Page 154 of Forget Me Not

I stare at her, unsure what the hell she’s getting at.

Finally, she sighs, clapping her hands on her knees and standing.

“It’s getting late. All I’m saying is, if it were me, I’d swim to wherever that boat is and drag his ass back home.”

There’s a weeping angel in the cemetery where Jack is buried that people find so beautiful, you’ll often find flowers left at her feet. Perched on top a large stone covered in moss and cracked from at least a hundred years of cold Maine weather, she looks out over the grounds like a silent guardian, surveying the land and punishing any that dare to desecrate it.

I, unfortunately, do not find her beautiful. In fact, after Jack died, I saw her in every nightmare I had, like a bad omen promising only the worst to come.

Walking past her now, as I make my way to Jack’s grave, I face her head on in a silent battle of wills.

“You don’t scare me,” I murmur and, of course, she doesn’t respond.

Am I losing my mind? Talking to statues in the cemetery like they can hear me?

I shoot her one last warning look, even though I have no idea what I would do if statues were suddenly able to come to life and she came to murder me in my sleep.

Walking amongst the graves, the leaves have fallen, so I have to be extra careful not to trip over someone’s tombstone. I have a feeling that would piss the weeping angel off more, so I sidestep and make sure I’m as careful as can be when planting my feet.

Jack’s buried under a tree by his father, near the back of the cemetery. It’s a hike to get here, but Anne wanted him to be with his dad and I can’t say I blame her.

I pause when it comes into view—the headstone bearing Jack’s last name and just stare at it. I changed my last name back shortly after he died, out of shame for what I had done. Now I know that was just the guilt.

I haven’t been here in almost two years. It became too painful when I was struggling enough already to have some semblance of a normal life. Moving to Port Nova gave me a good excuse to never come back to Portland.

I almost turn and leave, but a promise I made myself last night after speaking with Sophie, forces my legs into action. I kneel by the grave, fall over, and just decide to sit in the damp grass anyway.

“Hey, Jack,” I greet, suddenly at a loss for words now that I’m here beside him. Or at least, the representation of him. “Sorry. I didn’t rehearse this.”

Now I really feel like I’m going crazy. Talking to a tombstone and being nervous about it.

Come on, Nova. Suck it up and get it over with.

“I’m sorry . . . you were sick.” I suck in a deep breath, expecting tears, only none come. “I’m sorry how the last couple months of our marriage went. I harbored a lot of resentment, not only for you, but for myself for a long time.”

I draw my knees up to my chest, and lean my chin on one, trying to picture Jack there beside me, just listening like he would before he got sick.

“I don’t know,” I murmur. “Maybe we just grew in two separate directions. Maybe that’s what happens when you marry your high school sweetheart.” I pause, brushing a stray leaf off the granite piece that’s rooted into the ground. “I still loved you. I do love you, even if I recognize that you’re gone now. You aren’t coming back. Maybe we weren’t in love, but I did love you.”

I roll my eyes, feeling stupid in the moment.

“I was so mad at you those last couple months. I can’t decide if you deserved it or if I should have tried to understand. You just . . . changed. Not for the better. You were a lying, cheating, abusive asshole. You were selfish. You’d get jealous. You’d hit me. You hurt me. But . . . you were you and I can’t bring myself to hate you. Even now.”

Hastily, I wipe at the tears threatening to freeze on my cheeks.

“If you were here, you would say something dumb to lighten the mood,” I chuckle, dusting my hand off on my pants. Silence fills the air, save for a bird chirping happily in a tree not far from me. I imagine he probably sees this all the time—people coming out to talk to the emptiness, knowing full-well that whoever is buried here can’t hear them.

“I’m in love, Jack.” I have to say it before I chicken out. Somehow, telling Jack makes it okay. Like he can accept it. “He’s a nice man. He’s good to me. He helps me grow.” I chuckle, nervously. “I’m not afraid of water, anymore. Well—kind of, but I’m getting better.”

I shake my head, remembering Reid telling me to jump into the ocean with him and that he would catch me. He did.

“He always did,” I murmur, like Jack knows what I’m talking about. “I’m going to find him, Jack.”

Why have I been so focused on denying myself the things I want most in life? Why have I never felt worthy of love or happiness, just because I couldn’t save Jack. It wasn’t my job to save Jack, just like it wasn’t his job to save me.

“Fate.” Silence follows, even from me as I struggle to process the rampant thoughts hitting me over and over again. “It was fate, Jack, that lead me to Reid. I was so focused on missing you and feeling guilty for things I couldn’t change that the only way I would have ever gotten away from my own brainwashing would be to find someone so hellbent on making me see that I deserve more.”

I suck in a deep breath, hoping to calm the shakes rolling through my body, but it does nothing.

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