I wiped my face.
Then continued.
“I read your letter.”
For several seconds, I stared at the stone.
“I wish we'd had more time.”
The words hurt.
Not because they were complicated.
Because they were true.
I wanted another afternoon.
Another kitchen table.
Another chance to say that I loved her without wondering whether she'd let me finish.
I wanted to hear her voice.
To ask about Rosie.
To tell her I was proud of the woman she'd become.
None of that was possible now.
I took a slow breath.
Then placed my hand on the grass.
“I love you, Mara.”
For a moment, the wind seemed to soften.
I closed my eyes.
Then whispered.
“And I'm going to try to be good to your little girl.”
I stayed there until my breathing steadied.
When I stood, Rosie approached.
She looked toward the headstone.
Then toward me.
“Grandpa?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think Mom can see us?”
I considered.
I wasn't going to pretend I knew something I couldn't prove.
So I answered carefully.
“I don't know exactly how that works, sweetheart.”
She looked down.
I continued.
“But I know she'd be happy we found each other.”
Rosie thought about that.
Then smiled faintly.
“Me too.”
She reached for my hand.
I took it.
And we walked back to the truck together.
Leaving Holbrook was harder than arriving.
I had ridden nine hundred miles with a single purpose.
Find out why my daughter's name appeared on a letter.
Now I was returning to Wyoming knowing I had a granddaughter who wanted me in her life.
I promised Rosie I'd call when I stopped for the night.
She made me repeat it.
Then asked whether I would call again when I reached home.
I promised that too.
Evelyn wrote my number on a card and placed it beside the kitchen telephone.
Rosie copied it into a little notebook.
Then she stood beside my motorcycle examining the fuel tank.
“Can I ride with you?”
I smiled.
“Not today.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Because this is a long road trip, and I'm not going to take you nine hundred miles on a motorcycle.”
She looked disappointed.
I crouched beside her.
“But when we're both ready, we can talk about what a safe, age-appropriate ride might look like.”
She considered.
“Can I sit on it while it's parked?”
I smiled.
“Absolutely.”
With the engine off, the motorcycle properly supported, and Evelyn beside us, I helped Rosie sit on the seat.
Her feet couldn't reach the ground.
She grinned.
“I'm taller than everybody!”
I laughed.
“That's one advantage.”
She looked toward the handlebars.