Graveminder (15 page)

“Ells, she’s your
sister
. I’m not—”

“Promise it,” Ella insisted. “That’s my last request. Take care of her. Say you will.”

“No, not if ... your last request? What are you talking about?” Byron clutched the phone.

“Do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“Then promise me that you’ll always take care of Bek,” Ella demanded.

“I will, but—”

She hung up.

Byron had dropped the phone and taken off running to her house, but by the time he got there, she was gone, and no one knew where she went. They didn’t know until the next day when her body was found.

Now Byron understood: Ella hadn’t been running away from something; she was running to something. Whatever she had seen in the land of the dead was more alluring than her life in the land of the living.

And now I need to take Bek to that world.

Chapter 27

R
EBEKKAH HAD TRIED TO SLEEP BUT COULDN’T.
A
FTER A FEW FITFUL
hours, she was outside walking again. This time, however, she watched the sun rise as she walked toward the cemetery.
Day two without Maylene.
Over the years, she’d lived a lot of places and spent many days—
weeks
—without speaking to her grandmother, but now that she was home, each day stretched out in front of her forebodingly.

When she’d visited Maylene, they’d gone from cemetery to cemetery plucking weeds and planting flowers. They’d buried food just under the soil and poured whiskey or gin or bourbon or any number of other drinks onto the ground. It hadn’t felt
normal
exactly, but it hadn’t felt peculiar either.

Rebekkah couldn’t fill the gap in her life that existed now that Maylene was gone, but following the routine she’d shared over the years with her grandmother helped.
Like a handful of dirt to fill in a chasm.
She shifted the weight of her messenger bag on her shoulder again. The clink of tiny glass bottles was almost too soft to hear over the sounds of cars and birds, but she listened to them. The whole of it—the birds singing, car engines humming to life, and liquid sloshing in the bottles—felt right. The familiarity was comforting.

At the gate of Sweet Rest, she jiggled the heavy lock until it clunked open. She lifted a hand to the tall iron gate and pushed. It swung inward with a mild creak, and she drew a deep breath. The peace she needed was here. She knew this with a surety that made little sense. Her feet moved over the soil as if a cord had pulled her forward, not to Maylene’s grave, which was in the nearby Oak Hill Cemetery, but toward a grass-covered plot in Sweet Rest. Once she reached it, reached Pete Williams, she stopped. The string that had pulled her there had vanished.

“Pete,” she started. “I have some bad news.”

She knelt and flipped open her bag.

“Maylene couldn’t come see you,” she told the month-dead man. “I came in her stead.”

Rebekkah pulled out a bottle and twisted off the cap. Silently, she upended it over a tiny ivy plant that had started to creep up the side of Pete Williams’ memorial stone.

“My grandmother died, Pete,” she whispered. “Would you miss her?”

She paused and leaned her forehead against the gray stone. Tears fell on the soil, not many, but enough that she had to blink them away.

“I’m not crying for you, but with you,” she said with a sniff. “You’d cry with me, wouldn’t you, Pete?”

Her tears fell to the soil, where the whiskey had already vanished, and then she took several steadying breaths and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Places to go, people to meet,” she told the absent man. “Hope your drink was good.”

Then she patted the top of the stone. “See you around, Mr. Williams.”

Nine graves, nine bottles, and quite a few more tears later, Rebekkah realized she wasn’t alone: Byron Montgomery was walking up the hill toward her. A five o’clock shadow made obvious that he’d not stopped to shave since yesterday morning. He looked exhausted: clothes wrinkled, steps heavy, and eyes red-rimmed.

“Did you sleep? I mean ... you look about as tired as I feel.”

He fell into step beside her. “Some things came up, and ... I slept, just not enough. You?”

“The same,” she admitted.

He reached out as if to touch her arm, but didn’t complete the gesture. “The grief will get easier. It
has
to, right?”

“I hope so. I miss her,” Rebekkah murmured. That was the truth, the whole of it: Maylene’s being gone hurt.

