The Girl Who Digs Graves

by Willie E. Dalton

  I was happily still nestled in close against Raphael. My neck had been leaning this way for too long and was starting to protest, but I desperately didn’t want to move. I sat up against him and tried to stretch my head the other way. Without saying anything, he moved his arm and started massaging my neck. I let out a sound of pure enjoyment, and saw him smile.

  After a few minutes I settled back against him. The movie was almost over, and I was already dreading watching him leave. I had already heard the dryer stop, so I knew his clothes were dry. I just really didn’t want him to go.

  “You can stay tonight if you want. I mean, it’s already so late,” I said, not believing what I was offering to this man I’d just met.

  He was quiet; it made me nervous.

  “I mean, you don’t have to of course, but you’re welcome to. Where are you staying in town, anyway?” I asked.

  “I’m renting a little place in the valley,” he replied. He still appeared to be thinking pretty hard.

  I nodded.

  “If I did stay, where would you want me to sleep?” he asked.

  I swallowed past the tightness in my chest. “The couch is pretty comfortable, and then there is my bedroom. I, uh, can take the couch, or…” I hesitated, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

  “Can I just be blunt with you for a minute?” he asked.

  “Of course.” My stomach was twisting inside of me.

  “Before I left tonight, I was going to ask to kiss you.”

  I smiled.

  “But,” he continued, “if I stay, I’m not going to.”

  I gave him the puzzled look I was feeling. “Why not?” My voice gave away more disappointment than I wanted it to.

  He smiled. “Too much too soon. If I stay, I’ll sleep on the couch; or if you want to cuddle, I’m good with that, but nothing more. So, you decide if I’m staying or not.”

  Well this was frustrating; not that I planned on having my way with him, or anything. But now that I knew he had wanted to kiss me—it changed things.

  It was late, I had a cemetery to mow, and probably more graves to dig tomorrow. But I was already feeling wide awake after my little nap. I felt pretty certain that if he went home, and especially if he kissed me, I would be awake all night, anyway. Maybe if he stayed I could let myself fall asleep. Yes, I was reaching, but it made me feel better.

  He sat quietly with a serious look on his face, waiting for me to decide what I wanted tonight.

  I looked at him and sighed. “Since you were blunt, I guess I can be too. I think it would be easier if you just stay tonight. That way you aren’t having to walk back through the cemetery to your car, and getting to your place so late. But, I’ll only let you stay on one condition.” I stopped.

  “What’s that?” he questioned.

  “If you aren’t going to kiss me tonight, you have to come back and kiss me another time.” I didn’t look at him when I said it.

  He laughed, and it was a warm sound that seemed to fill me up. “That, I can promise.”

  I stood up from the couch and stretched. “Come on, then. Let’s get some sleep.”

  “Following you,” he replied.

  I turned off the TV that was still silently glowing blue after the movie had ended. Raphael followed me into my bedroom, and though I had never had a man in my room like this before, I was surprisingly comfortable with it. With my couple of ex-boyfriends, I always stayed with them, to spare Ray the discomfort. Even that hadn’t felt as good as this.

  Raphael, on the other hand, looked a little out of his element. I watched him look around my room, and he hesitated to move or touch anything without invitation.

  “Which side of the bed do you want?” I asked.

  “Which side do you normally sleep on?” he replied.

  “All of it,” I laughed. “Will you be comfortable sleeping in the robe, or should I find you something?”

  He ran his hands down the front of the robe. “This is fine.”

  I nodded and walked over to turn down the bed. The quilt was one of those generic cabin themes of plaid with little bears and trees thrown in. This had been Ray’s bedroom, and I had had a twin, set up in the loft. When he died, I got rid of the twin and took the larger room. It seemed like the only reasonable thing to do.

  A small part of me wondered how Ray would feel about me having a man over here, staying the night in his old bed. I could imagine him shaking his head and smiling at me for finally doing something a little out of routine. He’d always had good things to say about love, in spite of his failed marriage... not that this was love. But I hoped it was something.

  Once again, I had let my thoughts carry me a bit too far away. I heard Raphael clear his throat, and snapped out of my head long enough to see him waiting for me in bed. My heart sped up enough to make me nervous that he would be able to feel it, and that only made it beat harder. I smiled at him and turned off the lights. I walked over and crawled into bed with him. My bed was already so much warmer than when it was only me getting in for the night.

  He was on one side, and I was on the other; the space between our bodies seemed like miles. I couldn’t sleep like this; I wanted him close. I slowly inched my way towards him until I could feel the edge of his body against mine.

  “Comfy?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah, this is great,” he said, and I heard him yawn.

  “Good,” I replied, still frustrated. I didn’t know whether I should stay facing him, or turn my back towards him so he could wrap his arms around me, if he ever would.

  I kept moving and shifting in the bed, trying to get closer or get comfortable. I thought I was being subtle, but after a few minutes Raphael spoke up.

  “You’re not used to sharing your bed, are you?” he laughed.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “It’s fine; you need sleep though. I’ll take the couch.” He started to get up, and I grabbed his hand.

  “Please stay in here. I just want to be closer to you,” I quickly blurted out before he could leave.

