Final Grave, page 29
She surveyed the closely packed graves, wondering how many of his kin were buried here. She pointed to a handsome black granite headstone with a memorial in Euskera: Jaunaren Bakean. She tugged on his coat sleeve, “Can you translate?”
“It means, In the peace of God.”
“Jaunaren Bakean.” Meri Ann experienced a lightness she hadn’t known since before that long-ago night when her mother vanished. The lyrical words reflected her sense of peace. She also felt as if she’d satisfied her father’s last lucid request: to bring her mother home.
“You feel okay?” he asked.
“I really do. I feel alive.”
“Great. Want to go see a movie, or eat or something?”
She studied him closely, his dark hair, his muscular frame. He didn’t resemble Ron at all and was very appealing because of it. When they weren’t arguing, she liked him a lot. “Do you write poetry or ever plan to?”
He appeared baffled by the question. “Sorry but that’s not me.”
She exhaled a sigh of relief and sidled up closer. “I’m glad to hear it. Sure, let’s go see a movie, or something.”
Nadja Bernitt, Final Grave
