Sarah always knew she would die alone. It kept her awake at night, crying and pacing. On Tuesday, she decided that she was tired of waiting.

"Are you sure you don’t want to come this time?" Franklin asked. He always phoned early to invite her on his daily outing. He had a specific day for shopping, dining, worshipping, gambling, and exercising.

"Franklin, I don’t want to walk around a graveyard," she said. "It’s creepy."

"You’re going to miss out on a good spot. Don’t you want your final resting place to be nice?"

"I’ll be dead, underground, hopefully in Heaven. Why do I care if there is a nice tree overhead?"

"Suit yourself," he said. "You’ll regret it."

Franklin toured cemeteries every Tuesday. He was the kind of man who refused to order dinner until he had read every item on a menu, preferably twice. Then, by elimination, he would pick two options and let the waitress decide. In the graveyard, there was no one else to make his final decision.

Sarah hung up the telephone and returned to her coffee on the stilted back porch. The sun’s warmth made her heavy. She sank farther into the ragged lawn chair. She longed for rest. Peace.

She used to spend mornings at the town pool. She missed flipping and gliding through the cool water. Gravity backed off when she was submerged. The pool – the only appointment in her daily schedule – had closed months ago; Baxter’s tax base had dropped and something had to be cut. She had tried to explain how important the place was. But nobody in the town knew her well, and her words were weightless. When the pool closed, everything else crumbled.

She gulped the remaining muddy liquid in her mug and dialed Franklin’s number.

"I’m coming with you to the cemetery," she said. "Will you pick me up?"

Franklin sputtered, "Yes." Sarah could hear her older brother’s tea spray on the receiver as he half choked.

"I’ll be ready at eleven."

In the bathroom, she turned on the faucet almost hotter than she could bear. Heat loosened her muscles. She had no obligations, no children, no job and no apparent worries. She still lived off an inheritance from parents who had disappeared long ago. Yet she was tense, and the steamy water eased the pain. While the tub filled, she went to her bedroom and picked out dark, drab "cemetery" clothes - a long, gray linen skirt and a black tee-shirt with shoulder pads. They looked strange lying on the white embroidered bedspread. She shed her clothes and avoided looking at the massive sags and curves below her neck. She had removed the large mirrors long ago. She wanted to believe that her swimmer’s body remained.

Naked, she stumbled to the bathroom for her morning wash. She bent slowly, turning off the hot faucet, and slid into the tub. Sarah watched the sponge float over her stomach for several minutes. She wished that she had a pool in her yard, where she could float on her back for hours. When she’d first heard about Jesus walking on water in Sunday School, she didn’t question the teacher like her classmates. If she could balance her body perfectly on the surface, he could easily walk across water. She sank farther into the tub letting the water reach her chin. The water was warm now, and she wanted to blow bubbles. Instead, she slid her head underwater for a minute. She felt her chest tighten. The kitchen timer on the bathroom sink buzzed; the noise pulled her gasping above the surface. When sleepless nights became more frequent a few months ago, she had begun to worry about drifting off in the water. She had decided to set a kitchen timer for twenty minutes before getting into the bath each day. It had become habit, now; but when it rang, it always surprised her.

She rose from the water, steadying herself as she stretched higher. She wanted to sink back in, but the water was cooling fast. She reached for a towel. She remembered how her mother had tousled her hair before wrapping her in the cotton warmth. She never got that careful attention from anyone else. She tried to soak up water and age with the terrycloth, then dressed quickly and combed her hair.

At the kitchen table, she made a list on wide-ruled notebook paper. She loved how her words could get lost between the aqua lines and how she could scratch out or doodle or make a swooping S. In neat cursive, she titled the page "Preparations."

1. Plot.

2. Will.

3. Appearance.

She called her lawyer; he seemed startled when he heard Sarah’s name.

"Everything okay, Sarah?" Bob Jackson asked.

"Why?" She said, wondering if somehow he knew.

"You don’t call often," he said.

"Just wanted to know if my will was still up to date?"

