I look at the man before me, and my throat tightens up. He looks like he's
aged years from the last time I laid eyes on him. How long has it been?
Six months? Nine? But the creases at his eyes, the little flash of gray I
glimpse at his temple startle me. I know time passes, but it shows so
plainly on his face.

"You thought I wouldn't come?" I tease, hoping to break a little of the
tension.

He shrugs, an upturn of his shoulder that is as masculine as it is
self-depreciating. "It's a lot to ask," he replies.

"No more than I asked of you, once," I return and he nods, biting his lip.
He remembers that day as well as I do.

"I just . . . I mean, Scully, er, Dana, has done so much already and this .
. ."

I sigh, but not because I'm annoyed. It's resignation I feel. This is
something I've become quite expert in. "I'm happy to help, Fox. You know
that."

"I know, it's just . . . I was . . . overwhelmed," he admits and cast his
eyes to the floor as if in defeat. "I just couldn't decide and it seemed
so important."

I nod. I know exactly what he means. It's the same reason I came to him
some five year ago. The same reason I called him to this very shop, this
very room.

"Have you narrowed the field?" I ask, deciding that one of us has to get
the ball rolling. We can't stand here explaining our presence all day long.

"Well, I liked this one, but I want them to be similar and it seems too old
for . . ." His throat closes around the name he can't utter. His hand
comes up to hide his eyes. "I thought I was ready for this."

My hand reaches out of it's own accord and takes hold of his forearm. "No
one is ever ready for this, Fox. It's all right. Take your time. I don't
have anywhere else I need to be and neither do you. Take all the time you
need."

He sniffles a little and reaches into his pocket to retrieve a clean white
cotton handkerchief. I smile at the design. I remember watching my
daughter pick it up as an afterthought one day last December. She'd called
it a stocking stuffer. She'd told me how he loses handkerchiefs almost as
often as he loses his cell phone and he refuses to use tissues.

I realize my daughter should be here right now. She's the one he needs.
And I wonder at her absence.

He takes in a deep breath and stuffs the handkerchief back in his pocket.
"I'm okay."

I smile up at him. "I know you are, dear. Now, let me see."

Before me are the same designs I remember reviewing some five years ago.
Some simple but elegant, others ornate but classic. Flowers, carved in
stone. Birds and butterflies caught in time, never to flutter, never to
move. But always to stand guard, to remember.

One catches my eye. Roses. I let my finger trace the picture. "I think
this one would be lovely for your mother," I tell him.

"I like that one, too. But the other one?" he asks, uncertain.

I hate to bring up such a sore subject, but I have only the sketchiest of
details. "How old do you think she was?"

He swallows and I see tears glitter in his eyes, but his voice is strong
when he answers me. "She was fourteen. Fourteen," his voice fades, but
doesn't quiver.

"This one," I say firmly, pointing to a stone with delicate morning glories
and hummingbirds. "Young girls always love hummingbirds. It's the way
they hover when they come to a flower."

"I remember Seals and Crofts," he says softly. "Didn't they have a song
about Hummingbirds?"

I nod. We were stationed in San Diego at the time, and I remember the song
quite well. "Yes, they did," I affirm and that seems to seal his decision.

"I wanted to put something on the stone, but I don't want to sound too
corny. I mean, I've spent some time in cemeteries and some of the stones .
. ." he shakes his head.

"Fox, nothing you would want to put would be 'corny'," I assure him.

He stares down at the picture of the stone, chewing on his lip. "I want to
put, 'You are forever in our hearts'," he says and wipes at his eyes. "But
I'm the only one left."

I can't stand it any longer. He may not be my son, but he needs a mother
right now. I put my arms around him, hugging him close to me.

"No, you aren't, Fox. You aren't the only one to keep Samantha in your
heart."

The end

Vickie

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