  My heart must have decided my brain was no longer allowed to think through what I was going to say, and somehow short circuited it. I was quite surprised at myself once the words were out. He squeezed my hand and got back in bed, pulling me close against him so that my head was on his chest and my fingers were in his hair. We both sighed, and then, we slept.

  When I woke up the next morning, he was still there—an oil spill of black hair across my light green sheets. I ran my fingers through it as I had done the night before.

  The light through the window was just enough that I knew it was probably nearly 7:00AM. My bedside clock agreed with me. I needed to get up, make breakfast, and get busy before the day got too hot again. Thankfully, I hadn’t gotten any calls yet for more graves. That thought reminded me that I needed to check the one we had worked on last night to make sure it was done.

  I looked at Raphael again and my head felt light and giddy, but at the same time my chest felt heavy and sad at the thought of him leaving today.

  I wondered if I should wake him up, or if I should get up and fix breakfast for the two of us. I hadn’t cooked for anyone except Ray. He had thought my cooking was pretty good. I could make coffee, and pancakes, and bacon.

  Once more I looked at the man in my bed; he was beautiful. Women probably begged him to come home with them most nights, and yet here he was, in my bed, after spending his evening helping me dig a grave.

  Slowly, and carefully I rolled out of bed, and sighed with relief when I looked back to see him still asleep. I put my hair up and made my way to the kitchen.

  I started the coffee first, so I could drink a cup while I cooked. I had never realized how much noise everything makes when you’re trying to be quiet.

  I hummed the song we had danced to the night before, and was smiling stupidly as I poured pancake batter into the hot skillet.

  “Good morning.”

  I jumped and turned around to see Raphael standing at th
e counter. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry.” He yawned and stretched. His eyes were still heavy with sleep.

  I could tell he wasn’t a morning person.

  “Could I get my clothes?” he asked.

  “Sure. They’re still in the dryer,” I said.

  He shuffled off through the cabin to change, and came back a few minutes later in his torn jeans and black t-shirt. I already missed him in just the robe.

  “Can you stay for breakfast? It’s almost ready,” I invited.

  He was quiet for a minute. “Uh, sure, I can do that. I just don’t want to keep you if you need to work.”

  “Well I have to eat, too,” I smiled. I realized I was probably entirely too perky for him this early. I’d try to tone it down.

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  “Please.”

  “Cream and sugar?” I offered.

  “Just black.”

  I poured and handed him a cup, then jumped back to the skillet to get the pancake out before it burned.

  “Can I help?” he asked.

  “I got it, thanks though,” I said.

  We ate breakfast, but didn’t talk as much as I had hoped. It made me a little uncomfortable and afraid I had imagined all the chemistry between us the night before.

  We finished eating, and he helped me clean up the dishes. Afterwards, he walked out onto the porch and put on his boots. I knew what was coming next, and I dreaded it.

  “I guess I should be going,” he said. “Thanks for letting me stay, and for washing my clothes, and making me breakfast,” he laughed.

  “Thanks for helping me work last night, and for staying with me. I haven’t had company in a long time. It was nice.” I stood in front of him on the porch, feeling a bit awkward. “Am I going to see you again?” I asked, continuing our bluntness from the night before.

  “I owe you that kiss, right?” He gave a slight smile.

  I felt the butterflies start in my stomach again. “I think that was the deal.”

  “Then yes, you will see me again.” He smiled and gave a slight wave as he walked off towards the cemetery.

  I watched him walk away and wished I had at least hugged him goodbye. I had spent the night in his arms, why was touching him suddenly awkward? I guess what happens in the dark feels different in the day.

  He left, and I worked. I mowed and weeded and removed old dead flower arrangements from the tombstones. I made sure last night’s grave was ready for the woman’s burial, and by the time I had finished all of my work, I could see the sun starting to sink behind the mountains.

  I had ridden a roller-coaster of feelings all day. I tried to stay focused and not think about Raphael and all the possibilities with him. And then, I’d switch and remember as many details as I could from the night before, trying to feel all the tingles and butterflies of being close to him.

  I went through my evening routine hoping to hear a knock at the door, and at some point, I surrendered to sleep.

  It was three days before I saw him again.

  I was trimming some shrubs out by the gate when I saw his Jeep parked at the far end of the lot. I looked around but didn’t see him. It felt odd: if he didn’t want to see me, why was he back again; and if he did, why wasn’t he here?

  I finished cutting branches and cleaned up the mess. As I walked back toward the shed,I saw Raphael: he was standing over a grave. His shoulders were shaking gently, and he dropped his head as he placed his hand on the gravestone.

  It was pretty clear he had had another reason for visiting my cemetery. My heart immediately broke for him. I mapped out the cemetery in my mind, trying to place whose stone that was. It had been somewhere around a year since Ray and I had dug that grave. ‘Stephanie?’ Was that the name? I tried to picture the gravestone in my mind. I always felt a little bad when I couldn’t remember a name or cause of death, even though that wasn’t really part of my job. I felt like I should know the people in my cemetery.

  Raphael looked up and saw me, his face wet with silent tears. I just stood there, not sure if he wanted me to come closer, or let him mourn in peace.

