The line of cars creeping up the hill was short compared to how many were parked outside the funeral home. RJ was fourth in line and there was maybe another four behind him. Many of the people who came to the funeral would not make the climb up to Johnson’s Cemetery and there were several more with cars that shouldn’t try to navigate the unpaved road anytime. RJ’s honda complained and whined in several spots forcing him to downshift and once he fish-tailed in the mud but eventually made it to the top of the hill and parked in the grass along one side

There were already people at graveside and a trio of singers from a nearby church were filling the air with hymns. He walked along the row of the graves finding the Selkirks interspersed among the Johnsons, Marcums, Robinsons and Stampers. His brother Randy’s grave and his father’s had a bit of unused space around them and had been recently cleaned. Whoever did the cleaning had even scraped a layer of moss and soil off the top making the rectangles of the two graves look sunk-in and fresh. They were not of course, his father had died six years before, and his older brother Randy had died as a child of 13. The grave dug for his mother’s casket was about twice as far from his father’s grave than his brother’s was on the other side giving the layout a definite sense of beeing off center. Possibly the caretaker was showing some deferrence to the Selkirk family. How would you decide that? RJ silently pondered. Closer to her first husband, or closer to her father? Or possibly back down the hill at the Damron cemetery where her second husband was buried? Clearly some negotiation had gone on without his input. RJ wondered if there might be the same seating strategy used in a cemetery as there was in funerals and weddings, but at this point it all made a weird kind of sense.

After the preacher said his piece the choir started singing “Rock of Ages” and he broke down again, the sound of his mother’s favorite hymn brought back too many memories to hold in. He sat down on a hardwood bench and watched a few of the people who did not attend the memorial service setting up a tarp and pushing tables together for a meal. RJ had stopped trying to place who was who hours ago and he just thanked people for coming and accepted hugs and handshakes automatically. The emotion of the day had already left him feeling raw and ready to be alone.

Someone; his Aunt Ruth? had taken up a collection and she pressed a handful of bills and change into his hand, said everyone was so so sorry and turned quickly away. RJ didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t remember any money changing hands when his father or brother died, though if it had it probably went to his mother. He stood for several moments looking around for someone to ask, silencing the urge to call out to Aunt Ruth as she walked back down the hill. He was afraid he’d gotten the names wrong and the woman might be his Aunt “C” instead. That was one branch of the family he remembered fondly but had no idea how or even if they were actually related to him. He glanced at the tangle of crumpled bills in his hand and remarked out loud to no one in particular: “What a strange ritual this is, part funeral part church revival and part family reunion!”

After the meal he gave the money, roughly sixty dollars and change to the preacher and asked him to share it with the choir. Brother Damron was just as surprised and embarrassed by the gesture as RJ had been. He asked if RJ was sure? RJ nodded and patted him on the shoulder. He said “She would have loved this!” and walked away from the man as they both wondered why he’d said such a strange thing. His mother had mentioned death just once to RJ since Randy had died: “I’d rather you were dancing a jig on my grave than spend the whole blessed day crying and wailing. The time to feel sorrow for me will be long past.” RJ wondered how that wish and her Irish roots had mutated into the event he was seeing around him today? RJ came to the conclusion that the death of Geraldine Selkirk had made more of a stir in the small community of Wayne West Virginia than she’d ever done while alive.

He walked back to his car and found his brother Ron at his truck getting some tools to help clean up the cemetery. He wondered where the energy came from since he felt weak and didn’t even want to stand let alone do yard work. It seemed everyone wanted to do something, wanted to help in some way. Quietly he helped Ron take down the “Funeral Today” banner that was hanging between two identical pine trees that were planted for the purpose years ago. He stood talking softly about nothing in particular with his brother for a long time as they looked down the hillsides and across the river. They could just make out Grandma Selkirk’s house from the hilltop and the tiny speck of her dog Sparky running around in the yard. Ron reckoned she was feeling poorly and since she was blind and Aunt Chrissy didn’t drive it was unlikely either of them would make it up to the cemetery anytime soon.

“She’s become more reclusive since she had to auction a lot of her belongings to pay taxes on that tiny plot of land. Everything went up in value after the Military moved in and there’s word they’re thinking about flooding half of Wilson’s creek to put in a reservoir. Anyway, she’d probably think it a great pleasure to see you since you’ve come all the way from Indiana and all.”

RJ agreed and said he would stop in there before he left town. He said his goodbyes and promised to come by Ron’s house again before leaving town. He was certain they both knew he was lying. He drove the car around the cemetary and started to try and find his way back down the hill. He didn’t really care where he finally came back to the main road, which was a good thing since he ended up going miles out of his way. He passed a sign for Dunlow and realized he was on the far side of Twelve-pole creek now. He decided to stop in at Grandma Selkirk’s so that tomorrow he could go back into town and stay a night in a hotel before driving back to Indiana. He deserved that much. With a possible stop in Kenova if any of his high school buddies were still around to chat with.

The road was in better shape than he remembered but one whole section of highway 152 was closed now, having become the entrance to a military base of some sort. RJ seemed to recall there was a microwave tower up on one of the highest ridges but wasn’t certain if he was near there or not. It wasn’t as easy to find her house as it had looked from up on the hill and he found himself slowing down in many spots trying to see familiar landmarks. Several times someone in a truck behind him beeped harshly to remind him that he was the only tourist around.

Eventually he pulled up to Grandma Selkirk’s house and checked it closely before he got out to be sure he had the right place. The yard looked a bit like he remembered though there was no crops planted in the small field next door. He got out of the car and looked the place over slowly. It was the right place, though the porch looked even more saggy and worn down than before. A new roof of tarpaper gleamed in the sun and there was a large patch of gravel where most of the grass had been before. It looked like some large trucks had parked in the yard and then back-filled the grooves with gravel. He expected to be jumped on by Grandma Selkirk’s dog but Sparky was no where to be seen, probably hiding under the porch amid a pile of stolen toys.

His Aunt Crissy met him before he got to the top step of the porch, shouting back over her shoulder “Lord its Richard Allen, come to visit his grandma!” He hugged the rotund woman and was struck by how much shorter she seemed than he remembered. The smell of lilac water that went everywhere with her became more pervasive as she led him into the small living room where his grandmother sat in her rocker, exactly where she had been decades before when RJ last saw her.