Kathleen got out of her car and paused before climbing up the steps to Scott’s grave, surveying the surrounding area. This was the last grave site in the cemetery, next to the area where vaults hold cremated remains. A large tin shed stood off to the left and a piece of metal from the shed rattled in the wind, making the cemetery sound as forlorn as it looked.
She climbed up the three steps, not wanting to do what she knew she must—confront her loathing. Despite her feeling of shame at her behavior at Scott’s funeral, Kathleen hoped her emotional release there would make her feel whole again, but it had not. Perhaps, she could shuck off this passion here, and lay her malice to rest along with Scott.
The Buckleys had buried four of their own here: Helen and Lawrence Buckley, Scott’s parents. Morgan Buckley, Scott’s first wife, lay next to Scott. A slight pang of jealousy flickered in Kathleen, despite her animosity. She wondered where she was supposed to lay when she was dead. On the other side of Scott? Not likely.
On Scott’s bronze grave marker was his full name, Scott Lawrence Buckley. The marker underneath read, “Received into the Lord’s loving care.”
Kathleen felt a twinge of surprise when she read it. Could that possibly be true considering the life he led? She did not think beyond that momentary wonder and bent down, running her hand over the marker, remembering.
She fell hard for Scott, changed her life to have him for her husband by moving to Sedona after a romantic two-month courtship, abruptly ending her newspaper career at the Los Angeles Times. But soon after the marriage, after the initial euphoria, she realized she made a disastrous mistake.
The adoring, fondling lover who publicly kissed her passionately on the mouth was often impotent as his drinking escalated. And with the drinking came the violence—from a sharp punch to her arm, to the attack the night she left him.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish