Dawn Awakening

"Robbie, its ok," he whispered gently. He pressed her cheek to his shoulder and buried his face in the curve of her neck. Janine had preached to him to be careful with the suit. Cautioning him about how expensive it was and that it was a treasure to be valued. He didn't give a damn about the fabrics or the "fine craftsmanship" of the suit. Let Robbie cry all over it if she wanted to. God knew he was trying his damnedest to catch his tears before they fell, soaking her in the deluge of his grief.

Robbie rested her head on John Mark's shoulder until she felt strong enough to hold it up on her own. He leaned heavily against her. His arms wrapped around her waist, fingers grappling at her skirt, gripping it in his fists. His face buried in the crook of her neck. His breaths, short and panty with the effort of holding back his sobs, scalded her skin. A tear, perhaps in all of the years she'd known him, the only tear she'd ever seen him cry, rolled down the slope of her collarbone in a hot trail of grief.

Slowly, Robbie untangled herself from John Mark's hold and eased onto her wobbly legs. Mr. Reyburn stood in the back of the room, patiently clearing his throat. It was five till ten and he was getting ready to unlock the doors to let the funeral-goers in. This was the last time she'd see her parents, ever. Once she got this one final glimpse, she'd never go near those caskets again. "John Mark," she said, gently touching his shoulder, "Come on, we'll go up together."

John Mark slowly, as if the weight of the world had crashed down on his shoulders and he alone was responsible for holding it up, rose to his feet. He was more of a rip the bandaid off kind of guy and Robbie's breakdown had completely undone him. If he could have just kept moving and gotten that final glance at Robert and Danielle out of the way, he would have been fine. Stopping and acknowledging Robbie's grief had forced him to face his own.

Arm in arm, each leaning on the other to keep them moving and upright, placing one foot in front of the other, they walked to the coffins and took that last look. The image of them so peaceful, so calm, and so still, forever burned into their minds.

Chapter 11

The funeral itself was, for the most part, a blur. She recalled the seemingly endless handshakes, hugs, and words of sympathy. But, couldn't remember all the names or the faces that went with them. She had two red roses clutched in her fist, but couldn't remember who had plucked them from the spray and put them into her hand. Robbie felt like more of a spectator than a participant. From an emotional distance, she watched numbly. But, she wasn't really there. By the end of the day, she was positively drained. Luckily, John Mark stayed close by, lending a hand, finessing the endless onslaught of well meaning townsfolk bearing covered dishes and sympathetic smiles.

Robbie felt John Mark's arm brush against her as he fastened the seatbelt. Saw the landscape rolling past the window shadowed by the golden wash of the evening sun. She took his hand when he offered it to help her out of the passenger side of the car. As if asleep and not wide awake, she followed him up the stairs to the front door and patiently waited for him to turn the key in the lock and hold the door open wide, practically pushing her over the threshold with a big hand.

Every movement was automatic. Blindly, though her eyes were open, she kicked off her sandals, pushing them under the couch with her big toe. Her body weaving, her mind blank to receive instructions, she stood, unblinking and immobile. Her body sighed with relief as John Mark took over, eased her onto the couch, and wrapped a throw snugly around her shoulders.

John Mark's brows wrinkled in concern. Robbie made it through the day, smiled and shook hands, exchanged hugs, and made polite conversation with the townspeople that had come to pay their respects.

Through it all, she stood on her own two feet, never breaking down or shedding a tear, which was difficult during the Great Father's eloquent delivery of the eulogy. His words were simple ones, direct and to the point as was his way. But, they held power over the mourners. His message directed to Robbie and probably, to him. The way he promised that life would go on. And that death was no end, just another beginning. John Mark was holding the Great Father to his promise. They would see Robert and Danielle again...someday.

John Mark slid the roses from Robbie's weak grip and tucked her toes under the hem of the throw. She stared blankly at nothing. He wasn't really sure she knew he was there. She was just so cold, so empty, and so numb. "I think I'll go put on some tea," he said, more to have something useful to do besides stand there and helplessly hover over her.

