Page 1 of Souvenir

Chapter 1

Savannah

Hi, my name is Savannah McKenna, otherwise known as Souvenir and I am about to do something different. Don’t judge me.

It was that time of year again.

The decorations, lights, cheerful smiles and happy shoppers only pissed me off. It wasn’t because it was the Christmas season why I hated everything around me.

It was around this time of year my husband left me a widow. Not only that, the bastard cheated on me. What was worse was that I only found out about his mistress two and a half years after his death.

The anniversary of his accident approached. Three years of no closure. Three years of heartache. Three years of grief. Three years since he decided to get drunk and get behind the wheel of his car. I should have known something was wrong, because Kevin never drank. He was always a stickler about not getting alcohol into his body. The freaking health nut that he was.

That darn body of his with his tight ass, ripped muscles and generous manhood was what I now missed the most. He knew how to give it and apparently he was giving it to Stacy the stripper down at the Purple Lights Night Club. And just the way he was screwing her the entire time we were married and even before that, I decided I would do the same thing this year. He wasn’t alive for me to take my revenge, but I hoped he was somewhere in hell watching me.

To think I spent so many restless nights crying myself to sleep. This Christmas, I was not going to sit by the fire and reminisce about our marriage. What I thought had been a happy marriage was more of a compromise on his part. The only reason he married me was because marrying a stripper would not auger well for his business.

The day I found out about his double life was as if it was yesterday, although it was six months ago. It was our wedding anniversary and like every year since he passed, I’d bring flowers, sit by his grave with a bottle of wine and cry until I was drunk enough not to feel the pain of grief.

Misty, my female driver lurked nearby, always watching me as though she was my mother and she thought I’d jump on the grave a screw the headstone. Visiting Kevin’s grave didn’t just happen on our anniversary, it happened on our birthdays and any other occasion where I needed to talk to him about my bad days. But the anniversary was the special one.

Like the previous two anniversaries, I’d gone to his graveside to lay flowers and tell him how much I missed him. I’d noticed the fresh flowers a few times before but never paid any attention to it. Today was different. As I stared at the new bouquet of gardenias, a strange feeling washed over me.

I knew someone was frequently visiting my husband’s grave. Who could it be, when both his parents were deceased? No one that I could think of would take the time to bring flowers without me knowing about it. It just so happened than the gardener who I’d spoken to on many occasions was weeding nearby.

“Manuel,” I said, leaving the grave and stepping towards the man.

His face creased into an easy smile. “What can I do for you, Senora?’

He never could remember my name, therefore I stopped reminding him a long time ago. After all, the Mexican immigrant was perhaps in his nineties or something.

“Did someone stop by my husband’s grave today?”

“Si,” he replied. “I doubt very much she already left the cemetery.”

As soon as the words left Manuel’s lips, I spun around wanting to see which female had left flowers by my husband’s grave. I knew it was not his secretary Nancy. Training my eagle eyes across the expanse of the cemetery, I tried to spot any kind of movement from anyone. As this was the middle of the week, the place seemed empty. With a sigh, I was about to turn back to Kevin’s grave when I saw a moment in the corner of my eye.

About fifteen meters or so away was a huge juniper tree. That was where the movement came from. It could be a stray cat, but I had to make sure that no one was messing around with my dead husband. With purposeful strides, I made my way over to that tree.

When I was half way there, someone moved from behind the tree and started walking towards the east gate of the cemetery. I swear this woman had been some world champion speed walker with her big ass waddling side to side as she tried to escape me. To my dismay, my heel snagged and I had to stop to take off my shoes. The woman almost ran the rest of the way to the gate. Then someone zapped passed me in a breeze.

“I’ll get her, Ma’am,” Misty shouted. “She won’t get away.”

Limping back to Kevin’s tomb, I was now in a sour mood. Why would that woman run away? Did she leave the flowers, and why? I hated having my afternoon ruined by some mysterious stranger. I stared at Kevin’s headstone, willing him to give me answers to questions that were two and half years old.

“Why’d you get behind that wheel?” I demanded. “Why would you drink and drive? You don’t even drink.”

“Ma’am.”

Misty was back and breathing heavily. I turned to see if she’d dragged the woman back to face me. She was alone.

“I didn’t catch her, but I got her plate number.”

“What?” I asked, then it dawned on me what she was suggesting.

I spent the latter part of the afternoon brooding over this mysterious stranger who had left flowers at my husband’s grave numerous times throughout the last couple of years. According to the gardener at the cemetery, she’d been coming there as long as I have. I perhaps had passed her by without even realizing it. I didn’t know what compelled me to take note of the flowers that day.

I left the cemetery shortly after Misty returned, taking back the wine, unopened. I didn’t feel like drinking with Kevin until I knew what this was all about. As I sat in the living room of our home, which we bought together, I stared at the license plate number of the car that the mysterious woman drove.

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