It hadn’t rained in weeks, so the fact that the first spring shower began to dribble down from a gray sky seemed to match the somber mood perfectly. Up a rather steep hill was a small graveyard that was part of the fortified town Bovary had brought her family to after North Carolina proved to be a bust. That misadventure seemed so long ago; back when Lowery couldn’t read lips and Gregory was an expectant father. Time had given Bovary’s arms sun-kissed spots and lightened her faded blonde hair considerably. In their ever-changing world, it had extinguished the flames of Bovary’s hatred towards constant misfortune. Hurt was part of the package and they had all been dealt an awful hand.
Bovary was holding a bouquet of flowers in her hands as she led the small band of Nathan’s relatives to his resting place. While the incident was long ago, his death was fresh in her mind. Every single day Bovary remembered cradling his head in her lap as he bled out. Everyone in the town of Wellland wanted to know how he managed to get bit in the stomach.
Finally reaching the small cross standing up in the wet grass, everyone paused to stare in its direction. Bovary stood between Lowery and Gregory; both dressed in black for the occasion. Bovary placed the flowers where he was laying under the Earth, and pursed her lips in dignified respect.
Lowery tapped her arm gently, and she turned to see her nineteen year old daughter sign the words, He was a really good man, mom. I sort of remember him, you know that. I sort of remember dad. When Bovary didn’t respond, Lowery added, I wasn’t that young when he got… Lowery hesitated before finishing her signing. … infected. I was only ten.
So, it had been nine years since the herd attacked them on the highway. Nathan had crawled on top of their car as he shot down, but one of the fresher walkers grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him down. Somehow the thing managed to get the upper-hand, and bit right in to his stomach. Nathan’s anguished scream was met by Lowery’s hands slamming furiously against the window, and Bovary’s own pleas for mercy. She had jumped out of the driver’s seat and finished the remaining walkers off, and dropped to her knees as Nathan groaned in pain.
Obviously Lowery had remembered the ordeal. It shown in her tense posture. Usually Bovary’s daughter exuded the image of equilibrium. She was looked up to by all in the community of Wellland for her grace and intelligence. Now the teenager’s shoulders were risen almost to her ears, and she struggled to directly make eye contact with the grave.
"We all hoped he could have made it to Wellland," Gregory chimed in. Of course it had taken another year until they found the fortified town, but Bovary’s brother managed to keep everyone alive. His eyes showed genuine respect for Nathan; grateful he had sacrificed his life for Gregory’s sister and her children.
Bovary looked over at Nathan J.R. (who they called Nate for short) as he fiddled with a loose string on his sweater vest. Nate was only eleven, but he was more reliable than any other child in the town. Not only was Nate the smartest in his classes, but he willingly went out of his way to help neighbors for absolutely free. When Bovary had asked Nate what he wanted to be when he was older, he had told her his only interest was finding a cure to the sickness that made an ill man hurt Deedee.
"Anything to say to Deedee before we go?" Gregory asked Nate when Bovary failed to vocalize.Â
Nate scratched at the side of his nose as he pondered over what to say. He was a shy child when the spotlight fell on him, but knowing that saying nothing would upset his mother, he finally found soft words to speak.
"We all miss you. Mama misses you. Low misses you. Uncle Greg does. So does Aunt Jezebel and Dante." Dante, who had become Lowery’s boyfriend, stood patiently at the end of the hill to make sure no one stole their vehicle. "And I miss you."
Rain began to beat down harder, and Gregory ushered Bovary’s two children away from the grave. Bovary lingered a bit longer to pay her respects.
"We’re all safe," she whispered. "We’re all sound. I love you."
