“Nah. Just sit tight.”
I went in and found what I was looking for. I paid at self-checkout and came back out. I laid the flowers gently on the back seat and got us back on the road. Malika closed her eyes, no longer concerned about this little field trip. She seemed comfortable, like she trusted me with whatever this was. My stomach turned several times, but I kept my foot on the gas.
I was amazed that I remembered where to go. It's like it was embossed on my mind. Asphalt turned to dirt as we inched across the county line. Malika seemed to feel the change in the way the road felt, because she opened her eyes and looked around.
“Where are we?”
“You’ll see in a minute.”
“Uh huh. I don’t like that. I told you, I watchDateline. This is a dirt road to nowhere good.”
“It’s fine, Malika. Just sit tight.”
She stopped talking, but her face broadcasted her uneasiness. I kept going anyway, and a few minutes later, I came to a stop.
This was it. It had to be done.
“Are we getting out? What are we doing?”
I cut the car off and got out, walking around to her side to open her door. She took my hand and climbed out, then held it tightly. She was nervous, but she trusted me.
I grabbed the flowers, and then we walked about twenty feet until we were right at the edge of the deeper part of the forest.
I looked down at the pile of brush. It was still exactly where I put it.
“Malika. I don’t really know how to say this.” I swallowed hard. “It’s taking everything in me. It’s—”
“You’re scaring me.”
“Baby, please. It’s not what you—look, we’re here because…right here is…” I paused and looked up toward the sky, thinking maybe there was some help to be found there. But there were just the treetops, staring down at me. Judging me.
I hadn't never pussy-footed around with anything. I always shot straight. So I took a deep breath, squeezed my wife's hand, and told her:
“This is…your mother’s grave.”