It was near ten when we entered the Arroyo Cemetery. The moon seemed brighter and I looked up to see the half now toward three-quarters. “More light,” I said.
“Good.”
He took my hand as we moved up the road, glancing around like Justin might spring upon us. When we reached his grave, we stopped.
“So this is him,” Ray said, laying his hand on the tombstone.
“It’s Justin Cade. I wonder how he died. He was just thirty-two.”
We stood in quiet reverence until Ray attempted to remove his hand from the stone. I saw him pull, then pull harder. “Hey!” he cried. “Hey!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m stuck. It’s like I’m welded to the stone, like I’m part of it.”
I took his arm and pulled, but his hand seemed imbedded. “Justin,” I said. “Believe me now?”
“Yeah, okay, I believe. Just get me loose.”
“I
