I had thought I had lost my husband twice.
***
The next morning, before the cemetery filled with visitors, Toby drove me out to Walter’s grave.
He parked close, glancing at me in the rearview. “Want me to come with you, Grandma?”
I nodded. “Just for a minute, love. Your grandfather never liked to be alone for long.”
He offered me his arm as I climbed out, steady as his grandfather used to be. The grass was slick with dew, and the crows on the fence eyed us like old friends.
“Want me to come with you, Grandma?
I knelt, careful, and set the little velvet pouch beside Walter’s photograph, tucking it between the stems of fresh lilies.
Toby hovered, uncertain. “You okay?”
I smiled through tears and nodded. Then traced the edge of the photo with my thumb. “You stubborn man. For one terrible minute, I thought you’d lied to me.”
“He really loved you, Grandma.”
I smiled through tears.
I nodded. “Seventy-two years, honey. I thought I knew every piece of him.”
I looked at Walter’s photograph, then at the little pouch resting beside the lilies.
“Turns out,” I said softly, “I only knew the part that loved me best.”
