Chapter 22: No Visitors

Lydia's POV

Cora asked me to meet her at the cemetery on a gray Sunday in December.

I almost didn't go.

Then I thought of how she had stood in a restaurant with her ring on the tablecloth, and I put on my coat.

Two men in work gloves were already at the plot when I got there.

They had a flatbed truck backed up to the grass and a pry bar leaning on the stone.

Cora stood off to the side in a plain coat, with her hands in the pockets.

"The county said I could take it down myself," she said. "They said I had the right."

"You don't have to do it alone."

"I know. That's why I called."

The stone said Dale Brandwell, Beloved Husband and Son.

It had a boat carved at the bottom.

I read the date and thought of the church, and the casserole dishes, and the long black dress.

"I'd like you to hold my hand again," Cora said. "I know I don't have the right to ask."

"No."

"I understand."

"I'm not saying I won't." I took my hand out of my pocket. "I'm saying you should have to ask me properly."

"Will you hold my hand, Lydia?"

"Yes."

She took it.

Her fingers were cold, and they held on hard.

The men set the pry bar under the stone and put their weight into it.

It came out of the earth with a wet tearing sound, and they lowered it onto the flatbed.

There was only dirt where it had stood, and a little frozen grass.

"There," said Cora.

"There."

"I've decided to go back to my own name. I'm going to move to my sister's in Ohio."

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