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They buried her mother in the cemetary on the outskirts of town. Mr. Giles didn't say it but she knew that her mother had not really been making ends meet on her pension checks. The plain wooden casket attested to that. She could barely breathe, the anger and hurt was choking her. How many times had she offered to send her some money? But it was always 'don't worry dear. I'm making ends meet.' Mr. Giles had her hand clasped tightly in his. He had been waiting at the Amtrak station and held out his arms to her when she'd gotten off the train, tears in his eyes. Don't cry, don't cry. Because then I will too she had wanted to tell him. His tears had not fallen and hers had dried up before they even formed. She was truly alone now. Even though it seemed the entire town had shown up for the funeral. She scanned the crowd behind her furtively, looking for him. But she did not see him. She didn't seen his mother either. Ashes to ashes...Dust to dust... As if on cue, people started blowing their noses loudly and putting arms around each either. She was numb. The ceremony ended and people slowly filed by her. She hugged and kissed them even though she had not seen or thought of them in years. Just as the last stragglers were drifting away towards their cars, she saw her, shrouded in black and standing apart under a tree. She dropped Mr. Giles' hand and ran over to her. Forgot she was in high heels and almost twisted her ankle in her hurry. "Mrs. James?" His mother turned towards her and she was shocked at the lines around her eyes. She must be what, in her sixties now? But her face was still proud, her posture regal. Her nostrils flared slightly in anger? Disdain? But the expression was gone before she could think too much on it. "Mrs. Finn. I am so sorry for your loss." Held out a cool, thin hand for her to shake. Mrs. James was always cool and formal. "Thank you. But it's Summers now. I mean, again. We're separated." She wanted to bite her foolish tongue. Way to go Buffy. Let everyone know what a failure you are. "Ah. I'm sorry." She felt like a bug under a microscope, Mrs. James' steely grey eyes piercing to her very core. She'd always had that unsettling way of looking at people as if she could see their deepest, darkest secrets and was storing them up like weapons to use in the future. The woman turned to walk away. She had to know. "Wait, Mrs. James." His mother turned and gazed at her impassively. "Yes, dear?" "How is he? How's Will?" The woman gave her a tight smile that never reached those flat eyes. "William is fine." "Maybe I'll drop in and see him. I'm going to be in town for awhile to...to settle my mother's affairs." "That's very thoughtful, but I don't think so dear. Visitors upset him. Goodbye Ms. Summers." Before she could protest, Mrs. James had walked away. She watched the woman get into the old black DeSoto that had once belonged to him. A sixteenth birthday gift from his father. Look at this! Don't just stand there gawking like an idiot girl. Get in! What, scared? Don't worry your drawers into a bunch, I'm a safe driver. Sometimes. She shivered as she watched her drive off. She could almost hear his voice in her ear, could almost see his smirk and wink as if he stood right in front of her. She had to see him. His mother could go to hell. Mr. Giles walked up to her and took her elbow. "Ready to go Buffy?" She nodded and let him lead her to his car. They drove down Main Street and she marveled at how nothing had changed. Almost twenty years and the world moved on. But here, everything was just as it was. Sal's lunch counter, the dress shop with the same outdated mannequins still in the display window. The Harris' garage where Will, Angel, and Xander had tinkered around interfering with business to the annoyance of Xander's father, all those years ago. Finally, they drew up in front of her girlhood home. She barely noticed that her mother had painted the outside a putrid green. Her eyes were on the house next door. His house. Where he still lived. The tears that wouldn't come at the funeral were stinging behind her eyes now as she stared at how it had deteriorated. The white paint peeling in fingerlength strips, the gutter clogged with dead leaves that no one had bothered to clear away. The DeSoto was already in the driveway. Mr. Giles looked over at her while she got out of the car. "Are you okay? Would you like me to stay with you?" She squeezed his hand and mustered up a smile. "No, it's alright. Thank you for everything. I'll call you tomorrow and we can talk about...about the arrangements." He squeezed her hand back and waved as he drove away. She rolled her suitcase up the walkway, staring at his bedroom window. Was it her imagination, or did she see the blinds twitch open slightly? But it could have just been the breeze. The house smelled like mothballs and dust inside. Her mother had kept everything the same. The pictures of her, gap-toothed and awkward in braids, were still propped up on the mantle. She wandered into her bedroom. Everything still in place as if waiting her return. The stuffed pig resting on her pillow, her Nancy Drew books still shelved neatly and alphabetically on her bookcase. She went to the window and drew aside the curtains. From here, she could look directly at his bedroom window. They used to hang a rope with two cans tied at either end so they could pretend to talk back and forth school nights when they were supposed to be in bed. His blinds were still closed. She pulled a chair up to the window and sat down, staring out into the dark, waiting for some sign. She could feel his presence all around her. Didn't know how long she sat there, staring at his shuttered window, impenetrable to the night. Fireflies came out to do their nightly mating dance, the scent of his mother's rose garden was sharp to her senses. Can you feel me? The way I can feel you? Have you missed me? I missed you, so much. I am still missing you. She felt herself drift asleep; struggled to keep her eyes open in case he gave her a sign. But they were so heavy and she was so alone in this house. Her mother had died here. Her marriage had unraveled. She was thirty-five and in love with a summer boy who was now a ghost man, hidden in that fallen house. She dreamed of the cornfield and his hair as golden as the sun. She did not know the blinds had opened slightly and closed while she slept. I know you are there. I see you even though I cannot see you. Your mother is dead and you are so lost. It has been nineteen years and seventy-four days. It has only been a minute. Time has no meaning for me anymore. I wait for you. I know you will come. You were a girl with long, oak-colored hair and eyes green as the leaves on the corn stalks. I remember. What are you now? I wait for you. |