The Eccedentesiast

Chapter Twenty-five

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Chapter Twenty-five
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"It's fine," Emma whispered. "Everything is okay."

She parked her car in an empty parking spot. It was colder in this part of town, she thought it was a bit creepy since she was at the cemetery. Unlike the other one, this one was still open and people came here every day to deliver flowers.

Emma turned off the car and put the keys inside her hoodie while she opened the car door. She stepped out, one foot at a time, and locked the car with just a press of a button.

She stepped onto the sidewalk and entered the small gate; a small gate with swirly designs and Angel statues on both sides.

She shivered when two people were locking hands, crying over the grave. They looked sad. Their hair was neat and perfect. Their clothes were fancy and just screamed 'designer'.

Emma walked a little closer and stopped a few steps behind them. She sighed, watching her breath in the cold.

The two people turned around and faced Emma. They both gasped at the same time and gripped each other's arms. The woman bent down and started sobbing as she grabbed onto her bright, blond hair, even under the gray sky it was shining with the expensive product.

Emma felt so weird suddenly. She wished she would have just driven home instead of coming. She felt embarrassed standing in front of Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle. She was guilty of everything.

Emma glances at the gravestone behind them and felt the knot in her throat pulse when she read the engraved name. Heather Carlyle.

"Emma." She was stolen from her trance when Mrs. Carlyle grazes her pale cheek.

Emma tried to smile, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't even look at her directly in the eye without wanting to yell out, 'It's all my fault!'

Maybe you should have just gone home.

Emma didn't reply to that voice in her head but handed them her hand for them to shake. She hasn't seen them in years and the first thing she does is offer them a handshake.

Mrs. Carlyle didn't hesitate, she grabbed Emma's arms and brought her into her chest. Mrs. Carlyle was so tall and fancy. She was the perfect sculpted person that anybody would be happy to be born into her family.

"Mrs. Carlyle, I'm so sorry about Heather." Emma pulled away and took two steps back, a safe distance that didn't make her want to throw up.

Mrs. Carlyle went back to her sad exterior and dabbed her cheeks with the tissue she had crumbled in her left hand. "Please, Emma, it's fine."

Mr. Carlyle still had a firm grip on his wife's left shoulder when he nodded at Emma. "Who wouldn't miss her?"

Emma nodded and looked down at the wet dirt. "Right? She was so perfect."

Mrs. Carlyle started sobbing at that comment. "We j-just mi-miss her."

Emma didn't want to cry, she didn't feel like she had the honor to cry over someone so radiant and full of perfection, someone that always smelled like caramel.

"I'm sorry you had to be there," Mr. Carlyle spoke.

Emma looked up for a brief second and they both caught on to her reddening scleras. She didn't say anything else, but her feet kept shuffling with dirt. Her black, lace-up boots were starting to dirty with their old, polished appearance.