After lunch, Chris and Anna visited the small non-denominational cemetery in the Pine Barrens where Anna’s parents were laid to rest. Chris drove, taking the back roads and keeping exactly to the speed limit. Anna’s navigation only got them lost one time, a personal record.
They wandered along the shaded paths, hand in hand. Once they got to the Jacksons’ markers, William and Sharon Jackson stamped across plain brass and stone, they stopped. Chris stood behind Anna, arms wrapped around her middle and chin nestled on her shoulder.
The vase at the head of the stone held Shasta daisies, only slightly wilted. Nick’s doing, most likely. Anna’s relationship with her parents had been strained. Bill and Sharon had tried their best to support their daughter, but while they had never outright cond
