THREE DAYS LATER
Gate of Heaven is a massive cemetery, with hundreds of headstones and mausoleums covering the manicured paths. Many of my friends, family, and some enemies are buried on the grounds.
“Should we tell them?” Chris asked.
“Tell them what?” I asked. “That you’re living with me?”
“That’s one of the things,” Chris said.
“What’s another?”
“That you caught the people who killed them.”
“First of all, we nailed those bastards,” I said. “Together. You leading the way, me and the crew following. With help from Bobby and Dee Dee.”
“I’m glad we came,” Chris said. “I miss them so much, but I try my best not to think about it all the time. It hurts, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know. And it will for a long time. I miss Jack, too. And I’m sorry I didn’t get to know your mom.”
“They both would want me to be happy,” Chris said.
“I do, too,” I said. “I’ll never take your dad’s place, and I don’t expect to. But I am glad that we’re together, you and me.”
“And Gus and Pearl,” Chris said.
I smiled and nodded. “You know, it forced me to dredge up memories of what happened so long ago, something I was so afraid of doing.”
“Are you sorry you did?”
“No, not at all,” I said. “I think it helped me get straight with Jack. I always loved him and missed having him in my life. I’m sorry he had to die for me to get him back. But I feel connected to him again, through you. And it’s a good feeling to have.”
“Can we come back and see them again?” Chris asked.
“As often as you like,” I said. “It’s a good thing for us to do together.”
I leaned over Jack’s headstone and placed my right hand on top of the cold marble. “Rest easy, little brother,” I whispered. “And don’t worry about Chris. I got his back. And he’s got mine.”
I stepped away and waited as Chris bent and laid a kiss on both headstones and bowed his head, saying a short, silent prayer for the parents taken away from him much too soon.
He turned toward me and wrapped his arms around my waist, his head resting against my chest. Tears flowed down both our faces.
I glanced over at Gus, still chewing on the grass, digging his paws into the soft earth. “We should go,” I said. “Before Gus leaves this place a barren field.”
Chris let go of me and picked up Gus’s leash, and we made our way toward my car. We both turned to take a final look at the two headstones, gleaming in the morning sun.
“Isn’t eating grass supposed to be bad for dogs?” I asked. “Can’t be good for his stomach.”
“Gus thinks it’s like having a salad,” Chris said.
“Gus is wrong,” I said.