confessed. Somehow Sean with an itchy dick amused me. “Did you tell John?”
“Yeah.”
“He never said anything.”
“I made him swear,” he said.
“So where’d you get them?” I asked, delighted by the diversion.
“Candyapple.”
“Brian!” I exhaled.
“Yeah, Brian,” he laughed.
He stayed until after nine. We watched an episode of The Bill together. It was nice watching TV with someone. When he was at the door I asked him to take care of
himself and stop drowning his sorrows in drink and drugs, and to eat. He maintained that he was already on the road to recovery. I wasn’t so sure. We hugged and it wasn’t weird. We agreed to look out for one another because we were
friends.
I had lied. I was ready to see John. In fact, I had planned to go to the graveyard the very next evening and
I needed to be alone. I had bought a little rose bush to plant. John wasn’t a particular fan of roses but it looked pretty in the shop. It was Doreen who gave me the idea. She maintained that sometimes it helped to have
something to do. I thought it was a good idea and even if I hadn’t, she had me in the car and on the way to the garden nursery before I could back out.
“When in doubt dig a hole,” she said, while Elton John sang about a rocket man on the radio. “I saw Sean on Grafton Street. the other day. He looks terrible.”
“He’s fine.”
“Oh, I don’t know — he was drinking a lot during the funeral. You’d want to watch him.”
I was concerned, but didn’t mention that Clo had the same fears.
“I’m sure he’s fine, Dor. We all have our ways of coping.” “Getting locked isn’t coping, darlin’.”
“He said he was taking care of himself.”
“I hope so,” she said, patting my knee.
“Me too,” I mumbled.
*
It was raining again. I was walking around in circles trying to find John’s grave. I found myself walking across strangers’ resting places in an attempt to shorten the journey. The reality of what I was doing only dawned on me when I
tripped on a wreath on the grave of a woman named
Mary Moore. I jumped off.
“Sorry, Mary, I didn’t think.”
I walked on, using the moss-filled pathway that surely
would be my own end. I’m going to slip and break my sodding
neck. I bitched at myself for wearing high heels. As if John would notice.
Eventually, after checking nearly every gravestone in Section D, I found him. It was weird. Suddenly I was standing alone in front of a sodden pile of soil covering a
box and in that box lay John, his fair hair still spiked with gel the way he liked it. His eyes closed, his beautiful face relaxed, his mouth a thin line. I didn’t know what to do. It was like a job interview where the interviewer refuses
to speak. I stood in the rain for a long time. I could feel
my trousers sticking to my legs. The pointed toes of my leather high-heeled boots were curling.
Damn, I love these boots. I shouldn’t think. about hoots. I’m here with John. Concentrate.
Doreen had been right: the tree was a fantastic idea. The rain had softened the ground. I took the little garden shovel from my bag and began to dig a hole and while I
dug I found chatting easier. I no longer pretended that he was still here. I chatted as one would to a dead person. I was over the denial. I was mostly over the anger and I had bargained enough in the hospital to last a lifetime.
“Doreen’s worried about Sean. So is Clo. I think Anne is too — she mentioned him twice yesterday on the phone. He’s been drinking a lot, smoking too. I told Dor he’d be fine, but I’m not sure.” I was having difficulty, having hit rock. “Clo’s fine. She’s met someone — his name is Mark. He works in a garage. Apparently he’s very attractive. I haven’t seen him yet. He sounds nice. I hope it works out.”
I stopped talking for a moment to concentrate on
levering the rock out of its comfy spot. “Got ya!” I was talking to the rock. I fit the
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