Chapter 31: Sunday Dinner

On Sunday afternoon we drove out to the cemetery first.

I hadn't been in two years.

I had told myself it was because the money was gone, and the grave was just stone, and my mother wasn't there.

Lorcan parked at the gate and turned off the engine.

"I can wait here," he said.

"No."

"Vicky, I'm the last person she'd want at this."

"You're the only person who can say it to her," I said. "I've said everything else."

We walked up the gravel path past the maples.

It was a flat gray stone, with her name and two dates and the words Beloved Mother.

Somebody had left white carnations in a jar.

Lorcan stopped a step behind me.

He had a paper bag in his hand.

In it was a small potted rosemary he'd bought at the grocery that morning.

He crouched and set it at the foot of the stone, and he stayed on one knee.

"Mrs. Merrow," he said.

His voice was rough.

"I was in the room. I was twenty-nine, and I knew the clamp was wrong."

He stopped, and started again.

"I said so once, and then I let it go on. I should have walked out. I should have said it to everyone."

The wind moved the rosemary.

"I can't give you back what was taken."

The wind moved the rosemary again.

"I'm going to look after your daughter for as long as she lets me. I'll do it badly sometimes."

He breathed in.

"I'm sorry. I should have said that nine years ago."

He bowed his head.

I put my hand on his hair.

"Mom," I said. "This is Lorcan. He's the one who fixed my heart."

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