Blue on Blue

Chapter Thirty-Six

"It's been a while since I've been here," Connie admits as she steers the car through the Fallowshill cemetery gate. A fresh layer of snow covers the winding twists and turns, leading to the top of a hill. "It's over there." She points. "Under the pine trees." 

Maggie peers out the car window at a cluster of evergreens, layered in white, swaying in the wind. "Where that man is standing?"  

Connie's eyes narrow. "Yeah." She nods, shifting the car into park. She glances at Maggie. "You ready?" 

Maggie scratches her forehead. Is anyone ever really ready to visit her mother's grave? " She treks along in the snow, following Connie's lead as they walk further up the hill. They stroll past headstones of every shape and size. It's the small ones that hit Maggie the hardest. There's something about children dying that she can't wrap her head around. It's just  wrong. It goes against the nature of things. 

Maggie stops and stares at a headstone of an angel with a young woman draped in its arms.  Audrey Kemper-Banes - October 2, 1980 - June 3, 2004 - Wife, Mother, Daughter, Friend. Her eyes narrow. "Banes," she whispers. "Could this be ---?" 

"It's up here," Connie shouts, glancing back at Maggie and waving her arm for her to catch up. 

Maggie pulls her phone from her pocket and snaps a picture. Parents dying and leaving their children is rough too. That sort of absence leaves a giant hole that never seems to fill. 

Connie reaches the grave site with Maggie at her heels. "Excuse me," she says to the man crouched down at Mary's headstone. He peers up at her. His eyes widen. "How did you know Mary?" she asks. 

Maggie's eyes narrow as she glances over the man's features. His black hair is streaked with white. The bridge of his nose is crooked. His eyes are warm and brown, like a cup of coffee with cream.  

He glances at Connie. "I'm an old friend," he says, with a shake in his voice. 

Connie tilts her head. "You do look familiar, but I can't place your face. An old friend from where?" 

"The university." His mouth is a straight hard line. His eyes are round with worry. 

"I'm her twin sister," Connie tells him. She gestures to Maggie. "And this is --" The man's eyes narrow and focus on Maggie's face. He leans forward, waiting on Connie's words. "This is her daughter." 

The man stiffens. His mouth drops open. "You look just like her," he says under his breath. His hands are shaking. He stuffs them into his coat pockets. He drops his gaze to Mary's headstone. "I have to go," he tells them, turning to walk away. "It was -- it was good to meet you both," he says as he scurries down the hill. 

Maggie's thoughts scratch at the places where the questions live. "Wait!"

The man ignores her, picking up his pace.

"Please!" Maggie shouts. "I know who you are."  

The man hesitates for a moment, shakes his head, and continues walking.

"You're Daniel, aren't you? You're Daniel Jakobs!"  

The man stops in his tracks as if he's been shot in the chest. He looks at Maggie out of the corner of his eye. His broad, round shoulders sink. He gives a slight shake of the head. "No." He turns and continues pacing down the hill. 

Maggie jolts into a stride after him. She has to talk to him. She has to know if it's really him. 

Connie grabs her arm. "Where are you going?" 

Maggie whips her head around, meeting Connie's confused stare. She can't tell Connie that she believes the man walking away is her father, Daniel Jakobs, without knowing if it is really him. Connie would pepper her with questions she isn't prepared to answer. "He may have information about Mary." 

"Information?" Connie huffs. "He's just an old friend, visiting Mary's grave. Let's be respectful and let him leave in peace." Maggie peers down the hill and watches the man disappear behind the trees. "And whose Daniel Jakobs anyway?" 

Maggie shakes her head. "Just someone who knew her. I thought it may be him." 

"Well, it's not." Connie lifts Maggie's chin with her finger. "We're here," she says, gesturing to Mary's grave. "Let's spend some time with her." 

Maggie nods, inching closer to Mary's grave. She stares at the blue blossoms, resting on the ground in front of the headstone. 

"Whoever he is, he left flowers," Connie says. "Mary's favorite - the same color as her eyes." She turns to face Maggie. "The same color as your eyes." A smile pulls at Connie's mouth. "Our eye color was the only way anyone could ever tell us apart. The colors matched our personalities too - mine, midnight blue like a dark sea and Mary's, blue violet like a bright tanzanite stone. Blue and bright, like your eyes, Maggie."

Maggie glances over her mother's grave. It's strange to think that her body is laying just six feet beneath her. As far back as she can remember, standing here like this is the nearest she's been to her mom. She crouches down to the ground to get closer. She runs her fingers over the Epitaph etched into her headstone. 

"Truth — is as old as God —His Twin identity

And will endure as long as He

A Co-Eternity —"  

Mary Stone January 26, 1978 - July 26, 2004

She snaps a picture of the headstone. Up until the day she died, Mary was chasing the truth. She was searching for God. Or maybe God was searching for her. Maybe it took Mary's death for them to finally meet. 

"Thanks for taking me here," Maggie tells Connie.  Hot tears prick the corners of her eyes. It was a relief to cry by her mother's grave side. It felt right. 

Connie wraps her arm around Maggie's shoulder. "Thank you for asking me to show you where she is," Connie says. "I'm sure she's watching over you right now, marveling at what a beautiful daughter she has." 

Maggie glances up at the pines swaying in the wind. It'd be nice if Mary is close by, watching over her, aware of her presence, listening to her words, hearing her cries. Maybe then, the gaping hole that has taken residence inside of her would shrink, just a little bit. 

But, Mary Stone isn't here, really. She's somewhere else now, somewhere beyond the Blue on Blue.