A Bend in the Road - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,113
was still chilly, the bitter cold had passed and temperatures had returned to normal. The rain over the previous couple of days had melted all the snow; where I once saw lawns blanketed in white, I now saw the familiar brown of centipede grass, gone dormant over the winter. Wreaths and red bows decorated windows and doors in my neighborhood, but in the car I felt disconnected from the season, as if I’d slept through it all and had another year to wait.
I made a single stop on my way, my usual. I think the man there had come to know me, since I made the same purchase every time. When he saw me come in, he waited by the counter, nodded when I told him what I wanted, then returned a few minutes later. We had never shared small talk in all the time I’d been coming to his shop. He didn’t ask me what they were for; he never did.
He did, however, say the same thing every time he handed them to me:
“They’re the freshest I’ve got.”
He took my money and rang up the purchase. On my way back to the car, I could smell them, their sweet, honeyed fragrance, and I knew he was right. The flowers, once again, were beautiful.
I set them on the car seat beside me. I followed roads familiar to me, roads I wish I’d never traveled, and I parked outside the gates. I steeled myself as I stepped out of the car.
I saw no one in the cemetery. Gripping my jacket near the collar to pull it tighter, I walked with my head down; I didn’t have to watch where I was going. The ground was wet, clinging to my feet. In a minute, I was at the grave.
As always, I was struck by how small it was.
It was ridiculous to think this, but as I stared, I couldn’t help it. The grave, I noticed, was well tended. The grass was neatly trimmed, and there was a silk carnation in a small holder in front of the headstone. It was red, as was every other carnation near every other headstone I could see, and I knew that the groundskeeper had placed them all.
I bent over and propped the flowers against the granite, making sure not to touch the stone. I never had. It wasn’t, nor had it ever been, mine.
Afterwards, my mind drifted. Usually, I thought about Missy and the wrong decisions I had made; on that day, I found my thoughts drawn to Miles.
I think that was the reason why I didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until they were already upon me.
“Flowers,” Miles said.
Brian turned at the sound of his voice, half-surprised, half-terrified.
Miles was standing near an oak tree whose limbs fanned out over the ground. He was wearing a long black coat and jeans; his hands were buried in his pockets.
Brian felt the blood drain from his face.
“She doesn’t need flowers anymore,” Miles said. “You can stop bringing them.”
Brian didn’t respond. What was there really to say?
Miles stared at him. With the sun sinking below the horizon, his face was shadowed and dark, his features hidden. Brian had no idea what he was thinking. Miles pushed the coat outward with both hands, as if he were holding something beneath its folds.
Hiding something.
Miles made no move toward Brian, and for a fleeting second, Brian had the urge to run. To escape. He was younger by fifteen years, after all—a quick burst might be enough to allow him to reach the road. Cars would be there, people would be all around.
But just as quickly as the thought came, it left him, draining whatever energy he had. He didn’t have any reserves left. He hadn’t eaten for days. He’d never make it, not if Miles really wanted to catch him.
And more than that, Brian knew he didn’t have any place to go.
So Brian faced him. Miles was twenty feet away, and Brian saw his chin rise slightly. Miles met his gaze. Brian waited for him to do something, make a gesture; perhaps, he thought, Miles was waiting for the same thing. It struck Brian that they must have looked like a couple of gunfighters in the Old West, preparing to draw.
When the silence became too much to bear, Brian looked away, toward the street. He noticed that Miles’s car was parked behind his, the only two he could see. They were alone here, among the gravestones.