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Authors: Terri-Lynne Defino
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withered brown-ness. Benny deadheaded them, grimaced at a bare spot she hadn’t noticed before. She would bring something to fill it with, next time she visited.
“I guess I’ve been stood up,” she said, brushing her hands clean and re-gathering her garbage. “Could you tell him I was here? Augie, I mean. Not Henny. I’m pretty certain he’s not here. Not like you, or Augie. Hell, I don’t even know if you are here or I’m just wishing so hard that—”
The cookie wrapper whipped out of her hand and fluttered away. Benny grabbed for it. It dodged. It actually dodged. She dropped the rest of her what she still held and she gave chase. The wrapper caught on a tombstone, a tuft of grass, a branch, a bouquet of flowers long-since wilted, skipping, lifting, rolling on a non-existent breeze Benny wouldn’t think about until she caught it, lest she think too hard and decide she was completely nuts after all. She followed it all the way across the cemetery. It obliged by waiting until she caught up, winded and slightly annoyed to be chasing animated garbage. It finally splatted against the face of a tombstone, in an older area of the cemetery, and there stuck. Panting, Benny swiped it, and read:
Katherine Weller Fiore
September 13, 1919 ~ January 28, 1976
*
August Fiore
July 4, 1908 ~ July 7, 1980
Benny shoved the wrapper into her pocket. She knelt at the grave, traced his name with the tip of a trembling finger. Looking back the way she had come, she found no splash of color to mark Henny’s grave. Beyond the row of tombstones, a wrought-iron fence, and trees dotted with lightning bugs. She rose and moved to the fence, gripping it with both hands, and remembered a summer evening like this one, when she was fourteen. These woods. On the other side of the fence. And Henny.
“On the dramatic side, but it worked.”
She caught herself before spinning to his spectral voice. “Augie?”
“Who else would it be?”
“I hardly know anymore. You have no idea—”
“Hold that thought just a minute…”
A sensation like a breath gasped made Benny blink, but she didn’t look at it.
“There,” Augie said. “Is this better?”
Less spectral. More real. He was getting better at making the transition. Or she was only wishing. “I suppose,” she said.
“Something wrong, Benedetta?”
Yes. No. “I’m assuming it was you, with the cookie wrapper?”
“It was. Impressed?”
“Annoyed is more like it. I’m not in the best shape for running across a cemetery.”
“You look quite shapely to me.”
“Stop that.” She bit at the insides of her cheeks to keep from grinning. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?”
“I haven’t quite mastered moving from depth to depth yet. Forgive me, but it was easier to get you here this way.”
“Depth?”
He chuckled. “My own notion, ah? The best way I can describe it is that going from the place I mostly exist in to here, where I am with you now is like kicking off at the bottom of a pool. It is fast, at first, and slows as I get to the top. From deep to shallow. From dark to light. That is why it’s easier for me to move about when in the deep place. See?”
“Kind of. I guess. Not really.”
“Well, you are here now. You wanted to see my grave. This is it.”
Benny let it go and instead focused again on the marker, the names and dates there. “You were married.”
“Katherine. Wonderful woman. Love of my life.”
“Kids?”
“Two sons, Philip and Victor, and a daughter, Adriana.”
“Where are they now?”
“They moved out of Bitterly a long time ago. And I am still here. Perhaps they, too, are no longer among the living.”
“But your wife died before you did. Wasn’t she waiting for you or anything?”
“No. She died a several years before I did, so—”
“So, then we don’t all find one another after death.”
“That, I cannot say. All I know is it is not so for me. Yet.”
Benny bit her lip. She wanted this to be
“I guess I’ve been stood up,” she said, brushing her hands clean and re-gathering her garbage. “Could you tell him I was here? Augie, I mean. Not Henny. I’m pretty certain he’s not here. Not like you, or Augie. Hell, I don’t even know if you are here or I’m just wishing so hard that—”
The cookie wrapper whipped out of her hand and fluttered away. Benny grabbed for it. It dodged. It actually dodged. She dropped the rest of her what she still held and she gave chase. The wrapper caught on a tombstone, a tuft of grass, a branch, a bouquet of flowers long-since wilted, skipping, lifting, rolling on a non-existent breeze Benny wouldn’t think about until she caught it, lest she think too hard and decide she was completely nuts after all. She followed it all the way across the cemetery. It obliged by waiting until she caught up, winded and slightly annoyed to be chasing animated garbage. It finally splatted against the face of a tombstone, in an older area of the cemetery, and there stuck. Panting, Benny swiped it, and read:
Katherine Weller Fiore
September 13, 1919 ~ January 28, 1976
*
August Fiore
July 4, 1908 ~ July 7, 1980
Benny shoved the wrapper into her pocket. She knelt at the grave, traced his name with the tip of a trembling finger. Looking back the way she had come, she found no splash of color to mark Henny’s grave. Beyond the row of tombstones, a wrought-iron fence, and trees dotted with lightning bugs. She rose and moved to the fence, gripping it with both hands, and remembered a summer evening like this one, when she was fourteen. These woods. On the other side of the fence. And Henny.
“On the dramatic side, but it worked.”
She caught herself before spinning to his spectral voice. “Augie?”
“Who else would it be?”
“I hardly know anymore. You have no idea—”
“Hold that thought just a minute…”
A sensation like a breath gasped made Benny blink, but she didn’t look at it.
“There,” Augie said. “Is this better?”
Less spectral. More real. He was getting better at making the transition. Or she was only wishing. “I suppose,” she said.
“Something wrong, Benedetta?”
Yes. No. “I’m assuming it was you, with the cookie wrapper?”
“It was. Impressed?”
“Annoyed is more like it. I’m not in the best shape for running across a cemetery.”
“You look quite shapely to me.”
“Stop that.” She bit at the insides of her cheeks to keep from grinning. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?”
“I haven’t quite mastered moving from depth to depth yet. Forgive me, but it was easier to get you here this way.”
“Depth?”
He chuckled. “My own notion, ah? The best way I can describe it is that going from the place I mostly exist in to here, where I am with you now is like kicking off at the bottom of a pool. It is fast, at first, and slows as I get to the top. From deep to shallow. From dark to light. That is why it’s easier for me to move about when in the deep place. See?”
“Kind of. I guess. Not really.”
“Well, you are here now. You wanted to see my grave. This is it.”
Benny let it go and instead focused again on the marker, the names and dates there. “You were married.”
“Katherine. Wonderful woman. Love of my life.”
“Kids?”
“Two sons, Philip and Victor, and a daughter, Adriana.”
“Where are they now?”
“They moved out of Bitterly a long time ago. And I am still here. Perhaps they, too, are no longer among the living.”
“But your wife died before you did. Wasn’t she waiting for you or anything?”
“No. She died a several years before I did, so—”
“So, then we don’t all find one another after death.”
“That, I cannot say. All I know is it is not so for me. Yet.”
Benny bit her lip. She wanted this to be
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