I believed him completely. But I wasn’t sure I could have explained why, except that something about the way Ben said it reminded me so specifically of Daniel that my heart ached. “There’s somewhere we need to go.
But we need to stop on the way.”
Ben followed me without asking where. I stopped at the bakery on the street and bought a birthday cake. A simple one, round and white, with blue lettering across the top.
The woman behind the counter asked whose birthday it was. “Happy birthday!” she smiled, placing a candle on the cake before ringing us up. The cemetery where Daniel is buried is 20 minutes from my parents’ house, on a hill that gets the full force of the December wind.
We found the graves in the fading afternoon light. Daniel’s headstone first, a simple gray marker with his name and the dates. And beside it, close enough to touch, a smaller stone.
Buddy. Our golden retriever. One of the firefighters had carried him out alive that night, though Daniel never made it back out.
Buddy lived three more years before passing away quietly from old age. My parents had buried him beside Daniel because that had seemed like the only right thing, and for once, I was grateful they’d done it. I set the birthday cake on top of Daniel’s headstone.
Ben stood beside me and looked at both markers for a long time without speaking. We cut the cake with a plastic knife from the bakery bag. The snow started falling, soft and unhurried, the way it sometimes does on the 14th of December.
It settled on our shoulders, on top of the headstone, and on the frosting of the birthday cake. I thought about all the birthdays I’d spent alone in that cemetery with no one beside me who understood what the day was. It felt different to have someone standing there.
Ben held out a small piece of cake to me, and I took it. Then I held one out to him.
