Clutching the flowers, Annelise Valentine followed Jett Westgate around the monument and toward the left.
The steps gradually narrowed, but the pines and cypresses on either side grew denser, filtering the afternoon sun into fine, dappled light that scattered across the stone slabs.
After about thirty to fifty paces, Jett Westgate stopped.
"We're here," he said.
Annelise Valentine looked up.
Before her stood three headstones, side by side. Her grandfather's was on the left, her father and mother's on the right.
The headstones were wiped clean, and there were even fresh fruit offerings placed in front of them. She didn't know if Jett Westgate had arranged it or if the cemetery staff had been tending to them. At this moment, she had no mind to wonder.
Her parents in the photographs were still so young. Her father's features were gentle, and her mother wore a tender smile, their gazes fixed upon her.
