Janet waited by the edge of the grave, staring at the shiny wooden casket 
covered with flowers.  The lid was closed.  She would never see his face 
again.

	People were leaving now.  No, she was fine, she just wanted to wait a little 
longer.  Yes, she was sure.  Yes, thank all of you for coming, it was most 
kind.  She continued to gaze numbly at the grave; a single bright yellow 
flower dropped in.  Janet looked up.

	Had he been upright, he probably would have towered over her.  But his back 
was bent with the weight of years; she could see it in his face and his eyes. 
 He steadied himself on a battered hickory cane with one hand.  His other hand 
was folded across his chest, covering his heart with a brown felt derby.  His 
uncovered head was topped with wisps of grey and white hair.  "Ma'am."  

	She studied him intently, tried to recollect the face.  She could not.  "I'm 
sorry -- I guess it's just the occasion.  I'm afraid I don't remember who you 
are."

	The old man peered at her with pale green eyes, magnified and monstrous 
through split glass lenses mounted on thin wire frames.  "No, ma'am, don't 
reckon you do.  I was visiting my wife, you see, when I saw you all gathered 
around here.  I thought it proper I should pay my respects."

	"Oh.  Well.  Thank you."

	"He was your husband?"

	"Yes."

	"I'm right sorry, ma'am.  I wish I could say more."

	"Well -- thank you for coming.  It was very kind."  

	"It's a right shame when they go young.  A right shame.  Georgia and I both 
figured that I'd be the first one to reach God, but then one night he goes and 
takes her in her sleep, and leaves me behind."  He paused for a minute, 
thoughtful.  The silence was almost a challenge for Janet to say something.

	"Your wife -- how long ago?" she asked quietly.

	"Nearly five year ago, God rest her soul.  Five year she's been waiting for 
me.  I reckon she must miss me almost as much as I miss her."

	"I'm sorry."

	"I just worry that she might be lonely up there.  The children were all there 
at the funeral, but most of them haven't been back to see her at all.  Grace 
was the closest to her mother.  She used to come back every six month, but she 
hasn't been back for almost three year now."

	He was looking straight at her.  Out of the side of his spectacles she could 
see the rest of the world, warped and distorted almost beyond recognition.  He 
continued:  	"I guess their children are growing up now.  They just don't have 
the time anymore.  Poor Georgia, I'm all she's got."

	"I'm sorry."  It was the only thing she could think to say.

	"Mostly, I just wish I knew.  I took care of her for forty year.  I suppose 
God's watching her right now, but I wish it was me instead.  Then I'd know."

	There was another silence.  Janet felt even more awkward and turned her eyes 
into the grave for support.  "I'm sure she's -- fine."

	"I hope so, I do.  But you see, I didn't cry."  Something made her 
look up at him.  He was still leaning heavily on the old cane, still had his 
heart covered with the old hat.  "You see, I had a puppy once.  Friskiest 
creature you ever did see on four legs.  Wiggins, we called him.  Had him less 
than a week, when one day, he run out into the street in front of the four 
thirty-seven.  I cried for a week.  Georgia went sudden, too -- never a hint, 
just all of a sudden, gone.  I don't think I cried at all.

	"I wonder if she forgives me.  For not crying.  Good Lord knows how much I 
miss her."

	Janet looked up at the sky.  Suddenly, she wondered if he missed her, too. 
 "I'm -- I'm sure she does."

	"Yes.  I reckon so."  He bowed his head and closed his eyes.  When he opened 
them again he gave her a slight nod.  "Good day, ma'am."  Placing his hat on 
his head, he began to shuffle away.