Chapter Eleven
Sleeping ghosts lay silent.
Dorothy May Parker lay in front of me. Dead. I didn’t know the how or the why, just that this was the final resting place of the woman. As I stood near the back of the mist-covered graveyard in the pale overcast light early the next morning and glanced down at the faded stone marker, I wondered what kind of life Dorothy experienced.
Had she known love, joy, and happiness? Perhaps. Had she experienced heartache, pain, and suffering? Almost certainly. Life has a way of entwining the good with the bad and making us battle through one to reach the other.
Did Dorothy’s relatives, perhaps a great-grandson or great, great granddaughter come to visit? Did they even know she lay here? Hard to say.
In the end, the only thing I really knew about the lat
