Their mother was on her knees in front of the grave, putting a dozen red roses into the little plastic flower cup sunk into the ground. Neither of the children looked at her, their eyes focused on something ahead, in the distance. They looked like they'd been crying. From where I was standing, I could see the mother's shoulders shake and shudder with unleashed grief.
Not wanting a confrontation, I'd gotten to the cemetery early, but they were already there. I'd been waiting for over an hour, looking, wondering whether I should just walk forward and visit the grave of my lover or turn around and go back to my car.
I made my decision and walked towards the grave, shame at my hour's worth of cowardice flooded through my body.
Barbara saw me first, took her brother's hand like she was leading a small child and stomped towards me, trying to cut me off.
"I warned you, Mr. Ciccarelli. If you go near my mother, I'm going to-"
"Shut up, Barbara, " I said. "I've already heard what you have to say."
I pushed past her.
Her brother's hand reached out and took my arm, roughly.
"Are you going to hit me, Peter?"
"If I have to, Hugo."
I shook my arm out of his grasp.
"I loved your father."
"Loved him?" screamed Barbara. "You killed him!"
I choked on that, but finished my sentence. "I loved your father as much as your mother ever did."
Barbara moved towards me. This time, Peter took her arm.
"How dare you say that? They were married! For twenty years! Don't you compare your.. 'relationship with him to they're marriage." The way she said the word relationship made it sound dirty.
"I cared for him when he was dying! When all he wanted was to say good-bye to his children, you couldn't even bring yourself to come visit him on his deathbed!"
Peter looked away. Barbara just kept staring at me.
"You've had your time with him. Let me have mine."
Charley's ex-wife watched as I knelt down next to her and added my lone white rose to her dozen red ones.