He nodded. “When Mam passed ... it felt wrong to be happy, to move on. I felt like a jackass for even trying to let go. In my line of work, you’d think—” He stopped himself. “It’s not the same when it’s family. Some deaths are harder than others.”

Rebekkah’s gaze drifted over the cemetery as she and Byron wound their way down toward the old mausoleums. Irises spotted the overgrown grass in bursts of purple and blue. Morning glories and ivy crept up trees and over the stone sides of the mausoleums. A few of the squat buildings had weathered benches, stone steps, and columns. Doors of ornate iron and bronze sealed some; others had lost their doors and had only wire mesh affixed to the entryways to keep out would-be visitors.

At the bottom of the hill, Rebekkah sat down on the grassy earth. She wondered briefly if Byron had become one of those people who thought resting too close a grave was bad manners. “Will you sit with me?”

He lowered himself to the ground and sat with his legs stretched in front of him.

She pulled at the long grass beside her. It needed trimming. No one was minding this grave. She glanced at Byron. “How did you know where I was?”

Byron gave her an inscrutable look. “Maybe we’re both meant to be here.”

“I came here because ...” She shook her head as she realized that the words she was about to say would sound freakish.

“You came here”—he reached out and laid a hand on the side of her satchel—“to visit the dead.”

The bottles clinked as he slid his hand over the bag.

Rebekkah swatted his hand away. “Maylene used to bring me. I thought it would ... it’s silly, but I thought she’d like it if I came here.”

“It’s not silly.” Byron caught her gaze. “I knew you’d be here.”

“Because of Maylene,” she said.

“And because of who
you
are.” Byron caught her hand in his. He laced his fingers with hers and held on. “We need to talk, Rebekkah. I know the timing sucks, but— ”

“Stop right there. You said you’d give me my space, that you were my friend, and I know I ... that I’m the one who kissed you, but”—she tugged her hand free—“I’m not staying here. I’m not staying anywhere or with anyone, and you’re the relationship type.”

“That wasn’t what I wanted to talk about, but for the record, no. I never was the relationship type, not with any woman I’ve met outside of Claysville. Just you.” He stood up. “But I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

“I was waiting on
you
, Rebekkah.” He shook his head and laughed humorlessly. “I’ll
always
be waiting on you, and I guess I need to either accept the crumbs you’re willing to give me or pretend I’m over you. Maybe that’s been the choice for years, and I was too damn stupid to realize it. What I have with you I’m not going to experience with anyone else alive.”

“Byron, I’m sorry, but—”

“No.” He cut her off. “Don’t lie to me right now.”

She stayed on the ground, staring up at him. With the sun rising behind him, he looked like a graveyard angel, carved and dark, silhouetted against the morning sky. He belonged here, in the quiet of the cemetery.

With me.

She shoved that thought away as quickly as it formed and, speaking as much to herself as to him, said, “I don’t plan on staying here forever. I’m already going to be here a lot longer than I thought I’d be.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “I don’t know that you
can
leave. That’s what we need to talk about, Bek.”

She couldn’t see the expression on his face for the sunlight behind him, but he sounded serious. It made her nervous.
“What?”

He looked past her. “Did you ever think that the obstacles to what you want multiply the closer you come to getting it? If you say the wrong thing ... if you had done the smallest thing differently ... if you were
better
... if you were
enough
...”

“Byron?” She said his name softly.

He looked back at her. “My father died last night, and before he did, he showed me some things I need to tell you ... and show you.”

“Oh my God ... Why didn’t you say something when you got here? Why didn’t you call me last night?” She scrambled to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so sorry. What happened? He seemed fine when you guys left.”

“He ... It sounds crazy, Bek. Dad’s gone, and ... I need you.” He cupped the back of her head in his hand and with his other arm held her close. “I need you, Rebekkah. I’ve always needed you—as much as you need me.”

She laid her cheek against his shoulder. Despite the tangled mess between them, he was still her friend, had always been her friend, and he was clearly in some sort of shock. She pulled back and looked up at him. “Do you want to talk? I’m not much for sharing my feelings, but Mom certainly is, so if you need to ... I’ve had
lots
of practice listening. I’ll listen if you want to talk.”

