Chapter Ninety-Three: The Trip

Adrian asked me to go with him on a Thursday.

We were in the kitchen. He was making coffee. I was sitting at the island, reading through a report from Marcus. He didn't turn when he asked.

"I'm going to see my father's grave," he said. "Tomorrow. I want you to come with me."

I set the report down. I looked at him.

"You've never been," I said.

"No."

"Not once. Not in fifteen years."

"No."

I didn't respond. I didn't know how.

He turned. He looked at me.

"I've been meaning to go. For years. I've been telling myself I would. But I never did. Because I was afraid. Because I didn't want to face it. Because I didn't want to feel it."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"Now I want to," he said. "And I want you there."

I stood. I walked to him. I stopped a few feet away.

"Okay," I said.

He nodded. He didn't smile. But something in his expression shifted. Something lighter.

---

The drive was four hours.

Thomas came with us. He sat in the back seat. He didn't speak for most of the trip. He just looked out the window. At the fields. At the trees. At the sky.

Adrian drove. I sat in the passenger seat. We didn't speak much either. There was nothing to say.

The cemetery was small. Old. Tucked between a church and a field of wildflowers. The headstones were worn. The grass was overgrown. No one had been here in years.

Adrian stopped at the gate. He didn't move. He didn't get out. He just sat there.

Thomas spoke from the back seat. "It's the third row. The one with the oak tree."

Adrian nodded. He still didn't move.

I reached for his hand. I took it. His fingers were cold. Steady.

"I'm here," I said.

He looked at me. He looked at me the way he had a hundred times before.

"I know," he said.

He got out of the car. I followed. Thomas stayed behind.

We walked through the rows of headstones. The grass was wet. The air was cold. The sky was gray.

We stopped at the third row. Under the oak tree. The headstone was simple. Gray granite. His name. His dates. The words Adrian had chosen when he was seventeen.

Beloved father. Taken too soon.

Adrian stood there. He didn't speak. He didn't move. He just looked at the stone.

I stood beside him. I didn't reach for him. I didn't take his hand. I just stood there.

After a while, he said, "I used to come here every week. When I was a teenager. I'd sit here for hours. I'd tell him about my day. About school. About everything. I thought if I talked to him, he could hear me."

I didn't respond.

"Then I stopped. I don't know why. I just stopped. I told myself it was because I was busy. Because I had work. Because I had a company to build. But that wasn't it."

He paused.

"I stopped because I was angry. I was angry at him for dying. For leaving me. For not being there. I was angry at Thomas for running. I was angry at Henry for killing him. I was angry at the world."

He looked at me.

"I was angry at myself. For not being able to save him."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"You were twelve," I said.

"I know."

"You couldn't have saved him."

"I know."

He turned back to the headstone. He didn't speak for a long time.

Then he said, "I'm sorry. For not coming sooner. For not being here. For being angry. For everything."

He knelt in the grass. He touched the stone. He didn't cry. He didn't speak. He just knelt there.

I stood behind him. I didn't move.

After a while, he stood. He brushed the grass off his knees. He looked at me.

"Let's go home," he said.

I nodded. We walked back to the car. Thomas was waiting. He didn't ask how it went. He didn't need to.

We drove home in silence.

---

That night, I found Adrian on the balcony.

He was standing at the railing. The city stretched out in front of him. The sun had set. The lights were on.

I stood beside him. He didn't turn.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For coming with me. For standing there. For not trying to fix it."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"I didn't do anything," I said.

"You did everything."

I didn't respond. I didn't know how.

He reached for my hand. He took it. His fingers were warm. Steady.

We stood there. The city hummed. The clock ticked.

I didn't lean my head against his shoulder. I didn't close my eyes. I just stood there. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't need anything else.