“The grief counsellor said this is a good idea,” Britt told Parish as they walked through the cemetery gate and started up the path. “She said I need to learn to remember Mom in my own way.”
They were holding hands, as they had done each time on their monthly get-togethers since Melissa’s murder.
“You know,” Parish said, “your mom was brilliant.”
“That’s what everyone tells me,” Britt said. “Maybe that was her downfall. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t been quite so smart.”
Pearls of wisdom from an eleven-year-old girl. “You might be right, but we are what we are.”
Britt stopped in her tracks. Turned to Parish.
“Did she really have to be that way?”
Parish reached out to hug Britt.
“Your mom was one of my best friends. I know she didn’t want to be ill. I know she fought against it. Try to understand, Britt, she couldn’t stop herself.”
Britt buried her head in Parish’s shoulder.
“I want to see it,” she said at last, pointing up the hill toward the graves.
“I was here last week to make sure the stone was up before you came,” Parish said.
They walked in silence. Britt was a quiet young woman. That was her survival strategy to deal with her verbose father and unpredictable mother. Parish liked that about her. They felt comfortable being together without words.
“Down this row,” Parish said, once they’d crested the hill.
Britt didn’t speak.
The gravestone was simple. Hodgson, to his credit, had insisted on that. Under Melissa’s name and the dates of her birth and death, was the inscription She Cared.
Britt knelt down and touched the stone. She reached back, took Parish’s hand, and placed it beside hers. It was a hot day, but the stone felt cool.
“Don’t ever doubt how much she loved you,” Parish said.
“Can I tell you something?” Britt stood quickly, a determined look on her face.
“Anything.”
“You won’t tell my dad?”
“Never.” Britt was pretty. Had she already discovered boys?
“Because I’m going to tell him myself.”
Oh no. Was this about drugs at her young age?
“I’m going to quit golf.”
“Oh.”
“You’re the first person I’ve told. I have to work up the nerve to tell him.”
“Can I ask you why?” Parish said. But she already knew the answer.
“I don’t care about being a champion. I want to be normal.”
Britt spoke in an angry way Parish had never heard her speak in before.
“I know Dad is going to be mad. So will Lydia, but I don’t care what she thinks. It’s my life, and I don’t have to keep playing golf all the time. The kids at school talk about a show they’ve binged on Netflix or a great YouTube video everyone else is watching. I say I don’t have time to see it because I’ve got to go practice. Or I don’t say anything. Now Dad wants me to go to a special golf camp this summer. All my friends are going to regular camps. I want to go to where I can sail and swim and ride horses. He’s going to be so angry when I tell him.”
Her words spilled out in rapid fire. As if they’d been dammed up inside her for years and now they were gushing out.
“I have to ask you a big favour,” Britt said.
“Anything.”
“I mean, you’re my godmother, right? If my dad kicks me out because I won’t play golf anymore, can I come live with you?”
Parish couldn’t help smiling a little. “Your dad would never kick you out. He loves you more than anything in the world.”
Britt frowned. “There’s something else. I’m not supposed to tell anyone this yet.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Lydia’s pregnant.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“But what if you are wrong, and he does kick me out after the baby is born?”
“He won’t. But you always have a home.”
Britt hugged her. Then pulled away.
“I’ve got one more thing to ask you.”
“Anything,” Parish said again.
“You know that game you and Lydia used to play with Mom?”
Parish had no idea what she was talking about.
Britt put her hands up to her chest and opened her palms.
“Oh,” Parish said, getting it. She put her hands up too. “First you clap your hands together, then your right hand to my right hand, then your left to my left, then both.”
She clapped her hands.
Britt did the same. And smiled.
Parish began to sing and soon Britt joined in with her:
I am a pretty little Dutch girl
As pretty as pretty can be…