The Last Handful of Clover - Book 1: The Hereafter

1.57 Possession

June 7, 4:13 pm

When they arrived back at the house, it was quiet. And Richard was grateful for that. After seeing the ghosts in the library he was emotionally, if not physically, exhausted, and all he wanted to do was spend a quiet evening at home with the man he loved.

And for a time, that was exactly what he had.

As the afternoon slipped away, and Keith read a thin volume of poetry, Richard spent the time just sitting and contemplating what he now knew. He was still torn between feeling sorry for the ghosts that congregated at the library, and feeling hopeful that there was a future for him that could include something more than just watching and waiting.

What kind of scholar could I become, he wondered, if I had all eternity to pursue it? How many languages could I learn? What insights would be possible?

But at the same time, what use was a grand education and vast knowledge for its own sake? Was there any point to pursuing great learning if it all had to be locked forever in his mind? The teacher in Richard was appalled at such an idea. No, knowledge only had value if it could be shared; if it could be used to further the great human adventure.

Richard and Keith's quiet afternoon was interrupted less than two hours after they arrived home. Michelle drove up in Big Bird, and as Keith met her at the door, Richard saw she was carrying something the size of a toaster. It was a beautiful oak and rosewood box, and on the lid were his initials in filigree gold.

Touching the box gave Richard the same empty sensation he had when he learned that his body had been cremated. He wanted to feel something—whether it was revulsion or joy didn't really matter, as long as it was something. But instead, he felt nothing. The contents of the box might just as well have been garden dirt.

Keith didn't open the box to look in, even after Michelle had been there for an hour, and had made tea for them both. The two of them talked quietly over the dining room table, the box of Richard's ashes between them like a mysterious gift from a stranger.

"I couldn't stay at work," Keith told her. "I tried, but after a couple hours, I just felt this anxiety growing in my chest. I pushed through it for as long as I could. But eventually, I just had to leave. I think they understood."

"I'm sure they did, Pea. You should write to your boss tonight. Tell her you'd like to take a few more days off after all."

Keith swirled the last of his tea in the cup, as if he was trying to read the leaves. "I think I will," he said, sounding defeated.

While they talked, Richard saw their eyes kept finding their way back to the box on the table, as if it was a third member of the conversation. Finally, Keith looked up at Michelle, and rested his elbows on the table.

"Did you find out about the hearing tomorrow? The one for Howard Gunderson?"

Michelle leaned back, warming her hands around her still full cup. "I did. In fact, I got a call from Detective Grayson yesterday. I asked her about it, and she said that we could go, if we wanted. I guess it's open to the public."

Richard looked at Keith carefully, but his face was unreadable. Michelle was silent, and Richard could tell that she too was unsure what he was going to say.

Finally, Keith downed the last of his tea and put the cup back on the coaster. "I think I'd like to be there.  I'd like to go."

Michelle sighed and looked down at her hands. "Detective Grayson suspected you might. She said it was a common thing. And that sometimes for families..." Richard knew she was about to say "families of murder victims," but she caught herself. "Sometimes for families, it helps. I guess it provides some sense of closure."