But it makes me laugh.
“Your wife is buried here?” I ask. I walk over to her headstone, which is clean and tidy, and I find a small posy of flowers lying on top of her headstone. Surely he didn’t bring them.
“She liked flowers,” he says by way of explanation. His voice is quiet and unhurried. “And I liked giving them to her.” He stares at her headstone a moment, and then at me. “Still do,” he says with a chuckle. “Jake says it’s a foolish waste of time, but I reckon I can do whatever makes me feel better.”
“I have a question for you,” I say hesitantly.
“I figured you might,” he replies in his fashion.
I stand there and look around, not sure how to ask.
“Out with it, young man. I ain’t got all day.”
“Do you think you could make room in here for me?” I ask.
He is startled. Then he blinks hard and I see him take a big gulp, like he’s trying to push down his emotions. He looks away into the woods for a moment, then he looks back at me. His eyes are shiny and wet. He lifts the neck of his shirt to wipe at his eyes. “I reckon I could make some room,” he says, his voice gruff with emotion. “You don’t want to be next to your wife?” He stares at me.
“Lynda wanted to be cremated and it was important to her brothers that they get the ashes. They’re assholes,” I explain.
“Every family has at least one. And they usually stink.”
I bark out a laugh. “I want my kids to have somewhere to go, if they need me.”
“Makes sense to me.” He sniffles and clears his throat.
“And this is my favorite place. At Lake Fisher.”
“You’re a man with good taste,” he says dryly.
“So is that a yes?”
He glares at me like he used to when I was ten and I asked him a stupid question. “I said I reckon it’ll be all right, didn’t I?”
I grin. “I just wanted to be sure.”
He nods. “You can be sure. You’ll be welcome here.” He goes back to pulling weeds.
“Thanks, Mr. Jacobson.”
A grunt is his only response.
I let myself out of the little cemetery and walk slowly down the lane, back toward the complex. The cemetery rests on a hill in a private area. I don’t think many people even know it’s there. I didn’t get to choose Lynda’s resting place, but I do get to choose mine, and I’m happy with my choice.
When I get back, I find Bess bustling around in my kitchen. She’s making pancakes, and she has Kerry-Anne standing in a chair next to her, showing her how to flip them, while Sam sits at the kitchen table stirring ingredients. Miles is in a bouncy chair next to her feet, and Sam’s kitten is curled up in the chair with him.
“Did Gabby go home?” I ask, as I take in the scene.
“I told her we had this under control,” Bess says. Her face scrunches with worry. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No. Not at all.” I shake my head, and I stand back and look around. This is going to be the new normal. I might as well get used to it.
Eli walks in the front door like he owns the place, walks over to Bess, and kisses her on the cheek. “Good morning,” he says, and he looks into her eyes, and in that moment I know that while I won’t get the happily-ever-after I would so desperately love to have, my kids will. And it’ll be okay.
“I’m going to go see if I can get plane tickets sorted for me and Sam,” I say.
Bess waves me away without even looking in my direction. “We have this under control,” she says.
If I allow all this to hurt my heart, it will, I remind myself. If I don’t, it won’t. This is the new normal. And it’s going to be okay.