In our small New England town, one thing that never stops regardless of the weather is funerals.
There’s a cemetery about an hour west of home. The opposite direction of where Quinn was headed. It’s a cemetery I know very well.
Because it’s where our parents are buried.
They died when I was eighteen and Quinn was fourteen. A car accident took them both. They were driving to the high school to see a school play that Quinn was starring in. They spun out of control on the snowy road and collided with a tractor trailer. They were both killed instantly.
Unfortunately, money was tight before the accident, and they let their insurance policy lapse. So Quinn and I were left with nothing. It was a no-brainer to quit college. I couldn’t pay for school anymore anyway, and I couldn’t let Quinn be sent to live with distant relatives, or worse, end up in foster care with strangers.
From then on, it was just me and Quinn against the world. I looked out for her, made sure she studied for her exams, hung out with the right kids, and vetted her rare boyfriends. Too bad she didn’t listen to me about the man she married.
I hardly ever think about our parents anymore. It’s been an eternity since they died. I can’t even imagine the sound of my mother’s voice anymore. I forget whether my father had a beard or not. It feels like I knew them in another lifetime. But I still come here sometimes. I bring flowers.
But that’s not why I’m here today.
Sure enough, when I arrive at the cemetery, there’s a funeral going on, despite the snow. The funeral procession is parked along the side of the road, and the mourners are gathered around the gravestone. They’re bundled up in
heavy coats and hats, as they say goodbye to their loved one a final time.
I sit in my car for a moment, then I power up Quinn’s phone. I see the little Apple logo appear on the screen, and a second later, the phone prompts me to enter a passcode.
What would Quinn choose as her passcode? Her birthday? I try it, but no luck. My birthday? That doesn’t work either.
My own phone buzzes. It’s Rob, texting me: Where did you go with my truck???
I don’t answer. Instead, I type in Derek’s birthday. And now I’m locked out.
It doesn’t matter. I didn’t come here to get into Quinn’s phone. I came here to get rid of it.
My phone buzzes again. I don’t even look at it. I’m sure it’s Rob.
I walk along the row of parked cars. Most of them are locked up tight, but a couple have their windows cracked open. I come to a stop when I see a car with Vermont license plates. The back window is cracked open just a hair. Just enough for me to slide Quinn’s phone in.
There. Let’s see Scott track her down now.
I look back up at the cemetery. I haven’t been here for at least a year. At first, Quinn and I used to come here every month. I would drive us and we would stand together in front of their headstones, holding hands. Quinn would usually cry. She blamed herself. After all, they had been going to see her play.
If only I hadn’t tried out for that stupid play, she would sob.
After a while, we started going every other month. Then every few months. Then once a year.
Well, I guess that means it’s time for a visit.
I step through the iron gates to get into the cemetery. The snow is mostly untouched in here. It’s thick and
flawlessly white. My legs sink almost to my knees as I walk over to our parents’ gravestones.
They’re all the way in the back. Maxine Turner Mackey and Samuel Mackey. Beloved wife and husband, parents to Quinn and Claudia.
Sometimes I imagine what our lives would’ve been like if they hadn’t died. I would have completed college. Maybe I would be a lawyer right now, like I wanted. I would have made smarter choices in my life if I knew I had my parents backing me up. I doubt I would have married Rob.
Maybe Quinn would have made better choices too.
Well, there’s no point in debating what would’ve happened. They’re dead, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.