"Of course, the papers are on file." He paused. "Are you sure everything is fine?"

"Yes, I’m just tired of fighting with Franklin. He has everything set for his passing, except for the gravesite. He wants to make sure his little sister – however old I may be – is taken care of too. He’s on his way over here. I know he’ll ask. Calling you will shut him up for a few days."

Bob laughed. Sarah crossed off number two.

Next, she called Katie, the hair stylist, and got an appointment. She hadn’t had a haircut in six months. She used to go every six weeks. She checked off number three and paced around the kitchen. She was halfway there.

Franklin announced his arrival a few minutes later with a blaring horn. Sarah was already folding the list into a small rectangle and tucking it into the zippered pocket of her purse.

The Lincoln Town car was as old and ugly as its owner. When his wife Mary died, Sarah realized that Franklin was color blind. Mary had dressed him every morning for more than 50 years. Today, he wore a mustard colored shirt, black pants, brown shoes and an ugly green fishing hat.

Franklin nodded at Sarah as she maneuvered into the passenger seat. He was engrossed in the Patsy Cline song on the tape deck, humming and tapping. Patsy had been Mary’s favorite singer. He pulled out of the space quickly and then crept forward. As they drove the half mile to town, she muttered several prayers as her knuckles grew white around the door handle.

"What made you change your mind?" he asked, as he pulled into the Methodist Church parking lot. Patsy was finishing her song.

Sarah paused. "I had a hair appointment and didn’t want to walk both ways. I figured this might get you off my back too."

"I call for a reason," he said, inhaling the stale car air. "This is serious business." His back was rigid, and his head almost reached the sagging ceiling of the car. Sarah thought he might yell, but he softened quickly. "You look really tired."

She whispered, "Yes."

Franklin fidgeted. They had never really discussed anything serious, even their parents’ death. Neither knew how to address loss; they grieved alone behind shut doors. They sat for a moment and listened. Patsy had lurched into her next song.

Crazy, I’m crazy for feeling so lonely.

Franklin turned off the engine, and Sarah tried to swallow the growing lump in her throat before getting out of the car. She walked away from him, from the low, iron gate guarding all the bones.

"You’re still coming," he called.

Sarah nodded, breathing deeper. This is what I want. Rest. Rest in peace, she repeated as they strode through the private cemetery adjacent to the church. Franklin pointed out the empty plots along the edge of the graveyard and between large warring families.

"I thought about this one, but I don’t want to be stuck between the Rumely and Stone families. They’re both so big. If one of them died, the grass on my grave would be ruined from the traffic."

Sarah couldn’t imagine what it was like underneath, living things with roots reaching down to a lifeless corpse in a place where no energy was required.

"I like that one under the tree, but you can see it from the street. The bridge club players cross there. I don’t want them walking by me every night. It’d be depressing. What do you think? … Sarah."

"Huh."

"You weren’t listening." Franklin stopped and pulled his hat down to shade his eyes. "How are you going to give me your opinion?"

"It doesn’t matter," Sarah said. "You’ll never pick one. Mary was the only one who could make a decision."

His cheeks whitened, and his eyes welled.

"I’m sorry," Sarah said, suddenly leaving the next world and returning to the present.

Franklin had shuffled back toward the car. Sarah knew he’d go visit his wife’s grave, two towns away in her parents’ plot. There was no room for Franklin.

Sarah and Franklin’s parents were never buried. Without the bodies, a grave seemed frivolous. Sarah still wondered why she had accepted a date that night with the lifeguard, Hugh Fullman, why she had let Hugh take her for a long drive after dinner. When she returned home, both parents were gone. All the newspapers covered their mysterious disappearance.

Sarah wandered the worn paths, careful not to tread on any burial ground. She never wanted to be stepped on. Back at the Methodist Church, she found the cemetery manager, Donald Stewart, in its basement. He was a large clumsy man in a dark suit, who had a gift for consoling others though he seemed uncomfortable in his own skin. She paid for two plots side-by-side in the nicer, older section of the cemetery.

