Page 49 of Meeting Her Mate

“I am so sorry to hear that,” Will said, putting his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. “You never got to say goodbye to your parents.”

“What do you mean?”

“When my parents died, they did so because of old age. Even though it was still painful to see them go, we exchanged our final words. It was oddly poetic. I buried them myself. I got to say goodbye. You never got the chance to say goodbye,” Will said.

“It’s a little too late to do that, isn’t it?”

“You can always say goodbye to them. Come with me.” Will held his hand out. I took it and hoisted myself to my feet.

“Where are we going?”

“To the cemetery. I think it’s going to be good for you. You can bid them farewell, get to say what you never got a chance to say to them.”

“Will, I don’t think I’m ready for that,” I said. I was still feeling emotionally raw from recounting that horrific story.

“They’re never really gone, you know,” Will said, taking my hand in his hands. “They’re here with us. In here,” he put my hand on my heart. “And in here.” He guided my hand to my head.

The cemetery was in a part of town I had never visited before. It was to the left of the Grimm Abode, cradled between the commune and the town. It was surrounded by Fiddler’s Forest on two sides.

It was a beautiful place. Long green grass waved in the wind. Flowers grew out of the graves of those buried below. Many wreaths were hung from the tombstones of the dead. But the most beautiful thing here was the giant ash tree at the center of the cemetery, its branches extending so far and wide that it was almost covering the entire place in its shadow. Nearby, a stream of water babbled as it wove through the cemetery.

Other than the sound of running water, birds chirping, and the gentle rustle of leaves and grass in the wind, the place was utterly quiet.

Wordlessly, we sifted through the graves, reading names that we didn’t recognize, pondering what kind of lives these people had lived. Will came to a halt and pointed to two graves adjacent to each other.

“Look, Alexis. Nina Simone. Simon Richards. Your parents,” he whispered.

I didn’t have any words to describe what I was experiencing. It wasn’t sadness. I had been sad over the death of my parents for years. This was a different feeling. I didn’t know what it was. Just looking at their graves, covered with green grass, made me feel like they were here. And that they were letting me know that wherever they were, they were okay and thinking about me. I felt as if they were trying to tell me that they were looking over me.

I understood then that I was experiencing closure in one of its many forms. Seeing their graves conjured a mental image of them lying together, hand in hand, their faces smiling, their eyes closed. It was as if they were resting in some metaphysical plain where things like pain and sadness didn’t exist. They were resting.

“Can I have some moments to myself, please?” I asked Will. He nodded solemnly and backed off a few steps.

“Hey, mom. Hey dad,” I said, kneeling beside their graves. “I’m sorry it took such a long time for me to come here. I hope you understand that I was still going through grief. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss you. Your singing, mom. Your dancing, dad. It’s like whenever I close my eyes, I can see you two singing and dancing with each other, and it makes me jealous that I’m not there with you, wherever you are. I wish you were here. Your little girl is all grown up now, but she still needs her parents.”

At that moment, a strong, cool wind blew around me, rustling the fallen leaves and making the grass whisper. If I had needed a sign, this was it. It was good enough for me.

“My…err…Will told me that I should come to say goodbye to you, but now that I’m here, it feels like I’ve come here to say hello. I hope your souls are at peace.” Then I kissed my hands and placed them on each grave.

I stood there for a long time, looking at their graves and reading the words on their tombstones. Mom’s tombstone said: “Nina Simone. Loving Mother, Caring Wife, and an Exceptional Singer. May your voice join those of the angels.”

Dad’s tombstone said: “Simon Richards. Loving Father, Devoted Husband, and Brave Leader. May you feast in the halls of your forefathers.”

When I turned around, Will wasn’t there. He was standing on the other side of the cemetery. When I walked over to him, I found him looking at my grandmother’s grave.

“Sometimes I imagine how it would have been if I had never been imprisoned,” Will whispered, looking at Ariana’s tombstone intently. “This could have been me.”

“Huh?”

“Ariana is dead. Look at all the graves around her. All of these belong to the people who came with me from Germany to America. All of my pack members. If Edward Beckett hadn’t experimented upon me, I would have still been a regular old werewolf, and I would have died. I would have missed out on so much.”

“Will, can we go?” I asked. “I know you said that this would bring me some sort of closure, but the longer I linger here, the more unnerved I’m getting.”

“What do you think would make you feel better? You made me feel better. The least I can do is repay that favor,” Will said.

I did not want to say it. I knew that uttering something so dark would forever change the way Will would think about me. It would go against most of the principles I stood for.

“Tell me,” he insisted.