December 28, Saturday

THE MORNING air was crisp and clean after yesterday's rain as Sawyer and I stood before Rose's empty grave. Her headstone gleamed in the winter sunlight, the smooth surface betraying no sign of the damage he'd repaired with his mysterious talents.

"We don't have to do this today," he said softly. "Not after what happened here..."

I touched the cold stone, remembering my own terrifying fall into this grave. "No, it feels right. Rose wanted to rest in consecrated ground. We should honor that."

He nodded, then began carefully loosening the earth around the base of the headstone. I watched his precise movements, the way his strong hands cradled the stone as if it were precious.

He used a wench to lift the stone to a sturdy wagon, then we wrapped the stone for transport. Sawyer pulled the wagon to his truck where he'd lowered a ramp to roll it aboard. When he came back, he was wiping perspiration on his neck, despite the bite in the air.

Next came the harder task - filling the empty grave.

"You sure about this part?" Sawyer handed me a shovel. "I can do it alone."

"I'm sure."

We worked in companionable silence, the rhythm of our shovels creating a kind of meditation. Scoop, lift, pour. Scoop, lift, pour. The dark earth slowly filled the space where I'd nearly met my own end.

Overhead, winter birds called to each other. Satan's occasional bleats carried from his pen. The familiar sounds of life continuing, moving forward.

"I used to be scared of this place," I said, pausing to catch my breath. "Now it feels... peaceful."

Sawyer smiled, his shovel never stopping. "Graveyards are for the living, really. Places to remember, to heal. To make peace with loss."

I thought of Rose, of her struggles to find her own path. Of Serena, whose unsolved murder still haunted these grounds. Of Wayne, whose ashes had danced on the wind before settling here.

"Do you think they know?" I asked. "The ones we've lost - do you think they know when we try to make things right?"

Sawyer's movements slowed, then stopped. He leaned on his shovel, considering. "I like to think so. Moving Rose to the church graveyard, giving her the peace she wanted - it's like adding a proper ending to her chapter."

I nodded, understanding flowing through me. This wasn't just about filling a grave or moving a headstone. It was about honoring choices, respecting journeys, allowing endings to change.

We returned to our work, the pile of earth gradually diminishing as the grave filled. When we tamped down the last shovelful, the ground was level, ready for grass to grow in spring.

Sawyer pulled me close, both of us dirty and tired but satisfied. "Thank you," he murmured into my hair. "For helping. For understanding."

I wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling his solid warmth. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

We stood there for a moment, holding each other in the winter sunshine.