"Don’t tell my brother," she said, shaking Donald’s hand.

"I won’t," he said. He smiled, but his eyes looked sad. His gaze said everything: you’re doing the right thing; you’re almost there; I’d hate to see you go. He squeezed her hand and placed his other hand on her shoulder. Sarah couldn’t remember the last time that she’d been touched.

It was almost noon when she emerged from his ice-box office into the heat. Global warming had eaten up her favorite season several years ago. Now, the temperature just rose through the beginning of October until an extended downpour arrived and cool air set in permanently. Last year, the leaves hadn’t even turned. They just fell off – most still green, some sandy brown. They died, succumbed to winter without a final fight.

Sarah hurried to the beauty parlor. The breeze was picking up, and she knew the rains would come soon.

A small silver bell on the door rang as Sarah entered. Katie, the owner, let her schedule appointments when the shop was closed for lunch. She smiled and took the last bite of her sandwich. "I was starting to worry about you out there. It’s been too long."

"I’ve just been too tired to face town."

Sarah sank into the chair, leaning her head back into the sink, her neck collapsing onto its hard curves. She embraced the rigid pressure. For months, she had battled with time. The hours wouldn’t hustle. They languished in her dark thoughts and the spotless rooms of her aging home. Today, she had felt more, moved more and fought more than any other day this month. She needed peace.

Katie squatted and grabbed shampoo from under the sink. "Aromatics," she said. "You look like you need a little something extra."

Katie lathered and scrubbed with foaming fresh mint and rosemary. The water wailed in Sarah’s ears, and the remaining tensions in her muscles softened. "Scent can alter your mood," Katie said, as she rambled on about all the new products. She always filled the silence that Sarah had become so accustomed to.

Sarah studied her hairdresser in the mirror while she combed, chopped, measured and pulled. Katie wore angular glasses and kept her fingernails painted in posh garnet. She never lumbered along the sidewalks like other slowly aging women. She glided like a beauty queen on her way to feed her husband, kids and grandchildren. Sarah hadn’t owned makeup or nail polish in years. She had never been cradled in a lover’s arms. She was a clandestine nun without religion. As the blow dryer roared, Sarah feasted on the idea, and her lungs expanded farther into her chest.

"You like it that much?" Katie asked as Sarah sighed.

Sarah blinked and refocused on the mirror. Her hair was fluffy yet smooth. Katie gave her a mirror and then proudly twirled the chair so she could see the back.

Sarah nodded, touching Katie’s elbow. She paid.

On Main Street, not much had changed since Franklin convinced her to move here 40 years ago. The hardware store, diner, three churches, barbershop and post office remained. Katie’s shop replaced the old Western Union. The tall brick buildings that once stood attention over a lively railway line now slouched slightly, worn with time, over an empty rail bed. The town would disappear soon; people were moving away or dying. With the plant closed, Baxter had no future. Franklin had been the plant manager before he retired. The layoffs and boarded doors came about five years later. That’s when Franklin started poker and bridge nights, consoling his former employees over beer. Sarah thought about how much Franklin had lost and returned to Katie’s shop.

"Can I use the phone?" Sarah asked. Katie pointed; she was shampooing another woman’s hair.

"Franklin?"

"What do you want?"

"I called to say I’m sorry."

"Yeah."

"Will you meet me at the diner so we can talk? I haven’t had lunch out in years."

"Really." He paused. "I’ll be there in ten minutes."

The diner’s six booths were covered in patched plastic leather, and the tabletops were scratched. The waitress, the cook, and the two customers stopped talking when she entered. She waved and mumbled, "I’m waiting for someone."

"Do you want to go ahead and order?"

Sarah asked for coffee and a BLT, wanting one more taste of in-season tomatoes. She noticed that the waitress’ ring finger was bare. She pulled out the list. It seemed inadequate, too short for a major undertaking. She heard footsteps and crumpled the paper, shoving it into her purse as Franklin appeared.

