Danny’s scheme was well-known. I halted short as I neared.
A carefully organized arrangement of white roses adorned his headstone.
I bent to stroke their smooth petals and mumbled, “That’s strange.”
“What?” Alice yelled behind me.
“Someone left flowers again.”
“Maybe one of Dad’s old work friends?”
Shaking my head. “Flowers are always fresh.”
Does it annoy you?
Looking at the roses, I felt curiously soothed. “No. It’s just… I wonder who remembers him so well.”
“Maybe next time we’ll find out,” Alice squeezed my shoulder.
When we returned to the car, I felt Danny watching us, smiling that crooked smile I missed so much.
I answered, “Whoever they are, they must have loved him too.”
***
Spring became into summer, and each visit brought new flowers to Danny’s grave. June daisies. July sunflowers… fresh, always Fridays before Sunday visits.
Some hot August morning, I decided to visit the cemetery early. I might capture my strange flower-bearer. Since Alice couldn’t come, I traveled alone.
The cemetery was silent. Groundskeepers cleared around a memorial. I recognized the elderly man with aged hands who usually nodded graciously when we met.
I yelled, “Excuse me,” approaching him. “I wonder if you know something.”
He paused and turned, wiping perspiration from his brow. “Morning, madam.”
Someone constantly leaves flowers at my husband’s grave. Ever noticed who?
No thought was needed by the groundskeeper. Ah, yeah. Friday guest. His arrival has been regular since last summer.”
“He?” My heart raced. A guy visits every Friday?
“Yes, ma’am. Quiet guy. Mid-thirties. Dark hair. He always brings and arranges flowers. He also takes time. Sits and chats occasionally.”
Options rushed through my head. Danny had numerous friends, former pupils, and teaching colleagues. Someone so dedicated?
Would you…? I paused, embarrassed by my plea. If you see him again, could you snap a photo? I just need to know.”
The groundskeeper nodded slowly after staring at me. I understand, madam. I’ll attempt.”
“Thank you,” I said, relieved and nervous. It signifies more than you think.”
“Some bonds,” he observed, glancing at Danny’s headstone, “don’t break even after death. A godsend, in a way.”
***
Four weeks later, while folding clothes, my phone rang. Name of groundskeeper displayed on screen. I gave him my number in case he learnt.
“Ma’am? Thomas from the graveyard. I got your requested photo.”
My hands trembled as I thanked him and promised to visit that afternoon.
I entered the cemetery in late September’s fresh air. Holding his phone awkwardly, Thomas waited near the caretaker’s shed.
“He came early today,” he said. “I took a picture behind the maple trees. Hope that’s not intrusive.”
Not at all. Much obliged.”
Thomas gave me his phone, and I froze at the screen.
From here, the man kneeling beside Danny’s grave and arranging yellow flowers seemed hauntingly familiar. He had wide shoulders and a slight head droop. God, I’d seen that a thousand times at supper.
Are you okay, ma’am? Thomas’ voice seemed distant.
“Yes,” I said, returning his phone. “Thank you. “I know him.”
Kevin slid into a chair after closing his eyes. “I never intended to tell you. It wasn’t. that wasn’t for show.”
“Why, Kevin? You and Danny… You were hardly there.”
When he looked up, tears filled his eyes. Joyce, you’re mistaken. We reached the end.”
Alice came downstairs but stopped when she felt tension. “What’s up?”
Kevin turned to his wife after looking at me. “Your mom knows about cemetery visits.”
Visits to the cemetery? You talking about what?
“The roses we saw at your father’s grave that day… Someone has left flowers there weekly for a year. I learned it was Kevin today.”
Alice looked at her husband confused. “You visited Dad’s grave? Every week? Why didn’t you tell me?
Kevin shook his hands flat against the table. Due of my desire to conceal the truth. He died that night.
The room fell silent and my heart raced.
“What truth?” Alice murmured.
