Jeremy slouched in the passenger seat, face pressed against the window, his breath steaming the cool glass. Outside, people in black drifted downhill, passing like a procession of shades under the dark, leafy oaks of the cemetery. Too few for one who had lived so long, but such numbers mattered little to the living, and even less to the dead.
He watched them go, scurrying from the moody clouds on the horizon, anxious umbrellas popping open as they fled the coming storm. Most were already moving on: masks of grief slipping smoothly from tear stricken faces, smiles returning, thoughts drifting once more from the eternal to the mundane. Jeremy didn’t blame them – couldn’t blame them – he’d moved on long before.
They pulled away, Jeremy’s gaze sliding lazily over the scene, everything mixing and blurring gray as they picked up speed. The rain started, a rough drizzle that pattered the hood of the black Mercedes and turned the dull gray of the sky into a wet haze. The wind kicked up and the rain slanted, pelting his window. Behind them, dark clouds gave chase.
“Would you like to talk?” Mary asked.
Jeremy didn’t move, but his eyes flicked to his sister. She looked elegant in her black skirt suit – if elegant was even appropriate for such a day – and her short brown hair hung neatly at
her shoulders. The mascara smeared lightly under her eyes evidence she still cared. At least more than he did.