Jeff the Accountant Escapes the Wretched Burning Depths of Hades

Love, Ed

Kneeling, Edward placed one hand on Stede's tombstone and with the other he placed the card he'd written and the flowers he bought, in the flagon that he'd sat down after finishing it's contents.

"Stede." he said.

No other words would form. His sadness was unutterable.

A few tears slowly traced his cheekbones, then his jawline, finally dripping onto the front of his shirt. The garment he'd hoped Stede would see one day. He very much wanted to show Stede the fine work Frenchie had been doing as his tailor.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, looked up to see that it was Jim. Edward put his hand on top of theirs. "You head back, Jim. I'll come along shortly."

"We can wait with you, Ed." It was Izzy. He'd been quietly waiting at the cemetery, wanting to be there if he was needed.

Edward let out a sigh. "Let's, let's just go. This is a bit too heavy for your old captain."

They left the cemetery, passing a woman on her way to pay her respects to a deceased loved one.

Reaching Stede's "grave", Mary's curiosity was peaked by the unusual flower arrangement she found there. She dutifully visited his "final resting place" once a week, keeping up appearances. It was a pleasing ritual for her.

She often took the chance to speak to her former husband. She'd share updates on how well the children were doing, run-of-the-mill town gossip, or how she sometimes felt insecure about her painting. How inspiration sometimes eluded her.

Now, here, in front of her, sat a flagon of flowers, positioned just so, in front of her husband's tombstone. In her mind's eye she saw an intriguing image. An image she wanted to paint. Was that morbid? "Doug can help me figure that out" she thought. And she left to find him.

They were able to get back to the cemetery while the light was still good. Doug agreed with her. So she made plans to gather her things - her easel, paints, brushes, all the supplies she'd become so skilled at using, to transfer onto the canvas, the vision in her mind.

Tomorrow would be a perfect day to do the painting. Her parents would be taking the children for a three week visit in the countryside.

Mary and Doug went back to the house, for dinner with their family and a good night's sleep.

Everything was set up. Mary was comfortably sitting on the folding chair she'd brought to the gravesite. When she removed a leaf that had fallen onto the flower arrangement, she noticed a card.

"Love, Ed" she read aloud. Stede hadn't found him, then? They hadn't found each other? Mary's heart sank. "Where are you, Stede?" she asked the tombstone.

Part of Doug's expert instruction as a painting instructor had been to let your mood help you get onto the canvas the image you are envisioning.

So she painted.

The finished piece was stunning. Mary was both pleased and saddened. It was one of the rare occasions where she did not doubt how good her work was. The painting was haunting and evocative.

Doug showing up just in time to help get her things packed up and get the painting safely to her studio was, to Mary, an instance of how being in love feels easy, just like breathing. And how they pass the time so well together.

She wanted that for Stede. Was there still a chance? A chance for him and Ed?