Page 59 of Jane Deyre

“Thanks.” My voice watery, I take the card from him and turn away before he can see my tears fall. I can’t bury the memory of last night. His kiss. That unforgettable kiss.

There is, however, something I can bury.

Before I leave.

The fog hasn’t lifted. The entire property is still enveloped in a thick silver-white cloud. It’s hard to see two feet in front of us. The air damp and misty, I grip Adele’s hand, not wanting her to wander and fall off the bluff. In my other hand, I’m clutching a small Tiffany-blue leather box that once housed Edwina’s engagement ring—the one with which her late husband, Bertrand, proposed. She wanted us to have it; it no longer served any purpose. And now knowing the great love of her life was Ward’s mother, I understood though I said nothing. The love and empathy she manifested upon learning of Adele’s loss was immeasurable. It was genuine, not affected. Not a great performance from a great actress. Bedridden, with Pilote curled up beside her, she asked the little girl to climb onto the bed, and while stroking her fair hair, told her goddaughter stories of all the pets she lost as a child. Some funny, some sad, but either way they helped Adele process her grief. From the dead goldfish that was flushed down the toilet by the maid to the fluffy Maltese that slipped through the gate and got hit by a car. As I listened to her tales, I welled up with emotion and thought about what a great mother she would have been to the little girl who was taken from her. Compassionate, indulgent, and loving. The kind of mother I wish I had.

Inside the box on a black velvet cushion lie the remains of Stripe. This is his casket. We’re going to bury him. Adele is carrying a small Tiffany bag that contains the things we need to give him a proper burial. A small shovel to dig up the earth, a gold-embossed Bible, and a makeshift tombstone. A smooth almost-white rock we found onto which I wroteIn Loving Memory of Stripe... All Lives Matter, using a waterproof black marker. Also inside the bag is a plastic baggie filled with assorted wildflowers we picked to place on Stripe’s gravesite. Though Adele is still very sad, she is doing better and no longer crying.

“Where did you find him?” I ask.

“By a tree. The one I jumped out of.”

It was located on the way to my dwelling. Still not knowing the property well, the visibility nil, I follow my instincts until we come to the apple tree. Bathed in the fog, it’s nothing more than a silhouette.

“Here, honey?”

Adele hugs the tree. Then squats down, and with a nod, points to the spreading roots.

“Oui.Ici.”

I crouch down beside her. It was only two days ago, but it feels like an eon.

“Then, let’s bury Stripe here. It’s where he was born and where he’ll rest. He’s going back to his home. God’s home.” I can’t help thinking about my scarecrow. Happy in scarecrow heaven.

“What do you mean?” asks Adele as she starts digging his grave with the shovel.

“I mean he’s going to go to snail heaven. To be with all the other snails that have left this earth.”

She cocks her head, looking at me quizzically. “So, he’ll have friends? Be with hismamanand papa?”

“Yes, sweetie,” I say softly, awed by how children can make sense of this often cruel, unfair world. I supposed I did too. Fueled by hope and dreams.

I take the shovel from her and finish digging the snail’s six-inch-deep grave. “Okay, my sweet girl, lower him into his resting place.”

Bravely, without tears, she does as I ask. Together, taking turns, we cover the little coffin with the dirt we’ve unearthed. Piling one shovelful upon another until the leather box is buried. No longer visible.

Adele turns to me, her eyes watery. “Jane, don’t we have to say a prayer?”

I retrieve the Bible from the paper bag and randomly turn to a page. And make something up:

“Stripe, thank you for the happiness you gave us. May you always crawl around in the heavens above and let the Lord be with you in both sunshine and rain. Amen.”

Resting the Bible on my thighs, I place Stripe’s tombstone atop the small mound of dirt. Adele scatters the wildflowers around it.

“Jane, I wish Papa was here with us.”

At the mention of her father, the memory of last night fills my head. Fills my heart. It’s better I leave now before he ruins me for all men. Plus, it was only a fluke thing. A moment of weakness. I could never be good enough for him. I’m a plain Jane. A nothing. My heart swells with sadness until a blast of anger chases it away. Maybe I’m better than him. He had more important things to do when his daughter needed him most. Like hop on a plane and fall into the bed of some long-legged supermodel.

“Come, honey, let’s go back to the house.” I gather the shovel, baggie, and Bible, put them back into the bag, and then take Adele’s hand.

As we rise from the gravesite, my eyes catch sight of something moving. I point at it.

“Look!”

Crawling up the thick trunk of the tree is another snail. Almost identical to Stripe.

Adele’s eyes grow wide. “Mon Dieu!It’s Stripe’s twin!”

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