Kevin shuddered. “I put your dad on that road that night.”
Feeling blood pour from my face. “What are you saying?”
“On the night you and Alice visited your sister in Ohio… I was down. Failure plagued the building industry. I was laid off but couldn’t say. Far too embarrassed. I started drinking heavily.”
Alice slipped into a chair. “You were employed throughout. You worked daily.”
“I pretended. I left in the morning, applied for employment at the library for hours, then went to bars until home.” Kevin roughly wiped his eyes. Your dad found it out. When you were shopping, he called to offer assistance, seeing a problem.
My mind started to make sense of the fragments. Danny’s unexpected interest in Kevin’s work and my interruptions of private chats.
“Danny became the only person I could talk to,” Kevin said. I was not judged. He conducted mock interviews and assisted with job applications. He became my father in those months more than my own father.”
“The night of the accident,” I answered slowly, “what happened?”
Kevin’s face contracted. I phoned him. I was intoxicated in a pub outside town and couldn’t drive. Alice shouldn’t know how horrible things were. Danny promised to pick me up.
A slow, breaking wave hit me with the horrible reality. Danny fled our vacant house to save our son-in-law. They never returned.
“There was a truck,” Kevin murmured. The light was brilliant. Strike Danny’s side. “He died while trying to help me.”
Alice sounded like a wounded animal. Throughout, you made us believe it was just terrible luck. Random incident.”
“I couldn’t bear to tell you,” Kevin replied, crying. “I panicked and left after calling 911. Police just said Danny was alone in the automobile. I live with remorse every day.”
The memories rearranged as I sat dumbfounded. Unusual late-night drive, alcohol found in other driver’s system but not in Danny’s. and why my responsible spouse was out at midnight on Tuesdays.
“I go to his grave every week,” Kevin said. Joyce, I deliver the roses Daddy bought you. He always told me your seasonal favorites. I spoke with him. I talk about Jake’s childhood and my new career. Over and over, I apologize.” He raised his red-rimmed eyes. “He saved my life, and it cost him his.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? You seen my grief and knew… Alice hugged herself.
“I was scared… feared you’d despise me. That you’d depart. That Joyce would never forgive me.”
I grabbed his hand across the table. Hand of man who saw my husband’s death. Hand of man my husband sought to save.
Kevin, Danny chose that night. A choice based on love for you, Alice, and our family. He wouldn’t want you to bear this alone.”
How can you say That? Alice wept. Dad’s gone because—
“Because a drunk driver ran a bright light,” I said. “Not because Kevin needed aid. Danny would have done that for anybody he loved.”
Kevin stared at me, hopeful and skeptical. You don’t blame me?
“I miss my husband every day,” I remarked, crying. “Knowing he died as the man I loved… Being polite, helpful, and prioritizing family provides me peace, not rage.
***
The next days were hard. Alice struggled with wrath and remorse. Kevin began treatment and psychotherapy.
Kevin occasionally accompanied me on my monthly graveyard visits. Together, we watched Jake put a bouquet of red roses at the grave yesterday.
“Grandpa liked these ones best,” he said, though he was too young to remember Danny.
Kevin smiled sweetly. It’s true, buddy. How did you know?
“You told me yesterday we picked them.”
Alice joined us, taking my arm. “Dad would have loved this…with everyone.”
I nodded, unable to speak due to a lump. Grief persists. Always will be… but it’s changed and softened.
Kevin stayed with me as we returned to the car.
“I think about him every day,” he said. “Gratitude now, not guilt. He taught me about fatherhood, marriage, and mentoring.”
His arm was pinched. “He’d approve of your transformation.”
Hope so.”
What began with stranger-left flowers healed our devastated family. Danny saved Kevin’s life and ours by guiding us back to each other through honesty and forgiveness in his ultimate gesture of love.
Some claim life has no coincidences. I believe Danny organized this from afar, protecting and instructing us despite our sadness.
