He’s not quite sure why he’s here again.
Or rather, he’s come here with the intention of returning the umbrella, but in truth he doesn’t even know where she lives, and as he was wandering around town he found that before he knew it his feet had carried him here.

Back to the graveyard.

He sets the umbrella down on the grass and sits, leaning against the maple tree. If he closes his eyes he can almost smell the rain seeping into the ground, taste the salt of his own tears on his tongue. The world turns grey when somebody dies, and that day the sky had been mourning with him. He could remember the rows of black suits and black gowns gathering around the grave, all clustered together beneath a canopy of black umbrellas. It was a perfect rainy day, he thinks, with a nice cold shower to drench them. They’d all come over afterwards to give him their condolences, offering bent-wire smiles and too-forceful handshakes and tearful hugs that just left him choking back his own sobs.

Today though, the sun is out and he can hear the cicadas chirping all around him. He tips his head back against the bark and stares up through the branches, admiring the way the turning maple leaves seem to glow in the sunlight. There’s a definite smell of autumn in the air now, although the heat and the birds still make him think of lazy afternoons and puffy white clouds and the sound of her laughter as she kicks him into the pool from behind. It’s a bitter memory, but he lets his eyes slide closed again and replays the moment in his head again and again, until he feels his heart clench with a familiar ache. Then his eyes slowly drift open and he distracts himself from the pain with golden maple leaves and a flawless blue sky.

There’s a rustle of clothes and grass, and then a voice.

“Hey.”

He looks her way slowly, and a soft smile fades onto his lips.

“Hey.” He reaches for the umbrella, thinks better of it, and gestures to his other side, inviting her to sit. She does, tucking the edge of her sweatshirt underneath her bottom as she joins him against the maple tree.

“This is a hell of a spot you found,” she says, her voice soft, as if a single word could shatter the tranquility of the graveyard. He nods, and this time he does take the umbrella and hand it to her, his fingers loose around the hooked plastic handle.

“Thanks for letting me borrow this yesterday,” he replies, but she pushes it back to him with a gentle shake of her head.

“It was hers,” she says simply. “She left it at my house like a year ago and told me I could keep it, but...I have enough of her crap lying around my room already, you know?” She looks away and gives a breathy laugh. “I ended up bringing it to her funeral, and you didn’t have one, so I figured the least I could do was finally return it, even if, well, it only got back to her brother.” He notices her hands are shaking by the time she stops talking, and he takes the umbrella back, laying it across his knees.

“...Thank you,” he says, and for a while they sit there, him and his sister’s best friend. Then he props himself up with the umbrella and stands, and offers his hand to her.

“Want to go visit her?” he asks. She stares at him, surprised for a moment, before smiling and grabbing it, pulling herself up.

When the two of them part ways that afternoon, the air is a little colder, the sky a little darker. And at the edge of the cemetery where the newest graves lie, an umbrella is left, leaning quietly against a tombstone.