Leaves crackled under her as Grace sought a more comfortable position on the warm, parched ground.
Hope passed her the fifth of Black Velvet. Grace drank, scrunching her face up to get it down.
“Why’d he like this stuff?” Grace asked, handing the bottle back.
“Right?” Hope sipped, then grimaced. “I always told him he was a cheap date.”
Hope wiped each eye on a shoulder. Grace turned away.
“He also loved Schlitz.” The soft smile on Hope’s face fell as quickly as it rose. “And catching lizards. A grown man catching lizards.”
“And frogs. Remember Nelson?”
“God yes, kept him for two weeks before setting him free.” A pinched cry leaked out of Hope’s throat.
“I should have let him keep it. We should have gotten a dog and went on that camping trip and-” Hope cut herself off, sharp as a guillotine.
“I wish- I just wish so damn much-” Hope halted again, as if stopping the words would stop the pain.
Grace took the bottle from loose fingers and swallowed until the sting in her eyes and throat and chest could be blamed on the liquor.
“You gonna get him one like this?” Grace asked after a while, nodding at the towering, marble cross behind them.
“I can’t. I won’t.” Hope shook her head, wiped a hand under her nose. “When they send his body home from that sandy hell, then I’ll bury my husband.”
“Sis, it’s been six months.”
She stared at Grace, eyes as red as infected wounds.
“He gave us forever.”