He showered and dressed, got into his car, and drove to the cemetery.
They were buried side by side, Patricia and Nathan.
The morning was chilly, the ground wet with dew. He hadn’t taken the time to get flowers… He usually did when he came to see her.
He made his way through the cemetery, following the path toward the far right where she’d been laid to rest.
He wasn’t surprised to see the back of a man there, head bent, staring down. He didn’t know what to feel, so he tried not to feel much of anything. He hesitated, considered turning around and walking away, giving Grady this time.
Somehow, the man heard him, turned, and swiped at his eyes. “Sorry. I’ll leave you to it,” he said, then took a step to leave.
“Wait,” Deacon said, his voice even rougher than his usual deep baritone. He walked over and stood beside him. Neither spoke for a while, a foot or two away from each other and looking down at the gravestones.
Deacon didn’t know how much time had passed when Grady said, “This is the first time I’ve made it to his grave. If I had…I would have known. I’m sorry for your losses.”
Deacon nodded, unsure if he could find a way to speak around the knot in his throat. “Thanks…and I’m sorry. For yesterday. I was just surprised. No one called Patricia Birdie except Nathan. He’d never mentioned you.”
Grady nodded. His hair was slightly long, like he needed to get it cut. Or for all he knew, that was just how he kept it—but his wavy, chocolate-colored strands hung over his forehead. He had scruff along his strong jaw.
“I don’t understand what you want. I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but it’s been seven years, and you show up out of the blue, looking for Patricia.”
“I don’t really know either. Hell, I don’t even know what I would have said to her, if anything. I just know how much Nathan loved her. He always said his sister was his favorite person in the world. It was hard on him, being away from her.”
“Why was he?” Deacon asked, but he had a feeling he knew. Patricia had told him she’d wondered if Nathan was gay, but she’d never asked him. Deacon didn’t know if that was what she should have done or not, but she’d tried to hint that she knew and was okay with it. Nathan had never said anything, so she thought she’d been wrong.
“Don’t know that I can answer that question for him. It’s not my story to tell. He was my best friend. It’s been a rough few years for me. I wanted a change and found myself coming to the place he loved so much. It probably sounds stupid.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
“No. It doesn’t. You were…lovers? Partners?” he risked.
Grady’s head whipped around, eyes wide. Deacon could see the truth staring back at him in his hazel gaze.
“It’s okay.”
“You knew? About Nathan?”
“His mama and daddy don’t. They’re a bit more set in their ways, though I think they would have accepted it, eventually. I guess Patricia and I never knew for sure. He never told us. She wondered sometimes, but when she tried to bring it up, he never confirmed, so she thought she was wrong.”
“He never said.” Grady’s voice was softer than it had been but raspy, and there was an added sadness to it when he asked, “Would it have changed anything between them?”
“No.” It was the truth. Patricia hadn’t had a hateful bone in her body, and surely not over who someone loved. “That’s why she thought maybe she was wrong. She couldn’t understand why Nathan wouldn’t tell her. She thought he had to have known it wouldn’t matter to her.”
“He did, but…it’s not always that easy. It shouldn’t be something anyone cares about—ever. But there are people in this world who will hate you just because of who you love. Who will attack someone on the streets and throw slurs because of how you walk or dress or whose hand you’re holding. It’s one thing when it’s people you don’t know, but it’s not an easy risk with those you love, even if in some ways you know they wouldn’t care. It’s opening yourself up in a way you can’t understand unless you’ve experienced it.”
Deacon’s heart pounded, a heavy blanket of sorrow draping over him. He hated the truth of what Grady said, that Nathan had lived with that fear. “She would have celebrated who he was. She didn’t half-ass anything. She would have been out there marching and joining committees. That was my Patricia.”
“I wish I could have met her. Nathan raved about her all the time. He’d tell me stories about when they were kids, about you, this town. Stalking you wasn’t my intention when I came, I can assure you of that.”