Caitlyn holds my hand as we walk through the granite and marble stones to the plot I’ve purchased in a corner of the field. The cold autumn air scrapes at our cheeks and makes our eyes water. Caitlyn doesn’t complain.

There are no priests, ministers, or rabbis— only a small coffin containing the remains of what Caitlyn and I know to be Katherine Carrington, and a gravestone that’s blank. There are two employees of the graveyard present, who don’t seem to care about the circumstances. They’ve probably seen stranger. Having already dug the grave, they are sitting under a sugar maple thirty yards away, smoking cigarettes. I nod to them. They nod back.

Caitlyn and I stand before the grave. I lean down to her. “Is there anything you want to say?”

She thinks about it and steps over to the casket.

“I’m really sorry about what happened to you, but I’m glad I got to meet you. I’m glad you got to meet my mom. If you see her again, tell her I said ‘Hi’ and I love her.”

She looks at me for approval, and I nod. Caitlyn returns to my side and takes my hand.

I motion to the workers. They put out their cigarettes and rise to join us.

They take the small casket off the pedestal, and slowly lower it into the grave. Once it reaches the bottom, I step over to the mound of earth. I take a handful, hold it over the open space, and let it fall from my hand. Caitlyn follows suit. Once completed, we step back.

The workers take over from there. They pick up their shovels and begin to fill the grave. Caitlyn and I watch, our hands still locked together. We don’t move for the half hour it takes the workers to complete their task.

When it’s over, the workers know their part, and quietly slip away. Caitlyn and I wait for a few more minutes, completely alone, staring at the blank headstone.

“Goodbye, Katherine,” Caitlyn says.

A small breeze blows through the rows of headstones and sends dry, brittle leaves cartwheeling across the newly turned earth. Once the silence returns, I gently squeeze her shoulder.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

In unison, we turn and begin walking away in silence.

Caitlyn finally speaks as we approach the gate leading to the parking lot. “Dad?”

“Yeah, pumpkin?”

“Can we move?”

32

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. Finish your waffles. The school bus is going to be here any minute.”

My little pep talk has no effect. Caitlyn stares at the television and absent-mindedly keeps chewing.

“Pumpkin?”

Still no response.

I pick up the remote and turn off the television, which finally gets her attention.

“Chop chop!” I say, clapping my hands.

“I’m ready,” she says with that sigh that every parent knows and loves.

“Got your math homework?”

“Yes.”