It was a cloudy, blustery late spring day in Houston. Perfect conditions for Hunter Divine’s mood. The young man, who had recently turned eighteen, stood sullen by the casket suspended above the hole, ready to be lowered. The chaplain spoke a few final words to the multitude who attended, wrapping up the graveside memorial service for Isadora Divine, Hunter’s mother. Standing next to Hunter was her best friend Grace and her daughter Regina, who had her arm around her mother as she cried. The death an expected one, Isadora having lost her several-year battle with cancer.
Hunter did his best not to cry—but failed. Tissues in hand to wipe away the tears. His mind was a sea of emotions and memories. The happy times, one going back only a few days when he received his acceptance letter for college, scholarships lined up to cover nearly all the costs, with savings to cover the rest. Money his mother had worked hard to put away to guarantee he would be settled financially after she passed.
And then the sad days, like when she told him of her initial cancer diagnosis, which she fought and won. Then years later, when the cancer returned, and the look of defeat in her eyes. The struggle to forge on which she faced bravely until Hunter found her in her bed a few days ago. Her eyes closed, no breath in her chest, body cold. His mother had died during the day while he was at school. Hunter sat for many minutes on the edge of the bed, holding her hand, crying until there were no more tears to shed. Her death one he thought he was prepared for but in reality, he wasn’t.
After the final words, the casket was lowered. Isadora had wished to be buried in her hometown of Houston next to her mother and father. All the arrangements were made in advance and paid for. A small stone marker to be placed at the head of the site, with her name, birth and death years and the caption: Loved by All.
Hunter grabbed a handful of dirt, tossed it on top of the casket, saying his final goodbye. He turned and walked away, holding Grace’s hand, not sure how he could continue without his mother’s strength to guide him. Knowing he’d need to dig deep and find the toughness to return to Denver, to finish his final semester of high school and then begin the next chapter of his life at Colorado University, all alone.
In the back of the crowd, stood a man who fueled his anger. A face he’d not seen in several years, but one he’d not soon forget, even if he wanted to. A father he barely knew, a man who had drifted in and out of their lives, until the day Isadora finally had enough and told him never to return. The somber man stood alone, in a dark suit, wearing a black fedora.
Hunter told Grace to wait, not wanting her to hear what he planned to say to the man.
“Leave and never return.” Hunter spoke calmly, but with determination and fire in his eyes. “If I see you again, I will punch you in the mouth.”
Horace Divine nodded. “I’m sorry about your mom. Believe it or not, I did and still love her.”
“Not sure how you can say you love her, after all you put her through. The cancer may have killed her, but she died a little each time you left us for your carnal trysts. Now leave before I lose my temper.”
Horace put up his hands, turned, and trudged away, fading into the background until he was gone. His hatred for him absolute, Hunter wished to never see the man again.
After he went back to say his goodbyes to those who had come, he reached out his hands to Grace and Regina, happy he had somewhere to stay while in Houston. The two being the closest thing he had left to call family. They started their walk back to their car, when in the distance Hunter saw a dark-skinned woman, dressed all in black, leaning against a white limo, her dark hair blowing in the breeze. Their eyes locked on each other, Hunter with some distant memory as if he knew her. Though the face one he couldn’t recall.
“Grace, do you know who that is?” Hunter pointed in the direction of the woman.
Grace looked up with her teary eyes, and then down again, not able to meet Hunter’s eyes. “I’m sorry. No, I don’t know her.” Her tone held no conviction. “Let’s go home. I’m getting chilly.”
Hunter released her hand and ambled toward the limo, as if being drawn to the mystery woman. He pointed at her, ready to call out to ask who she was, when she got into the back of the limo and the vehicle sped away. Hunter not certain what this was all about. The nagging in his mind of who it could be, never coming to fruition. The long-gone memory would soon be lost among many of the other events in his life. Buried deep, until forced to the surface by something traumatic.
R.Weir 