Page 85 of All the Things We Buried

“Sorry,” she said through tears. Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know how.” She stepped forward, sobbing. “I didn’t know how to stay.”

“No,” I whispered.

I shook my head.

“No.”

I couldn’t accept it. Not like this. Not her. I took her face in my hands, felt how still she was, pressed my ear to her chest. Nothing.

No heartbeat.

“You fucking promised!” I screamed into the room. “You promised you’d never leave me!”

I shook her. “How am I supposed to trust you now, Lenore? How am I supposed to trust anyone ever again?”

I broke.

My voice tore itself out of me. Screaming, shaking. My fists curled against her arms. She was gone. This time, the house had taken all of her.

I closed my eyes, and I felt her again, just beside me. Her touch brushed against my shoulder. Cold. Barely there.

“Burn it all,” she whispered. “Let me be the last thing you bury.”

My jaw locked. My vision blurred. I looked down at her. Her skin was losing its warmth. Her lips had already lost their color.

I removed the rope from her neck and picked her up. I carried her, step by step, down the stairs, into the bathroom. I laid hergently in the bathtub and turned on the water. It filled slowly, rippling around her limbs like it was trying to comfort her. She didn’t move.

I walked to the closet upstairs, hands trembling, and found the white dress. The one she always said she would wear for something special. This was the closest thing we had left to it.

Back in the bathroom, I washed her body. Every inch. I dried her off and dressed her in the white dress. Her wet, dark hair fell in strands across her face.

I lifted her once more.

Outside, in the garden, the roses were blooming. I laid her beside them like she was meant to be there all along. Against the wall, I kept a shovel for work I never liked doing. I grabbed it and began digging.

This was the place I buried everything that hurt.

And now I was digging it again.

My arms ached. My hands turned raw. The world blurred at the edges, but I kept going. I dug deeper than I ever had before. She was the last thing I had to bury.

When the hole was ready, I climbed out and lifted her in. I laid her gently in the grave, smoothing her dress, brushing the hair from her eyes.

I took off my necklace. The one with the little iron cross. I wrapped it around her hand. I had no coins for her eyes, nothing to offer the dead for safe passage. So I gave her two black buttons, tucked gently over her lids.

I climbed out.

I picked up the shovel again.

I scooped two piles of dirt and poured them over her, but I couldn’t go further. I dropped to my knees, the shovel slipping from my hand, and I broke apart right there.

The garden held my scream.

And the house stayed silent.

Of all the things I ever had to bury, she was my favorite.

Of all the things I had lost, she was the most loving.