  He forced a smile and waved. I walked over.

  He didn’t say anything when I stood beside him. We both looked down, contemplating the plot in front of us. After a moment he broke the silence.

  “Did you dig her grave?” he asked.

  “Ray and I did, together,” I said softly.

  I noticed the dates on the stone and immediately remembered the funeral. Ray and I weren’t always around during the graveside services unless we were tending something nearby. We had been that day, planting flowers I believe. It stood out because of how loud the crying was; it had been a suicide. Those funerals always stuck with you.

  “How did you know her?” I asked, and put my hand on his shoulder.

  “She went to college with me, she was one of my best friends.” He touched the stone again.

  “Did you date?”

  “We hooked up a few times, but she never wanted anything too serious.” There was so much sadness in his eyes.

  I was trying to piece together the things I knew about him, and how this fit in. “The road trip you were on with friends, were you all coming here to see her?”

  He nodded. “We had all been good friends. Stephanie had always tried to tell me Anna had a crush on me. I got together with her after Steph died; we wanted to come say goodbye.” He put his hand over my hand on his shoulder. “Do you know what happened?” he asked, and I could hear the tightness in his voice, forcing the words out.

  “I don’t know the circumstances, but I know how she died,” I said.

  His shoulders stiffened and his voice lost some emotion it had held. “No one really knows the circumstances. She didn’t talk to anyone.”

  Anger… So much hurt and anger for being left behind without a goodbye.

  I took his hand in mine and squeezed it gently.

  “Do you want a beer?” I offered.

  He smiled at me. “Yeah,” he sighed, and turned away from her grave.

  We sat on my porch, each sipping a Sam Adams and looking over the quiet rolling green hills dotted with gray headstones. The mountains in the distance were tall and green.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the other night?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It just never seemed like the right time.”

  “Loss is hard; it doesn’t have to make sense. Has coming back given you any sort of closure?” I asked.

  “I think only an explanation could do that.” He took a swig of his beer and brushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped his ponytail.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I sipped my beer and said nothing.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For not telling you everything the other day, and for being a downer today.”

  I laughed. “It’s not an easy thing to talk about, especially just meeting someone. And you know I live in a cemetery and dig graves for a living. It’s hard to bring me down. I just want you to be OK.”

  He took my hand in his and looked at me. “Meeting you has been the only part of my trip that’s made this OK.”

  Those damn butterflies again.

  We chatted more about my job and how I had gotten to be where I was. I told him about the trips Ray and I had taken around the U.S. Ray wanted me to know there was more to this world than our little corner, our little graveyard. I had been particularly taken with Colorado and Montana: I liked the open skies with mountains. He had insisted I go to college, even though I knew I wanted to take over for him. He wasn’t thrilled when I went for a business degree; Ray believed skills were most important. Also, we knew several people in town working for minimum wage with business degrees. But I managed to convince him it wasn’t totally worthless away from our small town.

  I talked and talked to Raphael, telling him about my life; I couldn’t recall anyone ever being that inte
rested before.

  “Have you had any serious boyfriends?” Raphael asked sometime during my rambling.

  “Sure, I’ve had boyfriends in the past but none lasted long. Most men don’t like a woman who does more physical labor than they do, and my job creeps them out. I had one semi-serious boyfriend in college a couple of years ago. He was studying mortuary science, so he wasn’t bothered by the job,” I said, remembering the guy’s wide brown eyes and pasty skin.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “He got weird, which, in our line of work, says something,” I laughed. “He started picking up roadkill, and cutting himself for fun. He asked if he could cut me during sex one night, and then asked if we could have sex in an open grave. I guess I’m not that kinky.”

  Raphael made a face that clearly showed how warped that sounded. “Good call on letting that one go.” He held up his beer in acknowledgment.

  I laughed.

  Raphael put his hand on my knee, and asked, “So, do you have a lot more work today?”

  “I just need to water the flowers and give everything a walk through,” I said.

  “How about I help you do that, and then you let me take you out for dinner?” he asked.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had been on a real date, or eaten inside a restaurant in town. It had been before Ray died.

  “That sounds great.” I smiled at him.

  Raphael helped me finish up my chores, and sat on the couch while I got ready. I was as fast in the shower as I could be, still taking the time to shave my legs and everything else.

  I put on more makeup than I usually wore (the usual amount being none), and blow dried my hair so that it was full and silky down my back.

  I rummaged through my closet for the first time in ages, since I was used to grabbing the same work clothes from the floor or dryer every morning. I couldn’t even remember what I might have that would be nice for dinner. Finally, I found a little black summer dress with spaghetti straps and a flowing skirt. It was a little on the short side but I would be careful to keep it pulled down. As it turned out, finding a dress was easier than finding shoes. Boots—so many boots—one pair of sneakers, an old pair of blue flip flops… Dammit. I was about to give up when I remembered I had a bag of clothes to get rid of, things I had worn at college that I didn’t want anymore. I had meant to take the bag to our local women’s shelter for ages, but now I was glad I hadn’t. I dug around in the white trash bag until my fingers wrapped around a pair of black strappy sandals with silver clasps. Thank God.