Belongs to Us

Tillamon found Darlene in the statue garden, beneath guttering lamps. He sucked in a breath when he saw which statue she sat beneath, regretting it instantly. He coughed at the still hot air and alerted Darlene to his presence.

Darlene’s brow creased when she saw Tillamon. With anyone else, he might have thought that consternation. With her, he wouldn’t guess. Walking over, he handed her the second cup he’d carried from the festivities.

Darlene turned away. She held the cup out of habit more than interest as she stared at the statue.

Taking the lack of objection as acceptance, Tillamon sat next to her. He peered at the sculpture, pondering the lines. Sharp, clean, attractive. Everything a hero should be.

“She got him wrong,” Darlene said in clipped words. “The artist. This isn’t him at all.” She flicked her fingers at the statue as if she could make the stone shrink to his true visage.

Tillamon sighed. Leaning forward, he dangled his cup between loose fingers. “It’s what they’ll remember,” he said.

“As you’ll be remembered for today,” Darlene’s lips into a wry grin.

Tillamon winced. Earlier, Darleene had hauled his drunken self from dancing on a table. An act he’d just finished sobering form.

He certainly hoped that wasn’t how he was remembered.

Appraising the statue, he remembered the whimsical boy. “Is it so bad for them to see this…” Tillamon stopped, unable to find the words.

“Then who he truly was belongs to us,” Darlene finished for him.