November 24, Sunday

BARE brANCHES clawed at the iron-gray sky as I sat on my usual bench with my notebook balanced on my knees. Lady Kate's new ending refused to come. Each attempt felt forced and hollow.

The soft crunch of leaves announced Reverend Abernathy's arrival. In his black coat he resembled a crow among the stark November trees, silver flask glinting in his gloved hand.

"Working on a Sunday?" His breath formed delicate clouds in the cold air.

"Deadline waits for no one." I watched him begin his rounds, holy water catching the weak sunlight as it arced through the air.

He moved methodically between the headstones, his footsteps oddly muffled by the carpet of decomposing leaves. Each splash of water seemed to echo in the strange stillness of the graveyard, droplets glittering like diamonds before disappearing into thirsty earth.

"I thought your friend Sawyer might be with you," he remarked, pausing at a weathered angel statue.

"Reservist weekend. He'll be back Tuesday."

"Ah." The Reverend's flask made a soft shushing sound as he sprinkled more water. "He was a good friend to Rose, you know. Found her himself. It broke something in him."

"It would anyone," I said. Shadow-fingers from the bare trees danced across the graves, making the morning feel colder somehow.

"He wasn't the same after that."

I pulled my sweater tighter. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you seem like a nice young woman, Ms. Vanguard. And Sawyer King..." He shook his head slowly. "He carries darkness with him. Always has."

"With all due respect, Reverend," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "I don't think that's any of your business."

"No?" Water splashed against another headstone. "Perhaps not. But I counsel many people in this town, Ms. Vanguard. I hear things. See things."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not looking for a partner," I said firmly. "I'm just here to finish writing my book."

His laugh was gentle but somehow unsettling. "We rarely find what we're looking for. Sometimes we find something else entirely."

He completed his circuit, ending at Rose's covered grave. Droplets of holy water rolled off the plywood like tears.

" In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti ," he murmured, making the sign of the cross.

The wind picked up, sending dead leaves spiraling between the headstones. They danced like tiny dervishes, creating patterns that seemed almost deliberate before dissolving into chaos.

"Good day, Ms. Vanguard," the Reverend said, tucking his flask into his coat. "Do be careful with your heart. Some men..." He glanced at Rose's grave. "Some men are better at endings than beginnings."

He walked away, his black coat melting into the shadows between the trees. I stared at my notebook, at Lady Kate's unfinished story, and wondered if maybe I wasn't the only one trying to rewrite an ending.

The question was: whose ending was I really changing?