August 31, Saturday

I WAS enjoying my early morning walk to the cemetery, taking in the sounds of the day coming to life—the birdsong, the chattering of insects, the slight coolness in the air whispering that summer would be ending soon.

I inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of flowers and moss. When I walked up to the gate, I was humming under my breath.

When I saw Sawyer's truck parked at the gate, I felt torn—I wanted to see him, but I dreaded asking him about his relationship with Rose.

Then I noticed the gate was open, and the chain holding the padlock hung loose.

I hurried forward but when I saw the graveyard, I came up short and gasped.

Sawyer was standing with his back to me, hands on hips. Around him, several headstones lay in pieces, broken and jagged. Others had been spray-painted with black graffiti. A sense of violation shot through me, followed by an intense sadness for the occupants of the Whisper Graveyard and their loved ones.

Sawyer turned and his face was dark, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "Look what they did."

I went to him, and he pulled me close. I could feel the anguish vibrating through his big body.

"It'll be okay," I murmured.

But I had a feeling it wouldn't be.

*****