It’s after dark when I turn in to Skyview Cemetery. I haven’t heard from Patel yet, which means the autopsy must be more complicated than we originally thought. He’s eager to rub my nose in the findings, so I’m sure he’ll call the instant he knows something conclusive. I’ve kept my phone’s volume on high all day to ensure I don’t miss his call.
But it’s getting late. Surely he’s heard something by now….
The cemetery grounds sit at the base of Montara Mountain with an unobstructed view of San Francisco Bay to the west, which is especially stunning with a blanket of stars draped overhead. I drive past the main office building and wind through the cemetery, zoning out, hating where this road leads. Manicured lawns. Fake flowers filling cement vases next to the headstones. Mausoleums housing flat-faced tombs. The grounds are beautiful, but I doubt anyone who visits gets much joy out of the landscaping.
Inching along in first gear, I make a wide right turn and then a left, climbing toward the section with the newer graves. I’ve turned off my radio because it doesn’t feel right to be listening to upbeat music right now. I need to bask in the silence, to give myself the space to remember.
Karen was healthy. Training for the Bay to Breakers footrace in the city. We’d recently bought her dream home in Half Moon Bay, and we were planning to start our family when she received the diagnosis. Our plans came crashing down.
I don’t realize I’ve been parked until my dashboard lights up with a reminder that my headlights are still on. Switching them off, I sit still as stone, hands gripping the wheel.
I haven’t visited Karen’s grave since we laid her in the ground last year, but time hasn’t dulled the stabbing pain in my chest. I’d thought, foolishly, that I’d come back daily. I’d gotten close a few times. Turned off the main road and driven along the path to where I sit now. But thinking about striding over the grass that covers her cold body has kept me from taking one step out of my car.
Tonight, though, I need to do this. I need her.
With a one-two-three count, I shove the door open and step out into the cold night air. The scent of freshly cut grass hits me, and I almost duck back into the car. There’s no one out here. It’s so quiet, every one of my thoughts feels like a scream in my brain.
It would’ve been so much easier to stay in my car, the way I always have before.
I weave around stones and nameplates smashed into the ground. My feet somehow know their way through the plush grass.
There.
A gray marker with an angel perched on top, its granite wings arched protectively around the sides of the stone. At the sight of it, I nearly break into a run in the other direction. My heart stings with grief and I don’t think I can do it.
I crumple to my knees at the foot of her grave. I sit on the lawn for God knows how long, blinking back tears. My legs go stiff, and I think the grass is damp, soaking through my pants, but I couldn’t move if I tried.
It feels as if I’ve been on a journey from hell for an entire year, and have just now returned home.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pinching my eyes shut. “I’m not doing well without you. I know I said I would try to find a routine and get things back to normal, but I can’t. I need you more than I ever thought I would.”
My thoughts tangle and unwind, and my throat aches.
Because the silence is too heavy to bear, I talk about the case.
“This one’s got me in knots, Karen. I wish you were here to help me, to show me where to look next. It’s one of those investigations you loved