Numbly, Robbie shook her head. She didn't really even know what John Mark had said. She just felt obliged to acknowledge him in some small way. John Mark had been a rock of strength today. Ready to catch her if she should stumble and fall. He'd pushed aside his own pain to help her deal with hers. She'd love to reciprocate the favor. But, she didn't have it in her. Finally, when she thought she had it through her thick skull, reality came crashing down around her. Her parents were gone, really gone. She was an orphan now, alone and on her own. At the ripe old age of twenty-two, she thought she had it all figured out. She didn't know jack shit and there wasn't anybody in the whole world for her to turn to.

Robbie took the mug of tea from John Mark's hands. The heat of the ceramic warmed her frozen fingers. She sipped the tea, wincing at its bitter aftertaste. What the hell had he done to poor Earl Grey? The fact that he had botched up dousing a tea bag in some hot water woke her up and she glanced over at him questioningly.

"It's an old Indian recipe," John Mark explained. The Shaman claimed his special blend of whatever in the hell he put in those tins he doled out to human members like candy would cure anything. Out of sheer desperation, John Mark was willing to put the Shaman's claims to the test. Could the Old Goat's tea cure a broken heart? He hoped like hell it could. He was running out of ideas on how to put Robbie back together again. If the tea didn't do it, he was heading over to Alexander's barn to borrow a roll of duct tape. Maybe he could tape her shattered heart together until it healed.

He lowered himself onto the cushions next to her and tucked his long legs neatly beneath the coffee table. "Luckily, I found a stash of it in the cabinets." He motioned for her to drink the rest of the tea in her mug almost chuckling at the horrified expression on her face as she forced another swallow down. "Trust me, it's perfectly safe." He flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, tipping the end of the mug up as she drank, encouraging her to finish the contents, no matter how bad they were. He was a master at the many uses of duct tape. But, somehow, he didn't think it would help in this particular situation.

After Robbie finished choking down the tea, primarily to be polite, and secondarily, because John Mark all but poured it down her throat, she felt her lids get heavier and her tense body start to relax. Whatever micky was in that tea, it was potent stuff. She should bitch about whatever John Mark slipped her in the tea. But, damn, did feeling nothing feel good opposed to the cold numbness that had set up permanent residence in her soul.

John Mark eased a grateful sigh of relief, watching Robbie's eyelids grow heavier and heavier by the minute. He'd never doubt the Shaman's mad skills or his tea again. Gently, he pushed on her shoulder, guiding her head down to the rainbow of colored throw pillows stacked on the end of the couch.

Not having the energy to resist John Mark's gentle persuasion, she lowered her head onto the pillows and allowed him to reposition her feet and legs across his lap. For the first time since this whole mess had turned her world on end she felt warm, safe, and protected. Cared for.

John Mark's heart was pounding like a drum in his chest as he pulled Robbie's dainty stocking feet into his lap. The throw blocked the view of her shapely calves from his sight. He had to remind himself to handle her carefully. She was so fragile and breakable. Gently, he rubbed and massaged her feet, warming their coolness with the palms of his hands. "That feels nice," Robbie mumbled drowsily. Softly, he hummed under his breath, working at her toes and the arches of her feet with his fingers.

Fighting to resist the pull of whatever was in the tea, the gentle strokes of John Mark's capable fingers against the arches of her feet, and the rhythmic lullaby quality of his rich tenor voice, she asked the question that had been burning in her mind ever since she'd pulled into town. "John Mark, what happens now? What do I do without them?"

John Mark's fingers never stilled, they kept working at her feet and toes in rhythmic circles. He did stop humming long enough to softly answer her question. It was the very same one he'd pondered himself. What happens next? What would they do without them? He answered truthfully, the only way he knew how. "I don't know, Robbie."

Chapter 12

Kiros stood over the graves, staring down at the headstones in thought. The smell of freshly dug earth mixed with the rugged fragrance of the pine and the sickeningly sweet stink of decay and flowers well past their prime. He crumbled the mound of packed dirt in his fist, showering it over the graves in a sprinkling of dust from his fingers.

