Florence took a seat on the sofa. Fletcher sat in his lazy boy. Mary took a second seat on the sofa. The older woman looked at Sorrel and said, ‘Com... here and kneel on the floor in front of me.’ Fletcher cringed. He didn’t want to do this. Sorrel walked over and knelt where she was told. Florence started, ‘Fletcher and I have been discussing some aspects of your future. Would you like to know what they are?’ Sorrel glanced at Fletcher then quickly back to Florence. Looking down and away she. He had died forty-two years ago in April of 1972. Veronica placed her hand tenderly against the name inscribed in the unresponsive black marble. Her body shivered with tremors as she felt the cold chill of death seep into her skin. Then Veronica softly pressed her cheek against the cold silent stone that offered her nothing in reply. Her brain scanned a catalogue of memories. She paused and felt her heart beating faster. She wanted to let him know. Her lips moved. She whispered to him wherever. More

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