He hollered to the men at the counter, took off his hat and sat it on the table. "Thanks for calling Sarah. I’ll be right back."

He shook hands with the two men. They stood with their backs toward Sarah, talking low.

Sarah heard them whisper, "Who is that?"

The larger of the two men barked, "A sister, I didn’t know you had a sister." He walked toward Sarah. "I’m Tucker. It’s nice to meet you. Why have you let Frank hide you for so long?"

Sarah blushed, and no words came. Tucker looked confused. Franklin came up behind him, placing his hand on Tucker’s shoulder. "She’s just shy," he said. For once, Sarah welcomed his commentary. "Leave us alone Tuck. We’ve got some family business to take care of."

Tucker nodded. "It’s good to see you Frank," he said. "Don’t spend too much on the lady. We’ve got poker tomorrow night."

Franklin smiled. "They used to work for me. And Emily and Bill, the waitress and the cook, they are brother and sister. They go to my church. … Did you order?"

"Yes," she said.

He turned around and yelled, "Emily, I’ll take the usual."

Franklin and Sarah stared at each other, both shifting in their seats.

"I know we don’t talk much, but I’m worried," Franklin said, looking into his lap.

"I know," Sarah said. "Without the pool. I don’t really feel like going out. And my body is suffering without the exercise."

"You always have been a fish out of water." Franklin smiled. Sarah didn’t.

"It’s just a pool," he said.

"It was my outlet. You’ve got bridge, poker, church to fill up your days. Swimming was my thing. I can’t help it."

"Why don’t you walk? There’s a walking group at the senior center."

"I’m not like those ladies. I don’t have grandkids or a husband. I don’t like to sew or knit or quilt. There’s nothing to say to them. I belonged at the pool."

"You belong around me."

"We’re different. You’re a busy body. You like to talk. I just don’t know how to anymore. When I’m out, you direct and I follow. But we’re not kids anymore."

Emily brought their meals and resumed bickering with her brother; their bitter laughter building and releasing tension in the small diner to the delight of their audience at the counter.

Sarah and Franklin ate, not knowing what else to say. When they finished, Franklin paid and they walked out to his car.

"Want a ride home?" he said.

"No thanks," Sarah said. "I’ll walk. Maybe the exercise will help. You’re always right."

Franklin shrugged. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Don’t worry," Sarah said, before turning home. As she rounded the last curve on the half-mile route, she could see her house small and simple on a hill. She remembered her first night there, roaming through each of the four rooms, checking window locks and learning sounds.

"You won’t be scared out here," Franklin had said. "Mary and I will be nearby and maybe you can get back to a normal life."

Back then, Sarah had locked herself in her parents’ old townhouse after they disappeared, only leaving for a pre-dawn swim at the city pool. At night, she would pace along the Persian rugs of the hallway, staring at centuries of framed family portraits, wondering what happened. For the first few years, Sarah stayed inside, convincing herself that they would return, that their absence was just punishment for starting to love Hugh more than her own family. She had refused to talk to Hugh following the memorial service. After a few years of solitude, Sarah forgot how to interact with people, how to love. It became easier to surrender to her growing reclusiveness.

A few brown crinkled leaves lined the grass along Route 3. The breeze had galloped into a wind, keeping her cool under the radiating sun. Her bangs blew forward over her face. She cupped her hand over her forehead to block the glare and clear the white strands from her vision. She was on the last hill now. In the fields below, a farmer was burning a pile of debris, and the musty scent engulfed her. She paused in her driveway, not wanting to relinquish the smell of cinnamon and leaves for dusty dampness.

She unlocked the front door. Her body ached from the day’s activities, and she longed for a bath. She stopped in the kitchen for a drink of water. The counters were bare, and cupboards almost empty. She thought about making a bubbling pot of vegetable stew to freeze for the winter or drinking a cup of steaming mulled cider on the back porch. And she wanted enough energy to unpack the family album and gaze at their faces again. But her muscles quivered, and she knew it was time for a bath.