With slow, heavy steps, she crossed the Gothic gate of the cemetery. The fog seemed to thicken around her, pressing against her face. She sighed and glanced up at the sky, weary. Then, a sound of crying pierced the stillness, and her eyes searched desperately for its source.
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It was a grieving father. She knew, immediately, who the deceased was. He knelt on his knees, cradling his infant, while his older child rested their head on his shoulder. The father’s sobs shattered the silence of the fog like fragile glass.
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She sat quietly beside a grave inscribed: Kate Adam. She set down her small bag and tried to light a cigarette, but the lighter refused to work. She looked at the grave again and whispered to it…
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She laughed bitterly. “What now? Is your will supernatural?” Scarlett’s voice held a sharp edge of irony. “I didn’t wear black today. I wore red—from head to toe. And even when I crossed the street, I barely paused… I looked like a traffic light.”
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She rested a hand on the marble and spoke of the popcorn incident, placing it as if waiting for a response: “Oh, really. You know the cold in Toronto. You know how much I hate popcorn. How much I hate Toronto’s cold without you. How much I hate it clinging to my clothes.”
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She took a piece of popcorn. They say when it cools, the flavor improves because the salt rises to the top. But she knew how much he loved it hot… She paused, as if listening for a reply. “You know I still pull these little tricks… I’m a good talker. Come on, smile—aren’t we lucky we can eat popcorn together, anyway?”
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“I have a gift for you… Mom… remember the wool blanket you wanted but we never bought? Don’t look at me like that… I—” Her voice caught, tears streaming down her face. “I bought it for us. I know you get cold so easily. I know Toronto’s cold bites, even if it costs a fortune. And what of it?”
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She broke down completely, clutching the blanket tightly.
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“I’m sorry I took so long to bring it. I’m sorry. Please forgive me…” she gasped through her tears.
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“Remember school, Lydia, when she used to say we don’t care for our mothers like we should, that we never cover them properly? Look at me now. I’m trying. I’m trying to be a good daughter, giving you what you need.”
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She wrapped the blanket around herself, rested her head on the marble, and let its warmth embrace her.
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“But I’m not sad… We never watched the stars together on Christmas night. Not once. And yet… it’s a beautiful memory to imagine. Mom… days rush forward, then fold back, pushing me, pulling me, and I’m scared. Mom, please… guide me.”
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She reached into her picnic bag and placed a note atop the blanket:
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"Please don’t take the blanket. I worked hard to give it to Mom. She feels the cold easily. You can share it. She is always generous, always warm-hearted."
and then Add to home screen.