Free Thy Neighbor's Wife by Georgia Beers Page A

a very long
    time.
    Chapter
    Six
    If there was such a thing as a beautiful cemetery, White Haven
    Memorial Park definitely qualified. Kept pristine and protected by
    an elegant, wrought iron fence, it stretched for acres off Marsh
    Road on the border between the suburbs of Pittsford and Fairport.
    There were no headstones, only grave markers that lay flat, flush
    with the thick, green grass. If one didn’t know it was a cemetery,
    one might have assumed it was simply a gorgeous park, dotted with
    old, majestic trees and sporadic bunches of colorful flowers, with a
    beautiful fountain sprouting up in the center.
    The day was a bit gloomy and still cool, even for early June; it
    seemed appropriate for a visit to the cemetery. Jennifer eased her
    car along the winding, paved path, following a route she had grown
    to know well, over the last nine months. She coasted to a stop, put
    the car in park, and sat for a moment or two, just looking out over
    the expanse of flawlessly manicured lawn.
    Michael Remington had died the previous August of a massive
    heart attack. Though nearly a year had passed, Jennifer still had a
    hard time with the fact that she’d never see him again, and it was
    still difficult for her to accept that he wasn’t available to give her
    advice anymore. He was the only member of the family who seemed
    to understand her. She knew it sounded cliché, but it was true. They
    were very much alike, so they tended to stick together on most
    issues. He had worked hard for his success, as well as his money,
    and he’d never taken it for granted. Over the years, they had sadly
    watched together as Jennifer’s mother became more and more
    wrapped up in her image and her wealth. She hadn’t started out that
    way, and Jennifer believed that at one time, long ago, her parents
    really were in love with one another. By the time her father passed
    away, though, they’d been basically roommates…and Jennifer won-
    dered if they even liked each other all that much at that point. She
    had no idea why they never divorced. Maybe they would have even-
    tually. That was something she’d never know.
    She got out of the car, grabbed the small, Ziploc baggie from
    46 Georgia Beers
    her purse, and walked past several markers until she came to his.
    Her brow furrowed as she stood there, looking at the small bouquet
    of white daisies that graced his plot. They were obviously fresh,
    bringing a splash of beauty to the otherwise dreary day. She knew
    her mother had only been there once or twice since Michael’s
    death, so the flowers were a small mystery. Jennifer squatted down,
    surprised to find the grass dry, and took a seat.
    “Who brought the daisies, Daddy?” she asked softly. The
    breeze blew delicately. Sometimes she would swear she’d hear his
    voice traveling by on it.
    She picked a few stray blades of grass from his marker and lov-
    ingly ran her fingers over the chiseled lettering. She scooped out a
    handful of birdseed from the Ziploc baggie and sprinkled it evenly
    all around him. She doubted anybody else in the family had any
    idea that he loved to birdwatch. It was her own special connection
    with him now. Instead of bringing flowers, which is what just about
    anybody would do, she brought birdseed, so that even when he
    didn’t have human visitors, he’d have animal ones.
    She settled herself comfortably and prattled on, telling him
    about her life. It was something she did several times a month, and
    it was akin to a therapy session for her. She didn’t think her father
    would mind.
    “The girls are coming by for lunch today.” The flat and unen-
    thusiastic tone of her voice told him exactly how she felt about that.
    And they were people she called her friends. How sad for me. “They
    want to see the new lake house. I hope they go easy on me. I’m not
    sure it fits their ‘image.’” She made the quotations marks in the air
    to demonstrate the sarcasm to him. “It’s probably not quite