“Are you coming with me?” the accent
sounded more like Puerto Rican than Spanish.

The morning birds were singing in the trees and she could smell the strong scent of wild flowers and grape vines from the open kitchen window. She peered at Mikhail above the rim of the paperback novel clasped in her hand. 

He was standing at the kitchen doorway, the dawning sky behind him. He still had the same vague wondering expression on his handsome face and genial light brown eyes. Looking at the ceiling, he gave a soft rattling sigh and walked towards her. 

“I never dreamed about you, Spaniard,” Tima muttered smilingly. 

He shrugged his shoulders and gently snatched the book from her, “The Devil and Ms. Prym?” he frowned, “You’ve been reading this for a hundred times now.” 

“Leave me alone, Mikhail,” she said in her slow southern manner and grimaced when Mikhail dumped the book in the cauldron on the overhead pot rack. 

 “That I cannot do, dear cousin,” he answered gingerly, “You’re coming with me.”

Mikhail started the engine of the Rover and slowly pushed around the circular drive then by the time they arrived to Rainforest Hills, the sky was a deepening purple and mauves. A few people were jogging around the narrow and tottered roads of the cemetery while others were enjoying brisk morning walks.

They stood at the graveyard together, in the warm fragrant morning with the sweet balm of cypresses and daisies. As a breeze rustled, leaves fell all around them.  

The bouquet of yellow mumps and white chrysanthemums she was holding matched the satin rose sun dress she’s wearing. After whispering a prayer, she put them down between the graves of her
parents’ and Vincent’s. 

Sorrowful madness. An overwhelming grief and sadness swallowed her again and tears started to trickle down her cheeks. Whenever she thought of Vincent dead, a part of her always wanted to curl up and die. 

Mikhail stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her. The expression in his eyes made it evident that he regretted bringing her here. 

About an hour later, they walked alone in the garden, which was filled with lush dark-leafed mulberry and giant orchid plants blossoming in pink and red and purple. They took their time in the fountain teeming with goldfish and then spent a few moments gazing at the stone statues of cherubs. 

They found an iron bench on the weedy side of the park. Behind them, somewhere unseen in the thick forest, birds were cheerfully chirping and fluttering their busy wings. In the afternoon, the park would be swarming with young people from all over countryside since there were just a few places for casual sightseeing in the
uplands. 

“There have been times when I’m too scared to open my eyes,” she said, looking at Mikhail.

“I know,” he replied, glancing at her, “Vincent –“

“It’s okay to talk about him,” she urged, her expression became serene.

Mikhail stared at the palm of his hands as if seeing there the remembrance that flew over him, “He told me about what has happened to you and the evening before he died, he told me to take
care of you.”

Through her tears, she gazed at the uncommon brightness of his eyes as she tried to weave vividly the images in her mind. How she envied Mikhail’s memories of Vincent when hers cannot be trusted for they were undistinguishable from her dreams of fairy tales and
nightmares. 

“As if he knew he was going to die,” Mikhail muttered under his breath and clasped her hand between his. 

He had always been perceptive. “How are you going to take care of
me, Mikhail? I’m a grown-up woman.”