Piece: Part III

* AUTHOR'S NOTE* Yay! Comments! So I hope you all read the very first part, under my "Yes, I really began to drool" post, or a lot of the drama is not going to make sense. I'm only going to post a little bit of it at a time, so I have sufficient time to keep writing it. I already have the first chapter done.
...and I'm glad you guys are hooked. I may just throw a few curve balls ;)
*ON WITH THE STORY!*

After the service, when Elisabeth had been placed in the ground, Matthew stood silently in the old cemetery, staring at Elisabeth’s newly-made grave. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him out of his stupor. He turned to greet another mourner, and looked into the eyes of his best friend, Ethan. He could feel his heart pull just a little bit tighter as he saw the look on Ethan’s face. Such sadness filled his features as could not be borne by anyone else. There were enough words in his eyes to tell the whole story, but he spoke it anyways.

“You know, Matt, I never told you,” he began in a broken whisper. “I told her, and she tried to let me down gently, but you never get over a girl like your sister.” He covered his face with his hand and cried. Memories of their time in elementary school, with Elisabeth tagging after them flashed through Matthew’s mind. No one had ever said anything, but he had known all the same. He tried to say something hopeful, comforting, but Ethan just waved his hand, turned, and began to stagger back to his car. Matthew turned back to the grave.

She had been laid next to her father’s three-year-old headstone, which stood in turn next to the small, mossy stone that stood for their mother. His eyes lingered on this small stone, engraved simply with the words “Leanne Hansen Carter, 1962-1987.” He had been barely two years old when she had died, from complications in the birth of his sister. Their father, Steve Carter, had been a rough outdoorsman, who knew nothing about raising children alone, but he had managed. Between his clear-headed son and a daughter with bright red hair who kept him on his toes, he had managed. Matthew still hadn’t forgiven him for the cancer that had taken him away from them. He still remembered how Elisabeth had picked up her high school diploma from the school, preferring a funeral procession to a triumphal one.

Remembering, he fell back into his sobs. He knew that faith was supposed to make him feel better, understanding where they were going, but he couldn’t help it. All he knew was that he was alone in mortality. Elisabeth had been free-willed, wild, and even a bit crazy, but she had always kept him going. Her hope and cheerfulness had always had them going strong, even after their father died. Now he didn’t know what he was going to do.

He heard a crackling behind him. He spun and found himself face to face with the figure from the church. Expecting to find anger, he saw that the young man’s eyes were swollen and bloodshot. His dark suit was mud-spattered, and his shirt and dark hair were mussed beyond repair. He kept his hands in his pockets, his face dark as he stared at Matthew with a look of obvious hatred. Matthew returned the stare.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. His eyebrows knit together and his fists tightened, his knuckles white.

“What do you think I’m doing?” the young man muttered. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I loved her.”