This Reminds Me of Us Page 6

  She pulled Angie’s quilt up to her chin. Since Michelle Trevor’s first visit, her mind was consumed with thoughts of what her life apparently was in St. Caroline. She was a stay-at-home mom. No outside job. Her closest friend in St. Caroline was Ashley Wardman.

  Michelle came back yesterday morning for another visit and to answer more of her questions. It was becoming depressingly obvious that getting released from the hospital wasn’t going to be the end of the accident. Going home was going to be like moving to St. Caroline all over again. How many people would she pass on the street and not recognize? How many times would she get lost going to places she’d gone to hundreds of times? Not that they were going to let her drive for a few more months.

  And how many times would she stick her foot in her mouth with people because she couldn’t remember important things about them? Michelle couldn’t give her the entire history of St. Caroline in a few visits. On top of that, there were things Michelle clearly wasn’t comfortable discussing.

  Like Ben Wardman.

  Ben was Ashley’s husband. Apparently, Serena had been friends with the Wardmans since they moved to St. Caroline five years ago. Ben was a science teacher and soccer coach at the high school. Ashley was a photographer, which was how Serena and Ashley met. Cam had just been born and Ashley’s very first job in St. Caroline was a portrait of Mason and his new baby brother.

  At yesterday’s visit, Michelle asked if Ashley had been to visit.

  “No. Just family,” Serena replied.

  Michelle’s head moved back and forth, sadly. “Well. She’s going through … a time right now.”

  Serena had waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, she said, “Mrs. Trevor, you can’t put something like that out there and then not say anything more.”

  “Michelle. You can call me ‘Michelle.’”

  “Okay. Michelle.”

  “Ben has been sick.”

  Given the look on Michelle’s face, Serena was reluctant to probe for more information. But she needed to know, especially if she and Ashley Wardman were friends. “How sick?”

  Michelle took a deep breath. “Very sick. Cancer.”

  Serena felt like she’d been punched in the kidney. “First Angie and now Ben, too?”

  She opened her eyes and took a deep breath, willing away the nausea. The news of Ben’s illness was why she’d fallen during physical therapy that morning. She was walking on the treadmill and thinking about, well, everything when an image of Ben Wardman popped into her mind. It was clear as day—Ben running along one of the quiet country roads outside of town, the hem of his tee shirt flapping, his ginger hair plastered to his scalp with sweat. He ran gracefully, almost as though his feet weren’t touching the ground. He didn’t shuffle and lumber along like some people did when they ran.

  The image—the memory!—so startled her that she stumbled on the moving track and fell. But through the pain, she was elated. She had remembered something! That had to be a good sign, right? Not just for her, but for Ben too. She wasn’t into any of that woo-woo, mystical stuff—you couldn’t be when you were married to Mr. Practicality—but a memory of Ben running, of being so alive had to be a good omen. After all, he was thirty years old. Far too young to die.

  Just as a sharp pain shot through her hip, the door to the hospital room swung open and jolted her out of the memory. The nurse, probably, with more pain meds. Instead, a large bouquet of flowers entered the room, followed by Oliver. The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to reconsider.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Ben was sick? Who else in town has cancer? You can’t leave me in the dark here, Ollie! What am I going home to?”

  Oliver had the classic deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes. Then his chest slowly rose and fell as he took a deep breath and let it out. He laid the cellophane-wrapped flowers at the foot of the bed.

  “Who told you about Ben?”

  “Michelle Trevor. But it should have been you. We’re friends with them!” Serena could hear the register in her voice rising.

  Oliver leaned over, resting his elbows on the mattress right next to her shoulders. “It didn’t seem like you remembered them.” He paused to gather more of his thoughts. “So I didn’t want to worry you right now about someone you might not have any memory of at the moment. The doctor’s instructions were to not try and fill you in on everything all at once. I wish Michelle had checked with me first.”

  “I remembered Ben this morning! Because I knew! That’s why I fell on the treadmill. I had this picture of Ben running …” A thought occurred to her. “Is he here, in this hospital?”

