Nana's hand trembled as she pointed to the gravestones down the path, and I held her arm tighter to help her keep balance. She was in a sunny mood, thanking me for the umpteenth time for driving her out to visit her old friend. "I'm happy to take you," I told her sincerely. I knew that Nana was much too old to make the trip by herself anymore, and there wasn't really anyone around to take her regularly, so it had probably been a while. Although to my surprise, when we arrived at the gravestone Nana had pointed at, the beautiful arrangement of flowers was in full bloom, clearly well cared for.
"It looks like Gertrude's family has visited. This grave looks better than any that the maintenance service is clearly in charge of," I noted, taking a look around at the rows of gravestones, many with the exact same flowers that the company had seemingly bought in bulk and planted at every stone they were tasked to care for.
"I doubt it," Nana replied, rummaging through her handbag for the candle she had brought, "her kids live even further away than you rascals. Her daughter married an Italian, I don't think she's been here since the funeral. I used to take care of the plot when my old bones still allowed it." Nana chuckled warmly.
"Oh? So did you hire somebody when you couldn't visit regularly anymore?"
"Oh, no, no." Nana struggled to open the lid of the candle, and I offered my help, which she accepted with little resistance. "No need to. I used to think the maintenance workers were messing with my arrangements… Should've known better. That hag was always competitive."
"Hag?!" I was taken aback, having never heard my sweet Nana talk that way about anyone. She laughed, her voice croaking, and swung her hand dismissively.
"Oh, don't you get precious about it. Gertrude used to run her mouth at me just the same. I'm sure she'll have a chosen word or two for me when my time comes… You just wait, I've got some fight left in me still." Nana's last words were spoken to the headstone as she lit the candle, and I screwed the lid back on, placing it in front of the stone for her so Nana wouldn't have to bend down.
"You think she'll complain about the flowers you planted on her grave?" I asked with a chuckle. If that's what Nana was expecting, Gertrude sounded like she had been a feisty lady in her time.
"Oh, I know she will. Couldn't for the life of me figure out what was wrong with the marigolds, had never had trouble with them in my life. Too monotone, I suppose. Brought the zinnias, and haven't had to plant them again since." I hadn't inherited my Nana's green thumb, but the tone of her voice told me that was unusual. Looking at the assortment of red, pink, yellow and orange flowers, there wasn't a single dry petal in sight. They seemed freshly planted.
"You think Gertrude is taking care of the flowers?" I asked, deciding to humor my old Nana's musings. But Nana's voice didn't falter, her mind set on her beliefs.
"Hardly fair, if you ask me. She's got those beyond the veil kind of tricks up her sleeve now. I'm still doing my best with fertilizers and a moisture meter. I'll show her, when the playing field is even again," Nana grumbles, playful defiance in her voice. While the implication stung my heart, Nana seemed unbothered.
"I'm sure you will, Nana."
Silence settled between us, Nana falling into deep thought I didn't want to disrupt her from. Taking in the view before us, I found myself taken by an odd feeling. It felt as if the flowers themselves had an aura to them. A presence, wearing something akin to a sly smile.
