by Amy Cross
***
They made their way slowly through the cemetery gate, as if weighed down by their grief. Both of them clutched a small offering of flowers, which had looked so beautiful in the garden but which now seemed so pitiful. Still, it was all they had to bring.
“Are you sure you want to go on?” Maximo Marco asked. “We can -”
“She can't be left alone,” his wife replied, staring ahead with impassive yet tearful eyes. “It's her first morning here. If we don't come to her grave, she might think we've forgotten her.”
“But she -”
“Go home if you wish,” she continued. “I will tend to her alone.”
Realizing that there was nothing left to say, Maximo held up his arm to support Catherine. They made their way in silence along the narrow, winding path that twisted between the old gravestones until, finally, they came to the plot that had less than twenty-four hours been filled in. The gravestone here was new, its letters still sharply defined as they spelled out the name of the Marcos' daughter:
Alice Marco
It was a simple stone, as the family had preferred. Catherine knelt to place her flowers next to the others, which had been left after the funeral. She bowed her head, letting tears drip from her eyes onto the churned soil.
“Perhaps we should come back later,” Maximo said after a few minutes. “This does no-one any good.”
“What if we leave and she feels alone?” Catherine asked, her voice barely heard through the tears.
“She's not here,” he replied. “She doesn't feel anything.”
As his wife continued to sob, Maximo put a hand on her shoulder. He knew there was nothing to do; her heart was broken, as was his. After a moment, he heard the distant roar of an engine, and he turned to look at the far wall. Somewhere in the distance, a motor vehicle was racing through the streets. Glancing up at the mansion high up on the hill, Maximo realized with a heavy heart that the island was already moving on. His daughter's death was yesterday's news, and soon her grave would begin to fade like all the others.
