Roberta Jo Bentley
“I’m sorry...” Roberta said. “I should’ve been here... I just... It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I didn’t know how bad things had gotten with you. I guess there’s no excuse...” but then she stopped and dropped her chin and shook her head a bit and raised her hands to cup her face. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I guess I was just selfish at the wrong time...”
“Miss,” she heard behind her, “the cemetery is closed.”
“I know, I know,” she said to the man, Darius, the cemetery worker whom she’d convinced to allow her to enter despite the fact that it was significantly past closing time. “You were very kind to let me in at all,” she said, still looking down at the mound of reddish dirt. It was only a slight mound that had not had the time necessary for it to settle and flatten completely into the ground around it.
“Was he a close friend,” Darius said, “or a relative? I’m assuming that he was someone important to you.”
“My brother,” Roberta said, “my twin brother actually.”
“Wow,” Darius said. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I heard of male and female twins,” he said but I’ve never met one... or two, I guess.”
“It’s the most common,” she said, “non-identical, mixed-gender fraternal twins. Do you think you could just give me a couple of more minutes?” Roberta said.
She was a striking woman who knew the effect that her face and body had on men and other women as well: long jet-black hair and fair skin with full lips that some women sometimes willingly pay to be endowed with and an hourglass figure like a femme fatale character out of one of those old pulp fiction magazines. Or Jessica Rabbit: someone had actually compared her to Jessica Rabbit once only with black hair instead of red. She wasn’t entirely certain it was a compliment. But Roberta Jo was genuinely not the type to use her physical attractiveness to connive or manipulate.
“I promise,” she said. “I’ll go, but if I could have just a couple of more minutes. I wasn’t here you see when he passed and I need to...”
“It’s okay,” Darius said. “I understand.” It wasn’t like this good-looking woman was bothering anyone or that he had had anywhere important to be. “But only a couple minutes more,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said. The smell of alcohol was on the man, or rather being exuded from him, the pores of his skin she reckoned; as she knew it well. It occurred to her, only very briefly, that perhaps he was eager to get back to a bit of unfinished business that he had yet with a bottle somewhere. But then she quelled that submerged shipwreck of a thought because she knew it was just as likely from her own recent experience as it was reality. “I promise, just a couple of more minutes and I’ll walk out. I won’t even make you come back.”
“Okay,” he said, “But I will be at the gate waiting to lock up.”
Roberta nodded. Darius turned and walked away.
“I just wish there was someone you could know how sorry I am,” she said. “I was selfish and I’m sorry. I suppose it’s selfish for me to even want relief from this guilt I feel. It’s just that our last words were just so bitter, I wish that there was some way that I could know that you didn’t die so mad at me. We’ve had our fights but God, Robert I hope you didn’t die with that anger in your soul.”
She heard the gate creak. The cemetery worker was beckoning her... at least, she thought so anyway. “Just please forgive me, please,” she said. “And if there’s any way for you to let me know... okay... okay?” And with that Roberta Jo Bentley turned and walked to the Cemetery gate to leave, as she’d promised Darius the cemetery worker she would.
“Thank you,” he said.
“No, I should thank you,” she said, “for understanding and being helpful. I truly appreciate it,” and then looked back to the grave she’d just visited.
To her shock and disbelief, a dark figure stood, in almost exactly the same spot as she’d stood only a moment earlier.
“Wait, wait,” she said to Darius, “do you...”
“What?” he said. “Do I what?”
“Nothing,” Roberta said. As suddenly and unexpectedly as the dark figure had appeared, it was gone.
