Page 98 of Darkwater Lane

“How’re they doing—your daughter and her son?”

He instantly softens. “Cutest kid you’ve ever seen. Of course, I feel that way about all my grandkids. He gave us a scare, but he pulled through. He’ll be one next month.”

“Your daughter is lucky you were there for her,” I tell him.

He smiles. “There isn’t much I won’t do for my kids.”

“I have two of my own. I know exactly what you mean.”

“How old?” he asks.

“Seventeen and fifteen. Girl and a boy.”

He smiles. “Almost an empty nest.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”

“It’s like an eagle teaching her young to fly. When they soar off, you know you’ve done your job well.”

The analogy brings unexpected tears to my eyes. “Thank you for that,” I say softly.

He laughs. “Then you just have to hope they bring home little eaglets of their own one day. I’ll tell you this much: nothing better than being a grandparent.”

I’ve barely thought past Lanny getting her GED and going to college. I haven’t even considered beyond that, to the day she or Connor might bring home kids of their own. But somehow, in that moment, I know it’s a real possibility. They can both have that future if they want it. They can have any other future they want as well.

Something shifts in my heart, something fundamental and foundational. Because I can see it now. Their futures. Not exactly, nothing specific, just the existence of them, bright and brimming with possibility.

Regardless of what happened yesterday, or eight years ago, or what will happen tomorrow or in a decade, my kids will be okay. Not just okay, they’re going to thrive.

They’re going to soar.

Callum clears his throat, bringing me back to the present. “Sorry, you weren’t asking about me; you were asking about 820724.”

“Oh, right. Do you recall anything about the woman who used to visit? Her age or what she looked like.”

“I don’t, no. When people are visiting, I try to keep my distance. I know that’s a private time between them and their loved one. I don’t want to interfere or interrupt.”

I pull my phone from my pocket and navigate to the professional profile pic of Rowan I’d found earlier. I show it to him. “Any chance she looks familiar?”

He studies the photograph, then reluctantly shakes his head. “I’m sorry, no. Like I said, I keep my distance.”

Damn. I’d been hoping he might recognize her, which would be the proof I needed to tie Rowan to Melvin’s grave. “Is there anything else about the grave? Anything that stands out?”

“Other than the incident with the salt, no.”

I blink, taken aback. “The incident with the salt?”

“A while back, someone salted the grass. Killed it straight out. Made quite the eyesore.”

“Is that something that happens often?”

“Never happened in any cemetery I’ve been tending.”

“So, what happened?”

“We had to pull out the grass and at least a foot of dirt to make sure we got rid of it all before replacing the sod.”

I can’t believe I never heard about this. “When was this?”