The funeral was fast and over by the end of the week. Most of the town turned out. Practically everyone was there, everyone but Gary. Some of his war buddies had gone out with him to a local bar the night after Betty died. They tied one on and took him home, and no one had seen or heard from him since.

The local sheriff and the state police were looking for him. Everyone kept reassuring us that he’d turn up.

He never did.

Months later Gary’s truck was found in a shipyard in Galveston, Texas. There was no sign of Gary. Eventually the years passed and it came as no surprise when a report was heard that a Gary Grant had been found dead outside a bar in Veracruz, Mexico. It was our Gary and, as the story was told, he had taken a job in a shipyard there and eventually drank himself to death.

Marie and Maggie never looked back and, even though Maggie never knew her parents, Marie more than made up for her loss.

She was everything to that child, and it wasn’t long before time, being the great healer that it is, took the grief from both their hearts, as love and time passing so often do.

* * *