Death was almost pretty. Romanticized by blossoms, towering monuments, and flowery speeches filled with promises that nobody could ever know the outcome of. The dead did not talk. What waited on the other side of the grave was their secret alone. Not even he, for all his time on this earth and all the ones he'd sent to their maker, could guess what truly awaited after death, if anything at all. There didn't seem to be much to it, just decay and rot six feet under, and memories left behind to eventually be forgotten. Beyond that, what more could there be?

The girl had buried her dead. She'd had her time of mourning as he'd secretly vowed. And it was time to get about the business of how to claim his prize. "Goodbye Grandson mine," he said, dusting the grave dirt off his fingers.

Kore stayed back, obscured by the tree line, watching her brother mourn the dead. She was sick of this place. Disgusted with everything about it. Dining on animals as if she were some sort of beast. Slinking about in the shadows as if she was a creature out of some damned fable. She was ready for action. Ready to stir up a proverbial shit storm in this quiet little burg.

Her brother always speculated about where they sent the souls of their victims. She could care less. Heaven. Hell. Someplace in between. What did it matter? People were born to die. It was only the lucky ones who crossed her path that had an advance notice of when their time was up. And as for her brother, if he kept up this senseless obsession of his, he wouldn't have to wonder much longer about what was waiting for him on the other side of the grave, he'd find out. She wouldn't have to kill him. The Sons would do it for her.

*******

The next few days passed with a dreamlike quality as Robbie tried to establish herself into something that resembled a routine. Forced to go through the motions of living, more for show than actual interest, she made rounds, stopping by the ice cream shop periodically to ensure things were going smoothly. They were. Corrine, the shop's only full time employee, had spent every summer working for Robbie's father since she was in her late teens. At thirty-something, she knew the demands of the business well and had everything well in hand.

This morning, Robbie was going over to the family's attorney to sign papers and tie up all the loose ends. She feigned a smile as a well-manicured receptionist greeted and ushered her into an office. Today was not going to be easy, taking a deep breath she stepped inside the heavily, dark paneled, interior and took the empty seat angled in front of the desk. The attorney greeted her with a fleshy, sweaty handshake, offering his sympathies for her loss. Without any finesse, he got down to business, reviewing the paperwork and directing her on where to sign.

Robbie inherited everything: the family home, the shop, a small stash of stocks and bonds, and her parent's meager IRA. Robbie knew her parents, as she had expected, they had planned for a rainy day. She exhaled a sigh of relief; thankfully, she was in good financial standings. The house, the shop and its contents, everything could be paid off by the life insurance with some left over. The bit of money left behind afterwards would last a while. Her parents had set her up to take over right where they left off. Her only decision was if she wanted to do it or not.

Feeling the weight of being at a crossroads in her life, Robbie sought out a quiet place of solace to gather her thoughts. She walked through the thick grass of the cemetery over to her parent's grave. With caring hands, not having the heart to throw away the dried, faded, petals, she arranged the wind-toppled flowers on the stones. The smell of freshly turned earth was still as sharp and pungent on the summer air as it had been when she stood over them and said her final goodbye.

A new fury of tears threatened to unleash. Robbie smirked at the expression "it was all over but the cryin'" and scraped the back of her hand over her eyes. "Daddy," she whispered, "I wish you and mom were still here. I could really use someone to talk to right now." A lone whippoorwill answered in the distance as the crickets chirped merrily, announcing the forthcoming summer evening.

Grad school would start in another week and she had kept up her rent on her apartment. In the back of her mind, she hadn't quite let go of the stubborn belief that she'd to be able to restart her life where it had left off. Pretend none of this had ever happened. Returning to her old life wasn't possible. Picking up where she left off, nothing but a fiction. She couldn't start over, simply hit play after the pause button had been pressed. Her life wasn't the same as it was a few days ago. Without her parents, she wasn't the same person. And maybe, that was part of the problem, so much of her identity, of who she thought she was, was wrapped up so tightly in them. And without them, she was lost.

