Some of the markers were clustered together, leaning towards each other as if sharing secrets or stories.
Jim and Nora looked at the many names on the stones: O’Connell, O’Sullivan, Mealy, Murphy, McCarthy. Many of the surnames were those of local families who continue to live in the area as their families’ generations had before them. It was then that Jim noticed a recently dug grave just beyond the overgrown church ruins, by the northwest wall of the cemetery.
“Here he is,” he said excitedly as he effortlessly removed two shot glasses and a miniature bottle of Jamison Irish Whisky from his jacket pocket, pointing to the grave. He carefully placed the bottle and glasses on the ground beside the freshly covered earthen mound. Nora hands him a small garden spade and Jim proceeds to dig a hole on top of his friend’s grave, one foot wide, two feet deep. With the earth freshly tilled from his recent burial it only takes a matter of minutes. When finished, Nora hands him a wooden box the size of a pack of cards. Jim hesitates for a moment, smiling before placing it in the hole, quickly covering it over with the freshly dug dirt. Satisfied, he brushes himself off as he grabs the bottle and glasses, taking his place beside Nora.
“It’s beautiful here, Jim,” Nora said as she looked from side-to-side at the overgrown cemetery. “I’m overwhelmed by the understated beauty of it all.”
“And peaceful,” replied Jim. “I just wish we could have been here for his funeral.”
“He of all people would have understood and would have laughed his ass off knowing the reason why. But what counts is we are here now.”
Jim nodded. They had been celebrating the night before at one of the local pubs in town, buying drinks for all the locals, toasting to their friend, Dan Flaherty. “He would have enjoyed last night’s sendoff. Eian still is, passed out at one of the tables.”
They both laughed aloud at the thought of Eian singing drunken karaoke at 2am.
Jim reached down for the bottle, proceeding to pour a shot of Jamison into each glass before pouring the remainder of the bottle onto Dan’s grave. When the bottle was empty they raised their glasses in toast to Dan, consuming the glasses contents.
“And now one Daniel Flaherty officially returns to his native soil.”
Jim placed the empty bottle by the headstone along with his and Nora’s glass. “He’ll like this,” Jim said, a tear rolling down his cheek. He then placed a hand on his friend’s grave. “I’ll be back often, my friend,” making a sign of the cross as he rose.
Nora smiled as she placed a single red rose on Dan’s grave, resting it against the headstone next to the empty bottle. “He was a lovely man.”
As she rises, she turns to Jim, holding her ring finger aloft so the diamonds caught a glint of the sunlight as it shone through the trees. “I wish he could have attended our wedding,” she said, welling up.
Jim reached for her, hugging her by the grave, they both looking down at his stone. “Don’t you worry, he was,” Jim said slowly before turning, Nora leading him to the graveyards exit.
At the exit, Jim hesitated.
“What’s the matter?” Nora asked.
Jim laughed aloud. “I just feel funny leaving all those diamonds behind.”
Nora shook her head as she led Jim out of the graveyard. “That was the man’s last wish, to be buried with his share.”
Arm-in-arm they strolled back down the byway.
THE END
Amazon Best Selling author Francis Joseph Smith has traveled to most of the world during his tenure in the Armed Forces and as an Analyst for an unnamed Government Agency, providing him with numerous fictional plot lines and settings for future use. His experiences provide readers with well-researched, fast-paced action. Smith's novels are the result of years of preparation to become a fiction writer in the genre of Clancy, Griffin, Higgins, and Cussler.
Smith lives with his family in a small town outside of Philadelphia where he is currently in work on his next novel.
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