The gate swung open on silent hinges and he stepped into instant gloom.  A long tract of willows were planted on both sides of the path, their thin supple branches entwined, forming a living green canopy overhead.  It was like walking down a long tunnel, the smell of jasmine and that persistent undernote of rot that Edgar would always identify as this town’s signature perfume, close and cloying.  It was dark inside, making his emergence all the more startling.  Temporarily blinded by the sudden daylight, he nearly collided into a large stone angel. She was kneeling, her arms full of flowers—iris, foxglove, and hollyhock—both living and dead, the cryptic ‘We only live to love you more’ carved into her marble base.  Edgar quickly looked around, thinking he had perhaps stumbled on to someone’s grave, only finding the crushed gravel path continuing around the statue and on; a winding ribbon of mottled gray cutting through the varying shades of green of an overgrown landscape.  He frowned.  Not a headstone in sight.

It was quite a hike before he found the heart of the cemetery,  A long walk through some of the most beautiful countryside North Carolina had to offer, to another set of columns, sans gate, beyond which opened up a vista of headstones, monuments, simple plaques set in the ground, and elaborate family mausoleums.  There seemed to be no set pattern to the layout, just a random scattering of divergence.  Edgar didn’t know where to begin, or what it was he expected to find; or prove.

Maybe he shouldn’t be here.  Maybe he should remain in blissful ignorance, they could easily continue on as they had been, they were doing quite well together.  So far.  Except….now it wasn’t enough.  Not since that night—he had been preparing for their trip to Durham.  They were leaving tomorrow, for his sister’s wedding, and it was raining, raining, raining—but that was not unusual in London, right?  But, it was the middle of December, why was it raining now when the night before it had been snowing?  Meera came home, naked, (Naked!  She had been wandering through the streets with no clothing!  In the heart of winter!) covered in mud and….and….something else….in her mouth, her teeth…..And she told him, she told him everything.  And Edgar got sick, all over the bathroom floor.  After which he cleaned up, then calmly resumed packing.

A breeze ruffled his soft blonde hair, cooling the sweat collecting on his brow.  ‘Well,’ he thought, his mind working toward misdirection again.  ‘It all is rather pretty.  And the weather pleasant.  I do need a bit of fresh air and exercise after being confined in that musty house during the rain.’

  He left the main path, wandering about, reading the strange and beautiful names, noting the dates, many pre-Civil War; admiring the architecture, the care and delicacy shading the angel’s faces, the elaborate script carved into temperamental marble, the stained glass glowing jewel bright in the mausoleum windows.  At one such miniature   house of the dead he was mesmerized by one such intricately designed masterpiece; two exquisite peacocks with tails full spread, one on either side of the barred iron door.  He sat on the steps a long while, drinking in the rich blues and greens until the sun had passed its apex and was starting its slow descent into evening.  The slight cooling of the air and the warning chirrup of a distant cricket roused Edgar from his reverie.  He stood, brushed off his pants, then started off in what he thought was the general direction of the gates.  Suddenly he stopped, heart beating rapidly.

She had been here.  She had been here—Meera, his Meera—on this very spot.  He could feel her, smell her, taste her.