“I do,” he admitted, “but not about Dad. There’s a man you’re going to meet. His name is Mr. D or Charlie. He lives over there.”

“Over where?”

“In the land of the dead,” Byron said.

“The ...
what
?”

“Please? Just listen.” He paused, and when she nodded, he told her: about Charlie, about the Graveminder, about his being the Undertaker, and about the contract between Claysville and the dead. He told her about the strange multi-era world, the club where he’d shared drinks with the dead, and his father staying behind. Then he added, “And the only two people who can go there are the Graveminder and the Undertaker. They’re partners. The Undertaker opens the gate, and the Graveminder escorts the Hungry Dead to their rightful place.”

“Uh-huh.”

Byron ignored her tone. “The goal is that the dead don’t get out of their graves, but—”

“Out of their graves?” she repeated. “Byron, sweetie, I think you’re in shock. Don’t you think we’d notice zombies?”

“They’re not zombies, Bek.” He understood why his father hadn’t told him, but as he tried to explain to Rebekkah, he also understood why the new Graveminder and Undertaker should’ve been told years ago.

“Okay ... Not zombies. Dead folk crawl out of the graves. Graveminder puts them back, by taking them through the gate that the Undertaker opens. William stayed behind; you’re the new Undertaker.”

“Right, and then she,
you
, take them to the land of the dead,” he added.

“Me?”

“Yes. The Graveminder is supposed to keep them in their graves by way of ... I’m not sure how. There are things you do when people die, ways to pin them or something. I’m hoping Maylene left you instructions on that part or Charlie tells you or—”

“Whiskey,” she whispered. “Prayers, tea, and whiskey. Memories, love, and letting go ... oh, fuck.”

Chapter 28

R
EBEKKAH STOPPED.
H
ER KNEES FELT WEAK.
“Y
OU’RE NOT CRAZY, ARE
you? Or if you are, Maylene was crazy, too, and ...
fuck.
”

“I wish I
was
crazy,” he said. His arm helped hold her upright, even as his words caused her to falter.

She shook her head. “Show me.”

Silently then, he led her to Montgomery and Son’s Funeral Home. Elaine—the receptionist, manager, and general assistant—marched toward them as they came in. Her silver-shot hair was swept up in its usual chignon. Her steel-gray skirt, pale rose-colored blouse, and low heels were her standard office wear. When Rebekkah was younger, Elaine had frightened her. The office manager was unlike anyone she had known: forceful, efficient, and stern. Time hadn’t changed that.

“Your father’s absence means it’s just the two of us full-time now,” Elaine began.

“I can’t deal with this today,” Byron muttered. “Is there a body?”

Elaine frowned. “No, but—”

“Then it’ll wait.” He rubbed his face.

“We need—”

“Fine. Call Amity,” he said.

At the sound of Amity’s name, a stab of jealousy went through Rebekkah.
Amity has every right to ... whatever.
She knew that Byron was the man Amity hadn’t wanted to discuss. In their admittedly sporadic e-mail conversations, Amity had never once mentioned him or the funeral home. She hadn’t even mentioned splitting up with Troy.

The silence stretched out a moment too long, and then Elaine said, “I will call Miss Blue, and you, Byron Montgomery, better get some sleep. I tolerate a lot, but whether you are my boss now or not, I will not be snarled at, young man.”

Elaine turned and disappeared into her office.

“She’s as frightening as I remembered,” Rebekkah whispered.

“She is.” Byron nodded. “And we couldn’t function here without her. I think it would take three people to accomplish what she does in an average day. I will apologize later. First ...” He took a deep breath and gestured for her to follow him.

He led her to the basement and into a storage room. Just inside the door, he turned on the overhead light and locked the door behind them. “I’m not crazy. I wish I was. I really, really wish this was all a delusion or a bad dream, Bek.”

