The truth was, I didn't know where I was going. I hadn't thought to check the directory or ask anyone who might know. But I wandered, scanning the names on the headstones quickly as I passed. Hoping I'd stumble upon the one I was looking for before it got too dark to see without a flashlight—and there was no way in hell I was walking through a cemetery at night.
I could handle a lot of shit, but the thought of being alone and surrounded by dead people creeped me the fuck out.
A half hour quickly passed, and as I turned down another row of graves, I was growing more aware of the setting sun and the need to head back when my eyes fell on an unexpected ghost I should've been more prepared to encounter. But the way we both stopped in our tracks, the way those eyes widened with startled recognition when they landed on mine, and the way that hand pressed against a heart I was surprised to find still beating after all these years …
I didn’t think I could've been prepared for that.
I didn’t think I could've ever been prepared for the way my own heart skipped a thousand beats and my eyes stung and burned with a roaring stampede of desperate emotion as I urged my feet to not fucking run to her like a little boy would after being lost for too long.
“Soldier?” Billy's mom asked, surprised, stepping toward me with apprehension.
She hates you.
Don't forget, she hates you.
Don’t forget, she wished you were dead instead.
I wouldn't allow my feet to move as I stood there, frozen, at the start of the dirt path. “H-hey,” I stammered like an idiot. “Sorry, I-I …”
I didn't want her knowing I was looking for her son's grave. I didn't want her to be aware that I was about to desecrate his resting place with my presence, knowing damn well she'd never want me within fifteen thousand feet of it when I was the reason he wasn't here right now and living his life.
So, instead of admitting the truth, I said, “I, um … I was just going for a walk …”
You really are a fucking idiot.
“Sorry,” I hurriedly repeated before turning around with my hands stuffed into my pockets, ready to run the hell away and get back to Ray’s parents’ house before someone else from the past could jump up and haunt me.
But Billy’s mom called after me, stopping me in my tracks once again, “Soldier, no, wait.”
I didn’t want to turn around and look at the woman I used to wish could’ve been my mom instead. I didn’t want to see that hatred I still remembered so vividly from my sentencing over a decade ago. But I listened to her footsteps approach softly through the dirt as I braced myself for the inevitable backlash, the how dare you and who the hell do you think you are. I decided to let it happen though. I decided she deserved to give it to me one more time without being surrounded by court officers and a pitying judge. It was the least I could do after the heartache she’d suffered.
But then she asked, “How … how are you?” Which was so much different than the verbal beating I’d been expecting.
“What?” I dared to glance over my shoulder.
Billy’s mom could barely smile with her trembling lips, but she did. “How have you been? I … I heard you had gotten out, and I w-was hoping I’d see you around, but …”
What? I could hardly believe the things I was hearing, the things she was saying. How the hell was it possible that this woman, who had hated me so much then, could smile at me now? What tripped-up, screwed-up, fucked-up rabbit hole had I fallen into when I passed through that wrought iron gate?
“Um … I’m o-okay, I guess. I—”
This felt too wrong. It felt awful and backward to be standing there, feet away from where Billy’s corpse was buried, talking to his mother like she hadn’t once wished I could trade places with him.
I pulled one hand from my pocket to pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry. I just … I don’t know what to even s—”
“I’m s-so sorry,” she gasped, forcing out a sob and quickly covering her mouth with her palm. “Oh God, Soldier, I’m so sorry.”
The tears came faster than I could react as Billy’s mom crumpled before me. Crying and sobbing into her hands and wailing like a wounded animal. My heart pleaded with my arms to hold her while my brain reminded me relentlessly of the things she’d once said, and I couldn’t find the strength to touch her the way I wanted to.
Instead, I pulled a wrinkled napkin from my pocket and handed it to her as I said, “You have no reason to be sorry.”
She accepted it, not questioning if it had been used or not, and replied, “Y-yes, I do.” She dabbed at her eyes and wiped her sodden face. “I knew you needed me. I-I knew you were alone, and I a-a-abandoned you.”
My stomach churned as she spoke the words, as I remembered exactly the way it had felt to be left by her, and still, I shrugged like it didn’t matter. “It’s okay. I-I deserved—”
“Don’t.” She pointed a finger at my face, her expression now one of stern sincerity. “Do not say you deserved to … to …” She twisted her lips, like she could hardly stand to spit out the words. “To be shunned a-and hated and spoken to like you meant nothing. Because you had meant the world to me.”
Anguish pressed against my chest, forcing a gasp from my throat. “It-it’s in the past.” I shook my head, chasing away every emotion that threatened to take control.
“I want you to know I meant nothing I said,” she continued, stuffing the used napkin into her pocket. “I was angry and hurt and heartbroken, but I never hated you. Who I hated was myself for never realizing that my son had a problem, and I hated God for taking him away, and I hated your goddamn mother for putting you in such an awful, desperate situation …” She touched her fingers to her forehead and inhaled deeply, shaking her head a little. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I brushed it off with a shrug. “It’s fine. She’s dead to me.”
She winced momentarily at the harshness in my words before continuing, “Anyway”—she dropped her hand back to her side as her eyes met mine—“I hated so much back then, Soldier, but I never ever, ever truly hated you. And I never ever, ever should’ve said what I did.”
A breeze blew through the cemetery, lifting stray hairs off my neck and taking a decade’s worth of pain with it. I let Billy’s mom hug me tight, and I hugged her back and squeezed my eyes shut as she smoothed her hands over my hair and soothed my aching heart with the gentleness I had missed for so long.
Then, after a few minutes, she gripped my biceps and took a step back, wearing a smile I’d never thought I’d see again.
“You came to see Billy, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I never really got the chance, so …”
“Come on. I’ll take you to him.”
She held tight to my arm as we walked down the path I’d found her on. We stopped at a black marble headstone, inlaid with his picture and inscribed with his full name, birth date, and the date of his death.
My birthday.
The day I had met Officer Sam Lewis and was stuffed into the back of his patrol car.