The Stone
Hindsight, Chapter 2, Part 3.
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February 2024.
Bill carried the rough stone. He needed both hands. It was the largest stone he could handle.
“Here,” he said, at last. A rectangular patch of fresh earth, impacted in places by the weight of having been sat on. “I promised. Here it is. It’s only temporary. But it’s a bit of home for you, too.”
He placed the stone reverently at one end of the rectangle of soil. The frost had worked its way into the ground, and today the soil didn’t sink as much under him.
“They said three to six months for a headstone. Backlog. Of course. I’m not going to wait for that. I’m not going to make you wait, either.”
He settled onto the ground, not caring about mud or snow.
“I can’t take it, Juss. You’re everywhere in that house. I can’t escape you.”
Flurries swirled past his face.
“I don’t want to escape.”
The cold and the damp seeped into his legs.
“I should tell you what the lawyer said, I guess. It’s your house, really. Your money. He confirms that the way we had the deed written means the house is mine. It’s watertight, he says. Nothing at all to worry about. He’s going to email me some documents, maybe tomorrow. I have to e-sign it, and send it back. And then it will be official.”
A car door slammed, and Bill’s head whipped around. A young lady, headed to the other end of the cemetery.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. All I want to do is sit here, and talk to you. If I sit here long enough, you’ll come for me, I know it. It’s all I can think of.”
He sat in silence for a while, eyes glazed. “As long as you are alive, a part of me is too,” she would have said.
“That’s not fair. You don’t know what it feels like. You don’t know how hard it is.”
“I know how much I loved you, Will.”
“I can’t be Will anymore. I was Will for you. He’s gone. You took him with you.”
“You will always be my Will.”
“Without you I can’t be.”
“Live for me, Will.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“You have to.”
“No I don’t.
“Yes.”
“Make me.”
The moment of silence stretched.
“Hah—see? You can’t do it. You can’t make me. Life is for the living. So you can’t do anything about it.”
“So you will live.”
“You tricked me. You’re playing games with me.”
“I’m not lying to you, though.”
“No. You never lied to me.”
“It’s cold, Will. You should go and get warm.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
He felt the pit inside him growing, gnawing at his bones.
“Your underwear is wet.”
“So? I don’t care.”
“I do. You have to take care of yourself, now.”
“I don’t want to. I want to take care of you.”
“You can’t.”
“I know.”
The phone rang in his pocket.
“Hey Computer: caller ID.”
“Maxwell Klaver.”
“Decline, one week.”
“Call declined, for seven days.”
“You shouldn’t keep pushing him away, Will.”
“I can’t deal with him right now.”
“He knows what you’re going through. He can help.”
“I don’t want help.”
“But you need it.”
“No I don’t.”
“I’m not arguing with you.”
“Good.”
The phone chimed. A message had been left.
“You should listen to the message, Will.”
“No, I don’t want to.”
“He’ll keep calling.”
“I can keep declining.”
“Is that fair to him, Will?”
“What about me? What about what’s fair to me?”
“Life’s not fair, Will. And neither is death. It just is.”
“When did you become such an expert?”
“When I died, Will.”
“I don’t have to listen to you. You’re just a figment of my imagination, anyway.”
“I know that, and you know that, but what does it matter who remembers what or imagines who?”
“Now you’re confusing me. Or I’m confusing myself.”
“Listen to the message, Will. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Fine. Fine! I’ll listen to it. Fine.
“Hey Computer: play message.”
“Will—I’m worried! How are you doing? I mean, I know how you must be doing. But—talk to me, okay? Don’t keep it all in. You know that’s a mistake. Just—I’ll try again later. Bye.”
“His heart’s in the right place,” she would have said.
“I know.”
“He means well.”
“I know. But I’ll break. I just can’t.”
“Try. For me.”
“Maybe. Only for you.”
“And if you don’t get up soon, you won’t be able to.”
“Why do you have to be right all the time?”
“It’s a gift. Get up.”
“Okay, okay.”
He got to his feet. He looked down at the stone.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she would have said.
He turned away, and stumbled through the snow.
Pins and needles.
Shooting pains through his legs as blood returned to them.
He reached the car, and leaned on it.
The cemetery sat on the highest point in the village. He could even see the lake in the distance.
The wind bit into him, through his cold, wet pants.
He opened the car door, closed it behind him. He reached for the START button, but pulled back.
His head hung, his vision blurred, and tears streamed down his face, dripping onto his jeans.
Thanks for reading!
Continue reading with the next part on Sunday!
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This is so good; I hate it when it comes to the end!