  “No. He was in a hospice facility closer to home.”

  Hospice … that wasn’t good news. But she had remembered Ben running! Alive and healthy—that was a sign. It had to be. And yet … Ollie was biting his bottom lip. It was the classic Oliver tell. She looked down as his warm hands wrapped around hers and pulled them into his chest.

  “Baby. Ben Wardman passed this morning.”

  Oliver sat on the floor in his parents’ living room. Would there come a day when he didn’t think of it that way—as his “parents’ house”? He supposed it was just his father’s house now.

  It’s your childhood home.

  Yeah. But now that his mother was gone, the house didn’t feel the same anymore. Like it was less familiar somehow. He didn’t know how to describe it. He was awful at putting words to that kind of stuff. Serena was much better at that sort of thing.

  He unrolled a tube of wrapping paper and spread it out on the floor. He needed to get the boys’ Christmas gifts wrapped. His parents’ house had always been a good place to hide presents, but Mason and Cam were spending more time here with one or another family member as babysitter. Oliver wasn’t sure how closely Matt supervised them. Mason no longer believed in Santa—wasn’t seven too young for that?—but Cam definitely still did. The last thing he needed this Christmas was for Cam to discover that Santa was fiction.

  He laid the big pair of scissors on the edge of the paper to hold it flat. Then he surveyed the piles of boxes scattered around him, trying to decide which to wrap first. There were Lego sets for both boys. A remote-controlled helicopter for Mason and a remote-controlled race car for Cam. He picked up one of the larger boxes, a chemistry kit. He thought Mason was too young for it, but Jack swore that it was the thing Mason most wanted.

  He centered the box on the paper. How was it that Jack knew how Mason had prioritized his wish list and he didn’t? Hell, I was the person who drove “Santa” into town for the winter festival. On my boat!

  He adjusted the centering another time, sliced through the wrapping paper with the scissors, looked around for the dispenser of tape.

  What could he have done differently yesterday? How was I supposed to know that she’d remember someone? And Ben Wardman, of all people? On the day he dies?

  The visit went from bad to worse. No, it went all the way to disastrous. Serena had gotten hysterical at the news that Ben was gone. Nurses came running at the sound of her screaming.

  “Do you want us to sedate her?” one of the nurses had asked.

  Of course, he didn’t want Serena to be sedated. But it seemed like she had gone out of her mind, was out of control.

  The nurse asked again. “Do you want us to sedate her?”

  Again, he had hesitated. But when she swung her legs over the side of the bed and started to get out, he gave his consent. She had already fallen once that day, making the doctor decide to keep her in rehab awhile longer. He didn’t want her to fall again. That would not have helped matters, either.

  He tore off a length of tape and folded the wrapping paper over the chemistry kit.

  But maybe he had made the wrong decision in not telling her Ben was dying. Ashley Wardman had asked several times if he thought she should go see Serena. Oliver had asked her to wait until she came home. Getting visitors she couldn’t remember would either upset or confuse her.

  At
least she asked. Unlike Michelle Trevor. Yeah, he remembered that his father had asked Michelle to take that quilt to Serena. He hadn’t expected her to keep going back, however.

  He spun the box around and folded the ends of the paper into crisp points. His mother had taught him how to wrap gifts. And cook, a little. Do laundry without turning everything pink. I’m not saddling some poor woman with a son who’s helpless around the house. He could still hear his mother saying that, clear as a bell.

  He could use her advice right about now. Maybe she wouldn’t know what to do. Maybe no one knew what to do in a situation like this. But she’d brew a pot of coffee and sit with him at the table and try to puzzle it out. She’d tell him straight up whether he was a total jackass for allowing his wife to be sedated.

  Tough call.

  That’s probably what his dad would say. He’d waffle and equivocate, hem and haw. Chief Wolfe was as decisive as could be in the station but outside it? He would neither blame Oliver nor let him off the hook.

  Makes terrible coffee, to boot.

  Oliver found himself chuckling at that last thought. Dad does make terrible coffee. Close to undrinkable.

