With the dishes all washed and put away and the kitchen in reasonable order, Salem stepped outside the door to the back yard. The chilly air made her shiver, even with the heavy coat. She walked along the sleeping brown grass to the little worn trail at the yard’s edge. The yard had no discernable end, only a vague distinction between where professionally planted lawn met with age-old, regular grasses, weeds, and dirt which began the field behind the house. The Blanchard property consisted of many fields, meadows, woods, trails, a stream, and even an apple orchard. Salem took the trail through the meadow to the fork where she veered right. She continued walking down to the iron fence which cordoned off the family cemetery just before the trail entered the woods.
The squeaky gate pushed open on its rusty hinges as she went inside. Generations of Blanchard relatives were lain to rest here, but not all Blanchards were there. Most of the more powerful Blanchard witches’ remains were too valuable for burial. Their remains—crushed after cremation—were stored in jars elsewhere…for other uses. No, the bodies resting in the Blanchard cemetery were typically periphery relations. Such as Salem’s husband, David.
David’s headstone was not weathered and worn like many of the others. Shiny, new, bright gray—David Lane was new to this graveyard. Salem gently stroked the smooth top of the marble headstone and traced the letters of his name beneath her fingertips.
“Did you hear all of us in there around the table?” she asked her unseen husband. “You always loved coming here with all of us chattering away over absolutely nothing. You never got to have a big crazy family ‘till me. I was split over coming here today or not. I felt like maybe I should be at your aunt and uncle’s with them. I invited them here, but they wanted a quiet Thanksgiving.”
Salem pulled a little iron chair from the fence rail and placed it beside the grave where she could sit a while. She pulled one of the roses from the little vase sitting on the grave. It was kind of the aunts to keep putting flowers out here regularly for her. Salem clutched the pink rose in her hand. The wind blew her long auburn hair into her face as she smelled the rose. Sweeping her hair back behind her ear, she gave a short chuckle.
“I almost cut my hair last week. Got all the way to the salon before I changed my mind. I said, David would be furious if I cut this hair. You used to play with it at night while we’d watch TV. I don’t watch as much TV as we used to. Arielle and I have some shows we watch together, but I can’t watch the things you and I did. Those were ours. I don’t do a lot of things I used to do.
“I don’t make the bed much anymore. Remember how I could never leave for work unless the bed was made? I just don’t care now. I don’t eat the way we used to. Remember Wednesday night fried chicken, Monday meatloaf, country fried steak Sundays? Now Arielle and I just grab something or order in. Eating is functional now. It’s not the at-the-table-how-was-your-day kind of thing anymore.”
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She replaced the rose in the vase and hugged her arms around herself to brace against another chilling breeze. The wind made her cheeks raw. It felt cold just under nose where her tears had collected. She could taste a bit of saltiness on her lips before she wiped it away on her sleeve.
“This is big,” she said, shuddering back a sob. “The first Thanksgiving without you. These firsts are so hard. So hard. I don’t know how I’ll make it through Christmas. Arielle being around helps.”
Suddenly it occurred to her she had never officially told him about Arielle. That alone felt strange. How could something so big happen in her life and she had not shared that with the man she shared everything with?
“Oh God, David, you don’t know about Arielle! She is my sister. Can you believe it? I have a sister. She lives in Atlanta with me in our old house. She has saved my life in a number of ways. You’d really like her. She already likes you. Lord knows she’s heard every David story there is under the sun. I met my father, too, earlier this year. You know how touchy that subject has always been for me. He was nice. I liked him. He even showed up for Seth’s wedding—kind of. Oh, God, David—Seth and Yasmine got married! You always told me Yaz had a thing for him, but I never really believed it. Turns out you were right. And Aunt Demitra is dating. Demitra! Dating! Can you picture that? She has been such the grieving widow for so long it's crazy. He came over today. He seems all right.”
Salem looked across the meadow toward the chicken houses in the distance, but she wasn’t looking at them. She wasn’t looking at anything. Perhaps she was looking down the road of her life, wondering about her own future and where it was going to end up.
“And before you even say it…” she said to David’s invisible voice in her mind as she looked to his headstone, “I have no intention of dating right now. I don’t know if I ever want to try. How can a person expect to find love when they’ve already had the greatest love of all time? Nobody can be like you. Thoughtful. Kind. Funny—although not always as funny as you thought you were. And sexy. Damn, David, why did you have to be so damn sexy to me? And our fights! Boy, we had some doozies, didn’t we? You always did know how to push me back down to earth whenever I got too high and mighty. No one else can do that. I miss you so much. I miss us so much. Sometimes I think I might just die from the hole in my heart. Losing Michael was the worst, I admit. But you’re the only one who could ever understand what I lost with that, which makes losing you even harder.”
Tears were streaming now. The ache she spoke of was hitting her gut hard as she shivered in the cold. “All our years together are now solely my memories. The running jokes. Our playful made-up words for things. Our sweet memories of our son and the years of our marriage. I am alone with memories no one else shares. No one else to reminisce about it all with. There is only me.”
Salem was about to lose control of her emotions, something she would never forgive herself for doing. Quickly she wiped her face and braced her heart, hardening her demeanor and throwing up her inner walls. “People probably think I’m a little cold. I don’t break in front of them. Maybe that’s a flaw of mine. Maybe it’s a strength. But I don’t break down with people. I lost the only place I felt safe breaking down. But thanks for letting me do it one more time here with you. Now it's time to go back inside. I am really freezing out here. I just wanted to have a minute with you. Tell you that no matter how many times you see me laugh, whatever words I say to people, the face I show—inside I still hurt. I will never not love you. Happy Thanksgiving, my love.”