Dead Country (Book #1)

Chapter 13: A Little Something

Wind howled outside the next day. The sun was shining bright, which contradicted the appeal of going outside. My dad however, didn't seem to care as he walked around the backyard. Picking up branches and checking on patio furniture, I watched him through the patio door before deciding to join him.

I laced up my shoes, then walked outside, following the wall of the garage before rounding it to where my dad was still pacing. He didn't notice me right away with all the wind noise filling his ears, but once he did, he stopped picking up twigs.

"How's damage control going?" I asked him.

"It's fine," he replied coolly, holding up the fistfuls of twigs. "No shingles have been ripped off the roof. And that was my main concern."

"That's good." Exhaling, I felt jittery as I thought about what I still kept in my car. I didn't want to wait any longer. "There's..." I looked at the grass as the wind swept it. "There's something I gotta tell you." Looking back up, he didn't say a word. I took a deep breath in and added, "I found something yesterday while I was out."

"What?" His voice nearly drowned out by the fierce, blowing wind.

"Something that should help. Well... something that I hope will help bring closure to mom's death. It's– it's in the car." I pointed back toward the house with my thumb, slowly turning, hoping he would follow me without any persuasion.

Quickly glancing over my shoulder so I could see him in my peripheral, I saw that he was slowly following me as he battled the wind. He placed the fistful of twigs on the pile out front while I went back in the house for my car key.

When I came back outside, his hands were on his waist. He was just staring out into the horizon.

As I walked over to the passenger door of the Saab, I pulled a glove over my hand before picking up the rag. I held it in my upturned palm as he looked at me in bewilderment.

"What's that?"

Hesitant, I swallowed hard and replied, "It's all that's left of her." My voice raspy due to a dry throat.

He stared at the rag in my hand, also hesitant to accept what was taking place.

"You don't have to unwrap it," I told him reassuringly. "We can just bury it as it is."

Still he said nothing. I had no idea what he was thinking in his old mind. He could have been scared to see what was inside the rag, or perhaps he didn't want to. I told him it would help bring us closure, but maybe he didn't want that. For all I knew, he was still holding strong with the hope she would knock on the front door, alive and well.

"Her fingers are in it," I finally divulged, hoping that it would help him decide his next action. "Along with her wedding ring." I looked back and forth between his face and the rag. My dad was a difficult man to get a read on, but I needed to say something else, I just didn't know what.

"We can bury it all." His voice was lifeless, like a bomb had literally just dropped on his heart. Maybe I was right, this was giving him closure. It was hitting him so hard that it was like a punch to the gut and he had no wind left in his sails. He was finally accepting that his wife was most likely never coming back.

"The ring, as well?" I asked.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"I can separate it," I offered. "You don't have to watch."

Shaking his head as he blinked a few times, it was the most convincing action he had made for the past five minutes. "No. She died with that ring on, so we'll leave it that way. If there was anything I wanted to see one last time, it would be her face. And I have photos for that. We can bury it so we can move on. This time... for real."

I nodded, lowering my outstretched hand. "I'll go grab a shovel."

Digging the grave was a slow process, as if we were cherishing the moment. I began to dig, but my dad insisted he be the one to do it. After surrendering the shovel, I watched as he dug the grave slowly. One of the flower pots sat on the grass next to me as I held onto the rag in my gloved hand. The flowers would be the grave marker since we didn't have a stone handy to engrave. I didn't tell my dad, but I planned on finding one that I could hand paint, then coat to protect it from the elements. It was the least I could do for him to help us honour my mom.

Dirt packed around the flowers, my dad leaned on the shovel as I hung my head for a moment of silence. The wind continued to howl around us, but we held firm for several minutes, neither of us really wanting to say good bye. Her fingers and her wedding ring were all that remained, now buried in a shallow grave under purple flowers.

My mom once told me she wanted to be cremated. She didn't get her wish, but if she was looking down on us, I was certain she appreciated what we had done nonetheless. There wasn't much else we could do for her. As I continued to stand in silence, I tried to remember the last time she smiled at me. That memory would be held onto firmly as I tried to forget about the scene in the street with her car.

Now that we had a clear form of closure, I wondered what was next. My dad hadn't said anything since digging the shovel into the ground for the first time, so I decided at that moment to keep a close eye on him for the next few days. I needed to make sure he stayed home while he mourned. The last thing I wanted to do was bury his fingers next to my mom's.