The Gift

He said good night to her, standing on one foot, and then the other, feeling awkward with her, which was rare, but he didn't want to move too fast, or too slow, or seem too bold to her, or as though he didn't like her. It was an agonizing moment. And after she gently closed the door, she looked thoughtful as she went upstairs to her bedroom, wondering how, eventually, was she going to tell him the truth about her.

As it turned out, he came to see her at the restaurant the next afternoon, and then came back after work to drive her home for the next two days, and before he picked her up on Wednesday, he went out to the cemetery early that morning, to visit Annie.

He went there from time to time to clean up her grave, and sweep the dead leaves away. There were little flowers that he had planted there, and he always tidied things up. It was something he did just for her, and for his mother, because he knew she worried about it, but couldn't bear to go there.

He talked to her sometimes while he worked, and this time, he told her all about Maribeth, and how much she'd like her. It was as though she were sitting up in a tree somewhere, looking down on him, and he was telling her all about his latest doings.

“She's a great girl … no pimples …long legs …she can't swim, but she's a terrific runner. I think you'd like her.” And then he grinned, thinking of both Maribeth and his little sister. In some ways, Maribeth reminded him of the kind of girl Annie might have been if she'd grown up to be sixteen. They had the same kind of straightforward honesty and directness. And the same sense of mischief and good humor.

He finished his work at the gravesite then, thinking about the things Maribeth had said, about some people just passing through one's lives in order to bring a gift, or a special blessing. “Not everyone is meant to stay forever,” she had said, and it was the first time that anything had made any sense to him about Annie. Maybe she was just passing through …but if only she could have stayed a little longer.

Her little spot in the shade looked all neat and clean again when he left, and it pulled at his heart as it always did, to leave her there and to read her name, Anne Elizabeth Whittaker, on the small tombstone. There was a carving of a little lamb, and it always brought tears to his eyes just to see it.

“Bye kiddo,” he whispered just before he left. “I'll be back soon … I love you …” He still missed her desperately, especially when he came here, and he was quiet when he picked up Maribeth at her house, and she was quick to notice.

“Something wrong?” She glanced at him, she could see that he was upset, and she was instantly worried. “Did something happen?”

“No.” He was touched that she had noticed, and he took a minute to answer. “I went out to clean up …you know …Annie's place at the cemetery today … I go there once in a while …Mom kind of likes me to, and I like going anyway …and I know Mom hates to do it' And then he smiled and glanced over at his friend. She was wearing the big baggy shirt again, but this time with shorts and sandals. “I told her about you. I guess she knows anyway,” he said, feeling comfortable with her again. He liked sharing his secrets with her. There was no hesitation, no shame. She was just there, like an extension of him, or someone he had grown up with.

“I had a dream about her the other night,” Maribeth said, and he looked startled.

“So did I. I dreamt about the two of you walking at the lake. I just felt so peaceful,” he said, and Maribeth nodded.

“I dreamt she was telling me to take care of you, and I promised her I would …kind of like a chain of people …she left and I came, and she asked me to keep an eye on you …and maybe after me someone else …and then …it's like an eternal progression of people coming through our lives. I think that's what I was trying to say the other day. Nothing is forever, but there's a continuing stream of people who go through our lives and continue with us …nothing just stops and stays …but it flows on …like a river. Does that sound crazy?” She turned to him, wondering if her philosophical meanderings sounded foolish, but they didn't. They were both wise beyond their years, with good reason.

“No, it doesn't. I just don't like the part about the progression of people, coming and going in our lives. I'd like it better if people stayed. I wish Annie were still here, and I don't want 'someone else' after you, Maribeth. What's wrong with staying?”

“We can't always do that,” she said, “sometimes we have to move on. Like Annie. We're not always given a choice.” But she had a choice, she and her baby were bound to each other for the moment, but eventually Maribeth would move on, and the baby would go on to its own life, in its own world, with other parents. It seemed as though now, in all their lives, nothing was forever.

“I don't like that, Maribeth. At some point, people have to stay.”