She would have to rethink things and make a new plan. Figure out who she was. Not who she thought she was. Who other people thought she was. Who she was in her parent's eyes. But, who she really was deep down in the core of her being. Robbie had no idea how much of her identity was contrived by the people in her life. Terrified of meeting someone she might not like. Afraid of who she might turn out to be and how far that person was from who she thought she was, she sank to her knees on the upturned earth left to dry in a mound under the heat of the summer sun. Crying tears of sorrow, tears of indecision, and tears of loneliness, she clutched at the dirt with her fists. As if digging long enough, deep enough, and hard enough would bring them back.

She heard the soft crunch of gravel whisper up the lane behind her. This wasn't her private cemetery and although she resented the interruption in this public place, she smiled over her shoulder. "John Mark, what are you doing here?" she asked, surprised to see him here. Embarrassed and ashamed, she wiped her tears off onto the sleeve of her tee shirt and with deep breaths, struggled to regain her composure. He might be here doing the same thing she was doing. Searching for answers. Grappling with his own crossroads.

Gingerly, she reached up and took his hand. She meant to guide him to the ground beside her. Instead he hoisted her up on her feet. With a gasp, she groaned as the pins and needles from crouching too long in the dirt assaulted her feet and legs. His sure and strong hands kept a gentle grip around her waist, steadying her. Keeping her from falling over as the circulation returned to her legs.

He loosened his grip when he was certain that Robbie wouldn't topple over. "I wanted to see how you were doing," he replied. "I figured that when you weren't home or at the shop, you had to be here." He brushed a piece of her tear-dampened hair away from the corner of her eye. "I guess you have been doing some deep thinking, huh?" He hated seeing her like this. A part of him, some distant part he stuffed so deep in his head that he could live with the thought, was angry, outraged that Robert and Danielle had left her all alone. Had left him, all alone.

"Something like that," Robbie replied. Self-consciously brushing some loose grass off her shorts she regained her footing. John Mark waited patiently, standing close, but not touching, listening and not speaking while she snuffled away the last of her tears. Was there anyone in the world she was as close to as him? If she needed someone to talk to besides the vacant headstones, he was here for her.

"I'm not sure what to do. I was supposed to start grad school next week. Move into my apartment and start my life. But, now with all that has happened..." she left off making a wide sweeping gesture with her petite arm to the graves. "I don't know what to do." Sniffling she held back a new onslaught of tears that made her feel even worse about confiding in him. She was always bawling around him, desperate for a shoulder to cry on. It shouldn't be his. He had his own issues to deal with. She shouldn't be burdening him with hers.

"C'mon," John Mark said, grasping Robbie's hand gently in his. He led her out of the cemetery, a beautiful place with towering maples and vibrant bushy pines, meant to comfort the living, but wasted on the dead. Nobody ever came here much to enjoy the peaceful surroundings. He was quiet, allowing her time to sort out her thoughts as they walked the neat gravel lane.

Robbie was surprised about how natural it felt to be holding hands with John Mark, walking along in the fading light of a summer's evening. Her tiny hand dwarfed in his palm. His hand was firm and warm. His fingers were rough along the edges, gently squeezing her hand to keep it in place. They walked in silence. She was comforted by his presence and his strength, and grateful for his intuition, which never pushed or tried to engage her in meaningless chatter.

Her life was different, changed dramatically in ways she couldn't anticipate. But, she wasn't ready to give up on her dreams yet. She couldn't sell out on her parents. Dump the shop and the house, sell them to the highest bidder and be rid of them and this town. Not so soon, not when she teetered on the edge of indecision. She needed an interim plan. Something she could live with until she was ready to make the choices she needed to make, no matter how hard they were.

Maybe, there was a way she could meet a compromise with the changes in her life. She didn't have to let everything her parents had worked for go and give up on the things she wanted in her life. She could run the shop and take online courses instead of being on campus. She could finish her degree. What she'd do with a masters degree in Library Sciences out here in the sticks, she couldn't fathom. And for the moment, she didn't have to. This was just an in between plan until she came up with a better one.

John Mark listened to Robbie talk about her idea. He liked it...a lot. He'd been afraid that she'd turn tail and run back to the city as fast as her legs would carry her. Her doing that would have forced his hand sooner than he would have liked. He would have had to tell her...everything: about her parents, about him, about the world she knew nothing about. He was planning to do that anyway, eventually, just not so soon.