the other three graves. Patrick had died when his twin sons had been five.

Viola placed the bouquets on her parents graves, and, as always, she just stood there, wishing she had Mable Holyoake's faith: that the dead heard us, that they cared, that they weren't just... gone. As a scientist, Viola lacked the luxury of the comforting thought that our bodies didn't just stop working one day, and then, there was nothing left of us.

She was starting to feel cold, so she pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat, and headed back to the car. Rhys was sitting in the driver's seat, his phone in his hand, and she had to knock on his window to make him look up. He gave her a surprised look - she really hadn't been gone that long - opened the door and came out of the car. She didn't feel like arguing and reminding him that he could just unlock the passenger door, so she waited for him to walk around and open it for her.

When he closed his door behind him, he turned to her and smiled softly.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked.

"I normally just drive to the nearest town, and find some place for lunch. There's this–"

Suddenly, her voice broke, and she pressed her hand around her throat. For a second, she couldn't understand what was happening - her eyes burnt, and there was some strange pain behind her temples - and then the first sob burst out of her. She hadn't cried in this cemetery since the funerals. She cried rarely, in general, and the hot tears that suddenly filled her eyes felt jarring.

"I don't– I don't know why I'm–" she tried to speak, but the words jumbled, and she dropped her head and hid her face into her hands.

She felt his large hand lay on her shoulder, and she shifted and leaned towards him. Another sob quaked her body, and then another, loud and desperate. She pressed her face into his shoulder, and then grabbed whatever was nearest to her. Her nails sank into the sleeve of his jacket. She cried, grasping for control - and failing. And then he picked her up under her arms, and pulled, and sat her on his lap. She fit, she was so much smaller than him. He shifted, making sure she had enough room for her legs, and he might have even moved his seat. She didn't quite notice. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and kept crying, her face against his shoulder. His jacket had opened when he'd pulled her closer - and she felt the scratchy material of his jumper scrape against her forehead and cheek. He ran his fingers through her hair, and she felt him press his cheek on the top of her head. She fisted her hand around a handful of his jumper, and small hiccups and heaves escaped her in hoarse exhales.