The wind picks up the bunch of roses and scatters it among the clumps of heather like white stars against purple skies.
Willa comes here every day for thirty years.
She comes here when the heather sweeps to the horizon and then fades into stark russet. When dense mist suffocates the cliffs and later the buzzard pair rebuild their nest.
She climbs the cliffs where no human has put a foot before, and asks, Have you seen my little boy? She faces the rain and wind and asks them, Do you remember Kevin?
The cliffs, rain and wind live here for millennia. Deaf and dumb, and proud, they would not break their peaceful life.
Back home, Willa does not lock the door. She has not locked it since that day, thirty years ago, when Kevin left home to see his grandmother.
Come back for lunch, Kevin! Willa stands on the threshold and watch after him. Kevin blows her a kiss just before turning the corner.
Willa lays the table for lunch. One hour passes. After two hours, she goes to her mother’s.
Where is Kevin?
Kevin never came here, her mother says with troubled eyes.
Willa runs all around the village and asks every one, Have you seen Kevin? Have you seen my little boy?
The police launch a rescue operation for him. Most villagers join in. Round the clock they search along the roads and through the moorlands.
Where is Kevin? Willa asks the Chief Constable.
The risk of hypothermia and exposure shortens Kevin chances. But we’re not giving up.
When the heather turns hard and russet, and the northern winds blow harsh, the police announce they shift the rescue to recovery operation.
Every day Willa lays the table for lunch, steps over the threshold and gazes at the corner where Kevin blew her a kiss. She walks around the village and out to the moorlands.
On Sundays, Willa sits on the first pew and swallows every single word. Reverend Smith never forgets to ask the Heavenly Father to surround Kevin with angels and guard him in all his ways.
On Ascension day the service concludes and congregation go home. The hubbub and footsteps die away and the peace beneath the cold stoned arch restores.
Willa faces the wooden statue with dead eyes under the thorn crown, and still asks her question.
Where is Kevin?
The wooden eyes come to life and a tear rolls down the face, and another one. The lips stretch in a soothing smile and the words come to her.
Jesus loves Kevin more than you. Come!
The arms stretch out. The touch of their hands, delicate and warm, send ripples of solace through Willa’s body. Their blood coarse and hearts beat in natural synchrony. They embrace under the mantle and with a gentle push stream upwards. The arched ceiling above opens and the infinity stretches ahead.
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