by Amy Cross
***
Staring at the photograph, Maximo momentarily found himself transported back to a time when Alice was still young, when she used to play in the garden. He could almost hear her laughter still, as if it had been trapped in the stone walls of the house. Feeling a tightening sensation in his chest, he turned and made his way to the foot of the stairs, and there he paused for a moment, listening for any hint that his wife might have woken.
Heading to the kitchen, he began to boil some water on the stove. Catherine had been sleeping for some time now, and he felt that it would be good to wake her with a cup of tea. For several minutes, he busied himself with the process, while trying to ignore the gnawing sensation in his chest. He felt that he, too, could collapse in a fit of tears if he allowed himself to think about Alice too much. At the same time, he knew that he had to be strong, so he -
Glancing at the counter, he suddenly realized that something was wrong. Catherine had packed some flowers earlier, ready to take to Alice's grave, but she had left them behind when she instead went up to bed. Now, however, the flowers were gone. Looking up at the ceiling for a moment, Maximo suddenly realized that the silence coming from the bedroom might not mean that his wife was asleep after all. As the kettle boiled on the stove, he hurried upstairs and burst into the bedroom.
The bed was empty.
With a heavy heart, he realized that Catherine must have sneaked out during the afternoon, and was probably already on her way to the cemetery.
