The Last Day

FIFTY-THREE

The gates into pastoral Oakwood Cemetery faced Church Street in Concord. Behind the painted iron fence, narrow asphalt roads serpentined among gently rolling hills lined with stone monuments dotted with evergreens, boxwoods, and stately oak trees. Barney's grave was located just to the left of his grandfather's in the family plot where McCartys had been buried since 1918.

Natasha parked under a large oak at the top of a hill.

Ward reached to the floor for the flowers purchased from a florist on the way, leaned over to kiss Natasha, then opened his door and stepped out into the afternoon heat to the buzz of insects.

They walked hand in hand between the rows of graves to the familiar cluster of headstones. Still clutching hands, they stood before the newest stone and gazed down. The grass was brown due to the drought. Dried flowers crumbled in a vase that leaned against the granite base of Barney's headstone. Ward handed the new flowers to Natasha and she replaced the dead ones.

“It's so nice here,” she said. “Peaceful.”

“Barney, we love you,” Ward said, his voice choking. “We'll always love you.”

“He knows that,” Natasha said, squeezing Ward's hand. “He knows.”

Ward took Natasha into his arms and together they wept softly.

“Maybe we should come here more, together,” Natasha said.

“He isn't here,” Ward said. “Barney is in heaven. I truly believe that. He isn't in there,” he said, looking at the grave. “But we can visit this place… for us.”

They stood holding each other for ten minutes. Ward kissed Natasha gently on her lips and put his forehead against hers. Taking her hand, Ward led his wife back to the car.