by Linda Satterlee
A breeze played with graying bangs, swept aside using perspiration to hold them back. Her brisk walk through Cave Hill Cemetery was different today. They would be there, she knew it, but she couldn’t say how she knew.
She passed the first loop, destination just ahead. They would come today. Approaching the hill to the Scatter Garden, she spotted the silver Honda Accord. Her heart leaped. “They’re here! I knew it!”
At the stone steps, leaf-strewn and almost slippery, she stopped. Descending slowly, she watched the youngest girl use tissue paper and charcoal to make a rubbing of a plaque on a landing beneath the trees. She sat on the step, straining to hear their conversation. The older girl, maybe 16, sat on the concrete bench. Ducks in the nearby pond, drifting with the current. Birds flitted from branch to branch. Occasional blossoms floated around them.
“Remember that time …” she thought she heard the younger one say. She took a few more steps down.
“No, you remember it wrong … at the Spaghetti Factory …” maybe her sister answered. She will need to be closer, but she didn’t want to frighten them, so she moved gently down the last steps. Behind the seven-foot-tall monolith, she peeked around the side. Now both were on the bench.
“I miss those nights at the house.”
“I miss her.”
The older girl encircled the younger with both arms, pulling her close and gently rocking back and forth.
“I love this place … It’s perfect.”
“Me, too. I love to just sit here and listen.”
Quietly, beside the girls now, not wanting to disturb their moment of sisterly affection, she stretched her arms across both girls, oh so gently touching their shoulders.
“Wow. Did you feel that?”
“Yeah, Grandma’s here again."