It had been a year. The grave was tucked away in a corner of the island, a soft green place with shade and shadows. It was secluded, a little lonely, but overall private and that was what Max had wanted. She didn’t want people intruding on Eleanor’s grave.
Yet there was someone there before her.
Max paused at the sight of him, and then dismounted. If anyone else was there to share her grief this day, it was fitting it was him.
He tensed slightly at the sound of her footsteps.
“I should have known you’d be here.” She remarked as she approached, watching as his shoulders relaxed at the sound of her voice.
Max stopped in front of the grave, holding the basket of flowers she had brought with her.
It was such a plain little grave stone. It hurt to look at it. She’d thought she wouldn’t cry and yet here she stood, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
She ignored them, kneeling in front of the grave to start arranging the flowers. She had brought yellow elder and ironwood, the yellow and purple would brighten up the grave.
“The grave looks well.” Flint broke the silence at last.
“I have someone come out once a week and tend it.” Max said. “I don’t want it to be abandoned.”
Flint nodded “She would like this spot.”
Max bit back the response that it wouldn’t matter if Eleanor did or did not like this spot, she was dead, she would never see it. She knew what he meant, and she was grateful for the words, even if it didn’t truly matter.
“I thought I would know what to say when I came here.” Flint gazed at the grave, “but there’s nothing to say except I loved her.” He sighed.
There were things Max could say. She had never loved anyone like she had loved Eleanor. Even as she loved Anne now, it was a different love as loves between different people always are. And she had never had her heart broken as Eleanor had broken it.
She was so beautiful, the sight of her made my heart beat in my mouth.
Her laugh made the sun rise.
She was always strong, it hurt to see her vulnerable.
But all she said aloud was, “I miss her.” It was not enough. “I will always miss her.”
She thought of Eleanor on soft sunny mornings when the ocean was lazy, and on stormy afternoons when the sea raged, and often in the dark of the night, when she couldn’t rest and the island finally lapsed into sleep.
Flint said nothing for a moment and then reached over and took her hand. “I know.”
Max held his hand, surprised at how comforting it was. She had never known Flint as Eleanor had, but Eleanor had loved him and relied on him and looking at him now, Max understood that.
They sat there together, sharing their grief in silence.
“I should be getting back.” Max said at last as afternoon faded and the shadows grew darker. She rose slowly to her feet. When Flint didn’t move she let her hand rest on his shoulder. “Come by the tavern sometime and we’ll drink a toast in her memory.”
Flint offered her a small smile. “I’d like that.”
Max smiled in return and made her way back to her horse.
When she looked back he was still kneeling at her grave. And for some reason it gave her a measure of comfort to know that she was not alone in her missing of Eleanor. No matter how happy she was these days, or how content, and she was both of these things, during the busy days filled with managing the tavern and the long sweet nights with Anne, there was still a part of her that would always rest here, in the silent shade with Eleanor.
The heart was not so weak it could not love more than one thing after all. Max had learned that long ago.
She swung up into the saddle and headed for home.
