Grace (BWWM)

Chapter One

God will get you through it.

I want to tell him those very words he told me six years ago, but they feel like a heavy weight in my mouth.

The casket had been lowered into the ground more than half an hour ago and everyone has left by now.

"Joe," I say, placing a hand on his shoulder. The man shudders at my touch. A man who has always been so strong is now so incredibly broken. The sight has my heart breaking.

"Joseph," I say his full name now as he continues to stare at the ground. "We should go,"

I've been to this same graveyard several times, the first time being six years ago, and he was with me then. He had pulled me away, even as my legs threatened to give way under me. The love of my life, a man who had a deep laughter that filled the air and caused you to laugh with him, a man with a heart for everyone and arms always open, even for those without a home, my late husband, was buried here. And now, Joe's wife is buried here as well.

"Joe," I repeat, but the man doesn't move. "You can't stay here," I say and step beside him. His eyes are focused on the fresh pile of dirt that was tamped down not long ago. I give him a gentle shake, hoping to shake him from his stupor. I can't pull him away the same way he did with me because he's a large man—probably six-foot-three and he weighs over three hundred pounds, easily. He's a hefty man, a police officer, and very kind-hearted He's beloved by everyone in our community, so when we learned that his wife passed, we showed up for him. I'll be stopping by, along with some others, to drop off food for him throughout the week, and I'll check in on him regularly as well.

"Come on," I urge.

"Stop it, Grace," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "I'd like to stay here with her,"

"You should not. You remember how you did not let me stay here?" And it's a good thing. Staying alone in the early morning in a graveyard is no good. "There's no company here except the dead. You told me that last time,"

"The dead is good company," I blink before frowning.

"No, they are not."

"She's good company, Grace."

"Joe..." She's dead I want to tell him, but I know that won't do any good. Nothing will do any good for him right now except someone just listening. I needed to get away last time—I didn't know that then, but he did. But for him, he needs to grieve a little longer right here. So, I stay with him. At one point, my older sister texts me, wondering where I am, as my eleven-year-old children, Ty and Nova, are at her place with their cousin Rose. I let her know that I'm not sure when I'll get home. Thankfully Victoria is not going to work today and she's understanding in situations like this. So she lets me know that it's alright with her, and the kids can stay over as well. I thank her, knowing I might be with Joe for a while.

We end up staying in the chilly graveyard for two hours, and then Joe releases a drawn-out breath that turns into another one which turns into an exasperated sound before becoming a snort that's cut short by a sob. He hasn't cried all day, nor yesterday or the day before. I don't know if he's cried at all during all of this. But now it's like a dam breaks, and tears flow. The sobs rack his body, and I hand him a tissue from my purse, running my hand over his back. No words are said, and we leave shortly after.

I drive him home and let him know that I'll come in and take care of him for a little while. He doesn't say anything. We walk into the quaint house and as soon as we do, we're greeted by the scent of stale pastries. Upon going into his kitchen, I see boxes of baked goods sitting open on his island. I remember how his wife used to bake regularly and imagine he must have left it open in desperation to smell something that resembled what she used to make. It must have given him a hope that maybe she could seem close once more. But I can see by the way everything was left untouched and the artificial scent of store-bought goods that it didn't work out.