James was a night security guard at Saint Mary’s Cemetery. He took the job over a year ago when his wife June passed away from complications from Covid. He didn’t like being alone at night. He wanted to be close to her during the nighttime hours.

As a worker at St. Mary’s, he was allowed to take special care of his wife’s grave. He planted a rosebush by her grave. Roses were her favorite. She lovingly tended the rose bushes in their backyard. James made sure he had given her red roses every year on their anniversary, one rose for each year they were married. He was up to twenty-five when she passed.

Each evening, before his shift began, he'd arrive at her grave with his watering can. He always felt a pang of sadness when the roses were drooping by dusk. Yet, in the morning, when the sun peeked through the morning mists, he was amazed that the crimson petals were open, vibrant with life anew. He could not believe that his bit of watering could engender such overnight new growth.

One night, a fog rolled in, thick and silent, he decided to go to June’s grave. He knelt by the rose bush to say a prayer. Out of the darkness, he felt something brush his cheek. He looked up. There in the moonlight was the specter of his wife. He watched her as she tended the roses, taking each in her iridescent hand and breathing upon each one. Then she looked over at James, a soft smile on her lips. In that shared moment, he knew June would always be with him.