Then he walked over to a pale blue metal cabinet, reached behind it, and pulled it toward him. As he did so, Rebekkah felt her heart race. Her skin tingled all over as if tiny electrical pulses were being forced into her body.
This is real.
Her lips parted on a sigh as he slid the cabinet to the side.

“Oh ... my ... God.” She breathed the words. “It’s ...”

The tunnel stretched in front of her, beckoning her, and only willpower kept her from racing to it. She stepped toward it as slowly as she could. Something in it hummed, a song sung by a thousand soft voices, and in that song, she heard her name.

She reached forward—and hit a wall.

Byron touched her face. “You’re frightening me right now, Bek.”

Rebekkah forced her gaze away from the tunnel. “Why?”

“I don’t want you to look this happy about going toward death. There are reasons here in this world,
good reasons
, to feel happy. You need to let yourself free to feel that here.” Byron leaned closer and covered her lips with his.

Rebekkah put both hands on his chest, neither pushing him away nor holding him closer. He put one hand lightly on her hip, and she leaned into his embrace.

The tension in his body relaxed, and he pulled her against him. He kissed her throat. “I wanted you before now, before this week, before this moment. I loved you before this—whether or not you liked hearing it.”

Before she could object, he kissed her again. When he pulled back, he added, “Remember. Please remember what we’ve both known for years, Bek. Even if you weren’t that and I wasn’t this, I would love you. I thought I was awful for it, but I thought of you
then
... years ago. You were Ella’s sister, and I thought it was wrong of me, but I couldn’t
not
want to be nearer to you. The night you kissed me ... If I’d been with anyone else, I wouldn’t have tried to talk to her before I told you what I felt about you. But it was Ella. I needed to tell her first, and then ... then she was gone, and you didn’t want to hear it. You stop me every time I try to talk about it, but I can’t
not
tell you now. I want to be with you forever. I love you. And you l—”

“No! Stop.” Rebekkah grabbed his arm.

He cupped her cheek and continued as if she hadn’t objected. “I love you, and
you
love me. We both know it. The problem is that you’re determined not to.”

She stared at him.
Not love.
She felt a lot of things for him. They were friends; they’d been lovers. That wasn’t love. He’d said it once, but after that first time, he’d avoided the word.
It’s not love.
She shook her head. “Byron, don’t. You’re upset.”

“I am, but that doesn’t change the facts.” He caressed her cheek with thumb. “Lie to me later if you need to, but right now, before we go over there, you need to listen to me. I
know
. I’ve known for years, Bek. You love me just as much as I love you. You need to stop lying to both of us about it.”

She stared at him, trying to find words to prove him wrong. There weren’t any. She settled on: “You’re confused. I don’t want to hurt you. Ella died. We ... and then she ...
you’re hers
. I don’t deserve ...”

He sighed. “She didn’t die because of us, and even if she had, do you think she’d really want us to stay apart? She wasn’t like that. You know that.”

Tears were streaking down Rebekkah’s face. In nine years, they’d never talked about it; she wouldn’t, couldn’t, bear the thought of that conversation. “You were not mine, and she was my
sister.
What I feel isn’t love. It can’t be. Ever. I don’t have any right to ...”

“Love me?” Byron took both of her hands. “But you do, and it’s well past time for you to accept it. What we have is not about her ... or anything else. It’s about
us
. Remember that.”

They stood there, at the entrance to the land of the dead, and she tried to think about the things he was saying.
I care about him. That doesn’t make it love.
She shook her head and looked past him. Her gaze fell on the tunnel; instinctively, she took a step toward it.

His grip on her hands tightened. “Bek?”

The pulsing energy of the tunnel tugged at her; the song just on the other side of the barrier grew louder.

“Rebekkah!”

She pulled her attention from the tunnel and stared directly at him.

“Tell me you won’t stay there,” he demanded. “Promise me that when I walk out of there, you will come with me.”

“I promise.”

“I love you, Rebekkah Barrow.” He released her hands and stepped into the tunnel. “I will take you there, but I
will
bring you home.”