Read Online Thrown by Tabi Wollstonecraft - Free Book Online Page A

outsideeventhoughheusuallyspendsthemorningsinthekitchen meowinguntilhegetsfed.Igooutbackandhugmyselfagainstthe morningbreeze.Itlookslikeitwillbeahotdaybutthereisstillsomeof thenightchillintheair.
    Theseapoundsthethecliffsandtherhythmicsoundoftonsofwater crashingagainstimmoveablerockissomehowcomforting.Nowonder AuntBlovedithere.
    Butifsheloveditsomuchhere,whywouldsheendit?
    I’vebeenthinkingaboutthisfordaysandtheonlyexplanationIcan comeupwithisthatsheeithertookherownlifeorknewherlifewasin danger.Thesecondtheorysoundsridiculous,likesomethingoutofoneof herdetectivenovels.Ifshethoughtsomeonewasgoingtokillher,she wouldhavegonetothepolice.
    Sothatcanonlymeansuicide.
    MomandAuntBeth.
    Leavingjustme.
    Alone.
    IshakethatthoughtbecauseitleadsdownsomepathsinmymindI don’twanttojourneyalong.Instead,IdowhatIcameoutheretodoand picksomeoftheflowersinthegardenbeneaththekitchenwindow.When Ihaveenoughfortwobouquets,Iheadbackintothekitchenandlaythen outonthetable,selectingcolorsthatlookgoodtogetherandarranging everythinguntilI’msatisfiedenoughtotiethemtogetherwithstringand tieawhiteribbonaroundeachbouquet.
    ThenIgooutfrontandlaythemcarefullyonthebackseatofthe VolvoanddriveouttotheSeaRoadCemetery.
    *
    WhenIgettothecemetery,Ihavethebiggestshockofthemorning.
    Stoker’sLandRoverisparkedbythegate.It’sdefinitelytheonehegave mearideintheotherday;darkbluewithSTOKERAUTOSpaintedon thesidesandthewinchontherear.Whatishedoinghere?Andatthis timeofthemorning?‘Wellobviouslythesameasyou,’Itellmyself.
    ‘ThisistheonlycemeteryintownandI’msureheknowspeoplewho havedied.’
    Waitaminute.Whatifheisherefor exactly thesamereasonasme?
    Whatifhe’svisitingAuntB’sgrave?
    Thatwouldbejusttooweird.
    MaybeIshouldcomebacklater.No,thereisnolater…Dellleaves todayandIhavetocookbreakfastandspendtimewithher.
    Icheckmyselfintherearviewandgroan.Ididn’tputonanymakeup andmyhairisamess.Ididn’tthinktherewouldbeanyoneheresoearly.
    AndIcertainlydidn’texpecttomeetStoker.Idon’thaveachoice.Iwant toputtheseflowersonthegravesforMomandAuntBandifthatmeans Stokerseeingmy‘earlymorning’lookthensobeit.I’msurehe’llget overit.
    Idriveinthroughthegatesandupthedrivewaythatleadstothesmall parkinglot,lookingforStokeramongtherowsofgravestones.Idon’tsee anyoneatallbutthecemeteryisplantedwiththreeshereandtheresohe couldbeoutofmylineofsight.IcanseeAuntB’sandMom’sgraves fromwhereIparkthecarandStokerisn’ttheresomaybehe’svisiting someoneelse.
    Takingtheflowers,IlockthecarandwalkalongthesamepathwayI walkedayearagowhenMomwasburiedhereandagainlastweekwhen AuntBwasburiednexttoher.Theyhadsuchshortlives,hardlyany timeontheearthatall,andnowthey’regoingtobehereattheSeaRoad Cemetery…attheendofthislittlestonepath…forever.Atleastthey’re together.
    AnoisebehindmemakesmeturnaroundandthereisStokerina blackleatherjacketandbluejeanswalkingtowardtheparkinglot,head downwithhishandsinhispockets.He’ssoupsethewalksrightpastmy carwithoutevenseeingit.Idon’tcallhim.Helookslikehewantstobe leftalone.Curious,IwalkbackalongthepathtothepointwhereIthink Stokermusthavewalkedontoitfromtherowsofgraves.Istepontothe grassandbehindalittlestandofbirchtrees,Iseethegraveshewas visiting.Twogravestonesnexttoeachother,eachwithafreshbouquetof flowersplacedinfrontofit.
    ClaireStoker,belovedwifeandmother.Alwaysinourthoughts.
    JamesStoker,sonofClaireandMaxandbrotherofDean.Alifecut short.Gonebutneverforgotten.
    Thedatesonthestonesputtheirdeathsonthesamedayfifteen monthsago.Jameswasonlytwentyone.
    Hismotherandbrother.Theremusthavebeensomesortofaccident.
    MaybeStokerandIdohavesomethingincommon;we’vebothlost peoplewelove.
    Andwebothbringflowerstotheirgraves.
    Istepbackontothepathandwalktowheremylovedonesareburied.
    TherearelotsofflowersaroundAuntB’sheadstonefromthefuneraland fromherfriendsinPromiseCove.Iaddmineandplacetheotherbouquet onMom’sgrave.Isitonthegrassbetweenthemandfeelasudden overwhelmingneedtocry.Idon’tholditback.Iletitcomeandandsoon