I could be stabbed with a dull knife a hundred times over, and it still wouldn’t be as painful as listening to middle-aged women gossiping about petty things for god knows how long.
Mother keeps trying to bring up that Angela girl, or whatever her name is. I honestly tune out the second Mother brings up my love life. Mother even tried stuffing the girl’s number into my jacket pocket when I came to help Pops move things around in the garage. I tossed it immediately.
I don’t need that shit.
I’m a twenty-eight-year-old man, for god’s sake.
So, I opt to take a walk. It’s better than doing nothing at all. Besides, it’d be nice to see how little or how much Haven’s changed in the decade I’ve been away.
It’s been a few days since I’ve heard from Eve. Even though her injury’s pretty serious, she hasn’t stepped foot into the rehabilitation wing since we had sex. I’m normally never this hung up on a woman. In the past, it’s always been a quick fix, and then I’d move on.
But her taste seems to linger on my tongue. Her sweet scent permanently lingers in my mind. The heat of her body, the softness of her skin, the sounds of her passionate, muffled cries fail to leave me.
Maybe by taking this walk, I’ll be able to clear my head. I figure the fresh air will do me good.
There’s a bit of bite to the breeze that sweeps past me, stinging my cheeks and the tips of my fingers. It’s overcast, the skies above gray and dull. Leaves are browning on their branches, dry moss caking the sides of birch trees. It’s still early enough in the morning that a light frost covers every surface, the sidewalk beneath my feet a tad slippery. Haven’s sitting at the end of autumn while the winter season creeps around the corner, ready to strike with heavy snowfall and black ice.
It’s a fairly quiet Saturday, fellow pedestrians and passing cars a rarity on my path toward the old cemetery. It’s located on the outskirts of town, directly behind the creek that passes straight through town. There’s an old colonial vibe to the whole place. Buildings closer to the town center are made of beautiful red brick and have domed roofs.
I used to love it here.
But now everything reminds me that Jacob’s gone.
My feet carry me forward automatically, maneuvering me through the rows upon rows of tombstones. Many of them are simple crosses, lacking epitaphs thanks to years of exposure to wind, rain, and snow. A few graves are adorned with colorful flowers, while others have simple stuffed animals propped against them.
The Winthrops have a family grave. We’ve been here since Haven’s founding, so it makes sense that my deceased relatives take up an entire square slab of carved marble. The remains of my grandparents and great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents rest here. Every single one of their names is etched into a stainless steel plate that’s screwed onto the marble surface.
There are still two entire sides left almost completely blank.
Jacob’s name sits alone in the top-left corner of the third panel, isolated.
I stare at his name for a long time. Even though it’s been ten years, it still doesn’t feel real. One second, he was there, his cheerful, helpful self. And the next…
The next, he’s gone. Just like that.
We did everything we could to save him, the doctor’s words rattle around in my brain. He was knocked unconscious in an instant. He wouldn’t have felt anything.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. I don’t realize how hard I’m biting until the sour taste of iron coats my tongue.
I inhale slowly, let the cold morning air chill my windpipe and freeze the inside of my skull. It numbs the ache in my chest and the gnawing sensation in my guts. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s better than letting the guilt seep into my veins to consume me.
Guilty for what?
Guilty for not visiting enough?
Guilty because Jacob’s dead and it’s all my fault?
I try not to think about it. If I do, I know it’s going to be an endless downward spiral. I don’t want to go there. Visiting Jacob was a mistake. I need to leave, and I need to leave now.
I make it all the way to the center of Haven. The town was constructed around a circular plaza, made distinct by the red bricks that make up the road. A grand fountain sits in the middle, though the water isn’t running now due to the winter season.
The plaza’s home to a semipermanent farmer’s market full of pop-up wooden booths and tables where local farmers, craftsmen, and artists come to sell their goods. There’s a weird mishmash of smells in the air from the food vendors. I can pick up hints of hot chocolate, cinnamon sugar-covered churros, hot dogs, freshly salted fries, and even curry.