Christy stared at the water running through her hands, leading beyond her, to nowhere. Looking up, she stared straight down the river, but saw nothing. She felt trapped, into her life, into what had happened- into time.

Returning her gaze to the water, she pressed one hand against a flat stone close to the surface, pushing harder and harder till she had to bite her lip from the pain. Than she stopped, and sat limply; her hand still dangling in the water.

With a sigh, she moved her legs around till her feet were in the water. Treacherous water. She felt angry, unsure what drew her back to such a monstrous place. It was so deceitfully peaceful. It seemed to be a lazy, shallow creek, rushing lightly over smooth, rounded pebbles. The grass was green on the banks on either side, which gently sloped up away from the river. An old, twisted oak stood nearby, its long, and dark branches, leafy right now, hanging over the are of the river where she sat. A few, small white and purple wild flowers were scattered here and there, and she plucked on, dropping it into the river.

“You’ve been grieving a long time.” Christy started, and turned around, poised for flight like a startled deer. She stared at the old woman in front of her, her own clear, green eyes meeting those of the woman’s dark brown ones. The old woman leaned on a cane, and though she had all the appropriate wrinkles and age marks, her face still appeared youthful, and her gaze was steady and firm. And piercing, Christy decided. She felt uncomfortable with the fact that this stranger seemed to know who she was.

“Do you not greet those who address you kindly or offer an old woman a spot of rest?” The woman asked with calm dignity.

“Grandmother” Christy responded, standing up.

The old woman, waited, eyebrow arched.

“Please sit” Christy said, not moving a muscle.

“I thank you kindly for your thoughtfulness” The woman said, settling herself upon the ground. Christy couldn’t decide whether she was serious or not.

“How do you know me?’ Christy didn’t feel any compulsion to be polite to this strange invader.

“I know you” the lady calmly replied, as she started unpacking a basket Christy hadn’t noticed before, “Because it is my job to know. I’m The Caretaker. I know these things.”

“Oh” Christy studied the woman more closely. The Caretaker. The leader of their quad of communities. Christy had seen her before. She just hadn’t remembered.

“I prefer to grieve on my own” she said shortly.

“Perhaps you don’t know how” The woman responded. She had finished setting everything out now. There was a small napkin, and two apples, a hunk of cheese, and a loaf of bread. And oddly simple fare for someone so prestigious.

Christy sat in front of her a bit grumpily. “And what gives you the right to claim that you know how I should grieve?”

“Wisdom. Age. Experience.” The woman frowned. All things you have not obtained, though your grief shall help with the first and last.”

“Wonderful” she muttered.

“It’s okay to be angry you know.” The woman tilted her head, waiting.

“Good. “Cause I’m definitely mad at you.”

“I don’t mean at me” The woman said sternly. “At you friend. You’re mad at her.”

Christy jumped up angrily, “I’m not mad at her! How can you say such a thing? She was my best friend!”

The woman folded her hands quietly, until Christy’s outburst was done. “Which is why I came to see you. I know you don’t know how to grieve because you are unhappy. And the first step is acknowledging your anger. You’re angry that she left you. “

“You…you” Christy collapsed into helpless, angry sobs. “What right had her friend had to kill herself? Wasn’t Christy a good enough reason to stay here? Why didn’t she ask Christy for help?” Angry sobs coursed through her body, and she felt the woman stroke her back. She glanced up a second to see The Caretaker gathering her things together; the napkin, the uneaten lunch. Christy stared, tears coming slower and slower, as the woman slowly made her way up the bank.

Right at the top, she turned around, “And it’s okay to scream” Than she disappeared.

Christy sat there, frozen for a second, than let out a high-pitched wail. She stood up and threw her arms out, screaming all she was worth. A nonsense, unintelligible yell.

But her next scream, after she drew a sobbing breath, was perfectly clear.

“Why?”