The Chase

Bonnie Barron woke up slowly. Rolling over in bed, she grimaced as if she knew that today posed a challenge to her. She was uneasy, but half-asleep she could not remember what it was about today that made her feel like that. Finally, she rolled onto her back, took a deep breath, and stared at the ceiling. Then she remembered.

Today was the tenth of October. It was the one-year anniversary of her husband's death, and instead of grief, she felt guilt. It was a lot of guilt, and she did not know how long she cried in bed. She had not anticipated feeling this way, but after drenching her pillow, she forced herself to climb out of bed and prepare for the day. She would deal with the guilt later, but right now, she had plans to prepare for.

Bonnie had heard that if one looked confident, one would feel confident. She dressed herself in a pink blouse, black slacks, and sturdy black shoes that lifted her a comfortable quarter of an inch. She brushed her blond hair and let it flow about her face and neck, which was how her boyfriend preferred it. She blinked at her reflection in the mirror, remembering that her husband had preferred her hair to be braided, and she almost cried. But she interrupted herself by calling her boyfriend.

"Hey, babe, I'm about to head out," she said, as cheerfully as she could. "I'm going to pick up the flowers. . . . I told my parents I would be bringing a friend over. . . . No, we'll see them after we go to the cemetery. Are you - are you sure it's a good idea to tell them about us? . . . I know it's been a year, but still . . . No, you're right. Okay, see you soon."

Checkerberry's Flowers was a florist shop in the Sumner Shopping Plaza only a mile from her house. When she parked in the plaza, however, she did not immediately get out. She then remembered that Brodie used to buy her flowers at Checkerberry's, and she gripped the steering wheel harder than usual and wondered, Am I going to cry all day?

Once she was in the shop, it was easier. She browsed the roses. Those were his favorite. She had even bought him roses on their first anniversary. He had laughed, embarrassed that she had done that, but also pleased . . .

She grabbed a bouquet of yellow roses and paid for it.

Outside, she sighed at the rain that was now falling. It was going to be an unpleasant morning at the cemetery. Checking for cars before crossing the parking lot, she stopped as she took the first step towards her car. On the left side, dimly through the rain, she saw a man with his back to her. He was dressed in a striped polo shirt and brown pants.

"Brodie," she whispered.

She saw him enter the cafe as she hurried through the plaza, disregarding the rain and moving cars. She did not notice that she was almost hit. Thrusting herself through the door of the cafe, she glanced around quickly, roses dripping water on the floor.

"Hello," greeted one of the baristas, smiling at her.

Bonnie practically flung herself across the counter, startling the barista into moving a step back. "A man came in here," she said earnestly. "A man in a striped polo shirt. Did you see him?"

"You mean, just now?"

"Yes."

"No, I'm sorry, no one like that has come up to the counter. But," added the barista helpfully, "he could have gone to the restroom and I might not have seen him."

But no one in the cafe, or coming out of the men's restroom, looked like the man dressed in her husband's clothes. Bonnie waited, and as she waited, it dawned on her that what she was doing was beyond ridiculous. What did it matter if he was dressed in the same clothes her husband used to wear? It was not as if she had hope of him being alive; she knew he was dead. And if she saw the man, what would she say to him? That he reminded her of her dead husband?

Angry with herself for being so irrational, she stormed out of the cafe. But on the way to the cemetery, she almost had an accident. While she was stopped at the traffic light, she saw a man on the sidewalk three lanes away from her. It was him again, and this time, she could see his profile. It was just like Brodie's.

Bonnie rolled down the window and yelled out his name. He did not turn to face her, and the traffic began moving. She had to drive, but she tried to catch sight of him in one of her mirrors. Failing to do so, she turned violently into the first parking lot she found and whipped the car around. But the man was gone.

She arrived at the cemetery, which rested on a meadow that led out to the seashore. It was a beautiful spot, and it had been very expensive to purchase a spot in a crowded cemetery overlooking the sea. Fortunately Brodie had been a successful lawyer, and money had not been an issue.

Bonnie parked the car, shaky and questioning her own sanity. Without waiting to see if her boyfriend had arrived yet, she marched to her husband's grave and threw the roses onto his grave.

"You're dead," she shouted. "You are. I know you are? You know how I know. I killed you. That's right, I killed you with poison. I wanted you to die. Oh, you think I belong to you? Yeah, that's what you said, but I don't belong to anyone. I do exactly what I want when I want. I got your money, I got your house, and now I have a boyfriend who does anything I ask him to. What do you think of that?"

She panted. She realized she had wanted to say all of this for the past year. Even her boyfriend did not know what she had done. She had not wanted anyone to know. But to gloat to her dead husband about killing him - that was refreshing.

Then she became more aware of her surroundings. She looked around her, scared someone had heard her, and at first she was relieved to see no one. Then she turned around and saw the back of the man she had been chasing. He was standing on the edge of a cliff, and this time, he turned himself around to face her. It was Brodie. How?

Bonnie pelted across the grass, only halting when three feet away from him. His handsome face smiled sadly at her, and she instinctively moved forward to touch him, make sure he was real. But she slipped on the wet grass just as her hand touched thin air.

Her body was later found by people walking on the beach, crumpled on the rocks beneath the cliffs of the cemetery.