Page 10 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

Like most folks in town, Jim Dewhurst had planned for his funeral and that of his wife, Lynette, years in advance. That meant buying cemetery plots in Eternal Gardens and waiting for the inevitable day when they would be laid to rest side by side.

Rowan marked this visit carrying two mixed bouquets that combined the couple’s favorite flowers—a handful of purple violets paired with huge white dahlias.

At her grandfather’s grave, she knelt down so she could access the in-ground metal canister before dropping one of the bouquets into the vase, and then re-arranging the flowers to her liking. “Sorry, Granddad, but that’s all the violets Drea had on hand. They aren’t as pretty as the ones you and Gran grew. But they’ll do for now until I can start work on the flowerbeds and grow my own. You might be waiting another season for that, though.”

She moved over to Gran’s side and went through the same ritual with the vase, fluffing the floral arrangement into a fuller display. “I’m sorry it took me so long to decide to give up my job. I’ve been indecisive. But it seems that’s no longer the case. I just bought Granddad’s old truck from Wally. I was nervous about all these life changes happening so fast. But not anymore. Somehow, knowing the pickup is still around means it’s still in the family like you and Granddad would have wanted.”

As she spoke, Rowan’s eyes filled with tears. For the first time, she realized how much she missed her grandparents. Even though she knew they were at peace and together forever, there was a void in her life she couldn’t fill or replace.

She stood up and wiped her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath of fresh air. She’d needed this reminder to renew a sense of purpose and determination that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

As she turned to leave, she noticed a figure standing a few yards away, watching her. It was a man wearing khaki shorts and a yellow Oxford shirt over a teal T-shirt that said something about a local surf shop. His penetrating blue eyes spooked her a little. She had never seen him before, but something about him made her feel uneasy. She started walking back towards her truck, anxious to put some distance between her and the stranger.

But suddenly, she changed her mind and stopped. “I’m not letting you run me off from this moment. What’s your problem? This is my time with my grandparents.”

“Rowan Eaton.”

“That’s right. Who are you?” A sense of dread moved through her as she recognized the voice. “Wait a minute. You were at my house last night.”

“There’s something you should see.”

“Get real. I’m not moving from this spot. You take one more step toward me and I’ll scream my head off if I have to.”

“We seem to be out here by ourselves. The name is Scott Phillips. I’m buried over there. I never made it back from the war.”

Rowan’s eyes darted to the truck. If she broke into a run, she doubted she could make it without this lunatic grabbing her and dragging her into the trees. “Look—” she began, only to watch the man vanish. “What the—?”

Panicking, she didn’t wait around to finish her own question but took off in a run back toward the truck. As soon as she got behind the wheel, she pushed the lock on the driver’s side door. She turned the key in the ignition. But the engine didn’t make a sound.

She looked up to see the man standing in front of the pickup.

“You’d think as often as I’ve done this, I’d be better at it by now,” Scott sighed, hands on his hips. “I’m not here to harm you. All I want you to do is get out of the truck and walk back through the headstones past your grandparents’ plots. There’s something you should see before you leave here today.”

Rowan responded by reaching across the bench seat and locking the passenger door. “Why on earth would I want to go anywhere with you?” she screamed right before pressing down on the horn. But the horn didn’t make a sound.

“What is going on here?” she yelled. “Why are you doing this? I don’t even know you.”

“Let’s try this another way,” Scott suggested, vanishing once more. This time, he reappeared next to her.

She screamed again and fumbled with the lock. When it finally popped up, she practically fell out of the door onto the ground. Recovering her balance, she took off running as fast as she could run.

“I must be losing my touch,” Scott grumbled as he watched her streak across the cemetery, dodging headstones as she went. He waited with the patience of a priest until she stopped to look back. That’s when he made his move. He did the disappearing act and showed up standing next to her.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not here to hurt you?” Scott said, raising his voice. “There’s a headstone in this very graveyard with your name on it.”

Bending at the waist, trying to catch her breath, she straightened, the statement getting Rowan’s full attention. “You’re delusional. You’ve obviously escaped from an insane asylum. I happened to know there’s a state hospital not two and a half hours from here.”

“I’m not real, you idiot. I’m a ghost. I haven’t escaped the purgatory here on earth yet!” Scott shouted, losing patience. “Just shut up and follow me.”

With that, Scott disappeared again and reappeared across several rows of grave markers. He waved his arms. “Over here. Now!”

Reluctantly, Rowan forced her feet to move. She trekked across the grounds, careful not to get too close. She glanced around plotting her escape route and realized this was the baby section. Feeling even more uncomfortable, she crossed her arms over her chest. “If I humor you, will you go away and leave me alone?”

Scott ignored her and pointed to a headstone. “Rowan Avery Eaton. Born August 31, 1995. Died November 27th, 1999.”

Rowan moved closer to a foot-high angelic statuette nearby. She glowered at the granite sculpture before forcing herself to look at the headstone and its inscription. “That’s my name and birthdate, August 31, 1995.”

“How do you explain that?”

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