Page 15 of Your Soul to Keep

“You’re going to write yourself a beautiful story, pet, and from where I’m going? I’ll have a front row seat.”

I sniffed and swiped a finger under my nose like a child before grabbing a tissue.

“Away with you. A beautiful flower like you should be soaking up the sun.” Her eyes twinkled. “I won’t die tonight.”

I smiled weakly at her promise, a sheen of tears blurring her beloved face. Viciously tamping down the frozen ball of dread blocking my windpipe, I choked, “Tomorrow would be better?”

“Infinitely, my pet,” she assured me softly.

I almost succeeded in swallowing my sob.

I’d have sold my left leg to have an infinite number of tomorrows with her. Leaning forward, I brushed my lips across her petal soft cheek and pressed my forehead to hers. “I love you, Nan.”

She scoffed lightly as she closed her eyes and gently patted my cheek. “Go on with you and your blattin.”

I huffed out a laugh and straightened, nodding before spinning away on my heel. I was almost at the door when she called my name.

I twisted to look over my shoulder. Facing her head on would only reveal my tears. And we did not cry in my family.

“Yes, Nan?”

“I was wrong, pet.”

The uncustomary gravity in her voice slid through the crack in my armor and spun me around. I cocked my head to the side as I faced her fully. “Wrong about what, Nan?”

“You’re not a flower.” Stripped of all artifice, her love and grief for leaving me laid bare, she whispered, “You’re the sun.”

She held my gaze steadily as I stood frozen in the doorway with tears streaming down my face, lending me her strength even now.

“Sleep well, pet. May the dreams you hold dearest be those which come true.”

How many times over the years had she given me that blessing?

“Tomorrow,” I choked out.

“Yes, pet.” She smiled. “Tomorrow.”

When the phone rang at 1:00 AM, I knew.

Tomorrow had come.

5

Black-Haired Devil

Sittinginmycar,I scanned God’s chessboard, wondering how He chose who stayed to play on and who got swept off the board. Dreading what was coming, I took a deep breath and braced myself.

Flipping the vizor mirror down, I swiped away the mascara that bruised the skin beneath my eyes. I hated waterproof mascara. Mascara shouldn’t take longer to remove than apply, but it would have come in handy today. Wanting to do Nan proud, I’d applied a heavier hand with the make-up. In some small way, it gave me something to hide behind.

When I pictured this day in my mind, a cold, miserable drizzle fell from a bleak, overcast sky, slicking the tombstones with snakes of black mirroring the streaks of mascara wearing a path down my face as I wept.

In my mind, I stood alone, a solitary figure in the rain at the side of Nan’s grave. Just me and the preacher, a thin, sallow-faced man, his bony skull sparsely covered by thin wisps of grizzled hair, his wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his hawklike nose.

Nothing was going to plan.

The sun chose today of all days to finally come out of hiding. Everything it touched glowed with warmth, the tombstones lining up like beaming supplicants at the gates of Heaven.

Thankfully, Nan had opted for a simple blessing at the funeral parlor, immediately followed by the burial and a small gathering for a catered lunch in the hall of her church.

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