I put the car in park and walk up the same path that I always do. Passing by Mary Weber who passed away in 1967. James Thorn who passed away in 2003, his wife Linda’s name there but no date yet. She’s prepped and prepared her place of rest next to a Loving Husband & Beloved Father. She has it all planned out. It blows my mind how these people can plan on an eternity next to someone, and I can’t even find truth in the people I care about.
I’m just about to turn down the path where Mom rests when I notice someone bending over her headstone. Not just someone, a man. A long black trench coat, black cargo pants, and dress shoes. I can smell his cologne from here. A smell I recognize.
“Excuse me, sir,” I say. Grabbing his attention as he stands up with a bouquet of yellow roses in his hand. He doesn’t turn to face me. The roses just hang by the stems facing the ground. In the past, I’ve seen random floral arrangements, but I’ve never paid much attention to it. A lot of people loved mom. She was a big part of the Las Verdes community.
I walk closer—fearing the face I am about to discover. Part of me knows. The other part of me hopes I’m wrong. I wasn’t ready to do this, yet.
“Do you hear me?” I speak again. This time, he turns around slowly.
There he is. Smack dab in front of me. For a moment, I consider what I could do to him out here—the deceased our only witnesses.
“Jasper. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Is it? Is it really? Because, the last time we spoke you seemed a bit taken aback by me seeing your daughter.”
“Seeing? Is that what you kids call it these days?” He laughs nervously. He’s trying his damndest to hide his apprehension, but the puddle of sweat swimming on his forehead makes it all the more apparent.
“Well, it’s better than fucking, if that’s what you wanted to hear.” My tone listless—careless, rather.
It’s as if he doesn’t even hear me. He turns to Mom’s grave, sets down the flowers and actually thinks he’s going to walk away.
I almost let him.
“Is this what you do to make yourself feel better? Bring flowers?”
He stops, hanging his head for a moment, and turns back around slowly without a word.
I continue, “She didn’t even like flowers.”
“Jasper, I don’t know what you think…”
“No, Mike,” I enunciate, “it’s not about what I think. It’s about what I know.” I remind myself that I have the upper hand here.
“I know that you’re an alcoholic who degrades his wife and children. Let’s start with that.” I bite down on the urge to beat this fucker to a bloody pulp. I can smell the stench of whiskey on his breath. One swift swing and I could have him on this dried grass in a second flat. “I also know that seven years ago, when you went for a joyride with your eleven-year-old daughter, you hit and killed a woman.” I look to Mom’s grave. “This woman. My mom.” I grit my teeth so hard that I feel the crunch of a chipped molar. I spit it out at his freshly polished shoes.
“Figures that was your mom, considering the cheap piece of shit she was driving.”
I grab hold of his shoulder, digging my nails into him through the fabric of his coat. I spin him around, gaining a firmer grip on the collar of his button up shirt. I give a tug and get directly in his face. “I have the power to destroy your entire life. The last thing you want to do is piss me off. I want the truth. Every bit of it.”
“It sounds to me like you’ve got all the answers you need. Now stay the hell away from me—and my daughter.” The serious tone in his voice pisses me off even further. I grip him tighter, pulling him closer.
“You’re a fucking coward,” I grit. My jaw’s clenched tightly and my hands are shaking with rage. “Talk! Now!”
I can feel his shoulder release the tension as he slouches down from his inferior stance.
An awkward silence fills the cemetery. Not a chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves. Just the sound of our breathing. A surrealness that, one way or another, will end. What better place for the high and mighty Mike Porter to confess his sins than in front of the resting place of the woman he killed.
I wasn’t expecting this, but everything happens the way it’s supposed to. I like to think of karma as a little cause and effect, action and reaction—what you sow, you shall reap. The reaper is here, and it’s time to come clean.
“It was exactly that, a joyride. Blakely won’t remember it like that. She’s always had a hard time enjoying the simple things in life.” His tonal shift softens, although I feel no sympathy for this bastard.
I can feel my blood moving quickly through my veins, my head feeling weak.
“Talon and Anna were at a birthday party, so I took Blakely for ice cream. Tasty Treat, I’m sure you know the place. They have the best banana splits in Nevada.” He looks at the space behind me, as if he’s having a flashback in his mind.
“Cut the small talk. Tell me what happened.” I grab his attention again, releasing my grip and taking a step back.
“We were headed home. You know how many curves that highway has, so many twists and turns. It all happened in one split second. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in a hospital bed.”
“Were you drinking? Drugged out?” I cut him off before he can say another word.
“I was wasted.” He nods his head with a forced frown.
“Of course, you were. Keep going.” I sweep the air with my hand.
“Anna dealt with the legal aspect of things while I was out. Somehow, she was able to convince the arriving officer to conceal this. I had just been named CEO at Blacksmith and any sort of ill publicity could have destroyed my career. She knew this, and I won’t lie, I was grateful.
I clench my teeth and pace in front of him. “Grateful?” I shout, “My mom’s blood is on your hands!” I grab hold of the collar of his shirt again. His face mere inches from mine.
He continues to talk, unphased by my grip. “I knew what happened. I know it was my fault. Every day I have to live with the fact that I am the reason a woman, a mother lost her life.”
I drop my hands to my side in one quick motion.
“It all happened so quickly. I never even saw the woman... your mom.”
“Stop!” I shout. I can’t hear this anymore. I fist my hair with both hands and turn away from him.
This is too much.
My mouth fills with saliva, and I can feel the contents of my stomach rising. I choke it down and give myself a minute.
I take a deep breath and attempt to finish this conversation without the details of the accident, wanting to know what happened after the accident.
“Officer Dangle.” I take a deep breath. “What’s his part in this? How did your wife convince him to keep quiet?” He doesn’t even have to answer. I know exactly what she did for him. Though, he may be blind to it.
“He’s an old friend. He’s been a longtime officer at LVPD. He’s a good man. With a family.”
“She had a family!” I shout! Pointing at her headstone. “She had a husband. A son!” I shout. Stepping on the grass where Mom is buried. Dad wanted to have her cremated. She never had time to get a will. Who could predict that her life would end at the tender age of thirty-one? I cried and begged him not to. I was only eleven, what did I know? I just knew that the thought of her body being burnt to ashes was even more unbearable than physically losing her. In the end, he didn’t do it—for me.