Page 50 of Their Arrangement
Fifteen blocks from the Lawlor tower.
I couldn’t afford a cab.
Didn’t want one.
My heels ached. Every step a blister. My toes numb. The wind kept catching the hem of my skirt and yanking it up like the world hadn’t humiliated me enough.
Still, I walked.
Past shuttered cafés. Umbrellaed businessmen. Past women in dry coats and dry lives.
I walked until the sidewalk ended.
And the cemetery gates appeared.
Tall.
Iron.
Black as grief.
I’d only been here once since the funeral.
Couldn’t bear to come back.
Not until now.
But my feet knew the path.
Fourth row from the magnolia tree. Left side. Between a florist’s daughter and a retired judge.
Her grave was clean.
Someone had been here recently.
A pale pink lily lay across the stone. No note. Just rain collecting in the curve of the petals.
Camille would have hated that. She liked dramatic florals. Stargazer lilies. Red roses. Orchid sprays.
Not subtle.
Never subtle.
I stepped closer.
My knees gave out before I expected them to.
I sank onto the wet grass, the mud seeping through my tights. My hands curled in my lap. The rain matted my curls to my cheeks.
And I whispered.
“I miss you.”
The wind carried my words.
I didn’t expect her to answer.
I just needed her to know.
