David Bell - Cemetery Girl

From where we sit, I can see the cemetery. The spot on the ground where I wrestled with Colter and, beyond that, where Caitlin’s headstone once stood. It’s gone now, removed in the wake of Colter’s arrest.

I’m enjoying the day, enjoying what little time I have with Caitlin even now.

I’ve almost allowed myself to relax, to believe that our life is returning to some semblance of normal-or what normal will be for us in the future.

And when my guard is sufficiently lowered, Caitlin jumps up from the bench.

It takes me a moment to process the speed of her movement and the direction she’s heading in.

She’s running toward the cemetery.

Running away from me.

I follow, calling her name, my breath huffing. Little puffs come out of my mouth and disappear in the air.

But just as quickly as I start, I understand.

I can’t believe what I’m seeing-but I understand.

Caitlin stops in the middle of the park. She goes down on one knee.

There’s a dog jumping against her, licking and pawing at her. A very familiar dog.

And when I get there, when I come alongside of them, I watch with the dog’s stunned owners, an elderly couple holding an empty leash. They’d apparently adopted Frosty from the shelter and attempted to make him their own, but now they seem to realize he isn’t their dog anymore.

And he never was.

Caitlin’s face is streaked with tears, but she’s smiling as the dog licks them away.

“You’re home, Frosty,” she’s saying. “Oh, my Frosty. You’re home. You’re home.”