  He rubbed the last piece of tape into place and set that gift aside. One down … he looked around. Only a few dozen to go! He sighed. Normally, Christmas was his favorite holiday but this year he felt positively Grinchy. Nothing had put him into the mood, not the lights around town or the holly wreaths on the lamp posts on Main Street. Not the town’s first Winter Festival, which hadn’t been a complete catastrophe despite his brother Matt co-chairing the event.

  And now Serena might not be home for Christmas, thanks to the fall. The doctor said he’d try to have her out by then, but that he couldn’t make any promises. Oliver centered another gift on the wrapping paper. He was seriously pissed at Michelle Trevor. I’m her husband! No one should be going around me to see my wife. Not that he was Serena’s gatekeeper, but he was responsible for her well-being. Who else did she have? Her parents had visited the hospital twice, but had given no indication that they were going to become part of her life again. Just as well.

  He cut the wrapping paper and folded it around the gift. He just wanted Serena home as soon as possible. Things were not going to be easy, but he wanted to just get it over with so they could all begin to move on. The boys had been without their mother long enough. He didn’t need town busybodies interfering.

  She meant well.

  That’s what his mother would say about her friend. But Oliver didn’t care about Michelle Trevor’s intentions. The road to hell and all that. He taped down the wrapping paper and moved on to the next present. He needed his wife to come home, for a whole host of reasons. But also so he wouldn’t be alone with his own thoughts all the time. When the house was busy with the noise and activity of a family, it was easier to shush up the thoughts he didn’t want to think about.

  Like why was Ben Wardman the first thing that Serena remembered?

  Chapter 11

  They look dumb, Mason thought as the nurse held out two small lumpy Christmas stockings.

  “One for you and one for your brother.”

  His father was shooting a meaningful glare his way.

  “Thank you,” Mason dutifully said. “He didn’t want to come today.”

  “Well, that’s a shame.”

  Something was up—and not just the fact that it was Christmas Day. All of the nurses at the hospital were wearing red Santa hats and grinning weird, awful grins. Something was definitely up.

  “Don’t you just look adorable?” another nurse said. She looked about as old as his nana had been.

  He glanced down at the horrific red and green monstrosity covering his tee shirt. Even seven-year-olds knew about ugly Christmas sweaters, and he was most definitely wearing one. They were gifts from Jackie’s other grandparents in Ohio. His dad had made him wear it. Cam had actually wanted to wear his. In his mind, Mason was rolling his eyes.

  “That sweater is just precious,” the older nurse added. “So cute.”

  He bit the urge to say that goofy thing Cam had taken to saying lately. I’m not cute. I’m dangerous! It had to be said while gritting your teeth for full effect.

  The Christmas sweater was not cute or adorable or precious. Uncle Mattie would say it was “ugly with a capital U.” One thing Mason had learned since his mother’s accident was that grownups lied to you, often while smiling nicely at the same time. They said you were cute when you were not. They said things were going to be okay when any blind fool (Uncle Mattie again) could see that they weren’t.

  Worst of all, he found himself lying to Cam in the exact same way. At night, when his little brother crawled into Mason’s bed with his pillow and that dirty old stuffed stegosaurus he slept with, Mason lied to him and said that mom was okay. Mom would be home soon. Even though Mason had no idea if any of that were true. He had no idea what to believe anymore.

  But he didn’t want Cam to worry.

  It wasn’t like all of the grownups’ lies had caused him to worry any less. In fact, it was just the opposite. If there wasn’t anything to worry about, there’d be no reason to lie. Grownups thought kids were so stupid.

  “Thank you,” he said again to the creepy grinning nurses. If you said “thank you” and “you’re welcome,” sometimes grownups would be satisfied and go away.

  “Ready, bud?”

  His dad had one hand on the door to his mother’s room His other arm cradled two wrapped gifts—one from him and one from Mason and Cam. Mason had wrapped it himself. Well, with a little help from Aunt Becca.

  His dad pushed open the door and Mason ducked beneath his arm to go in first. His eyes landed first on the bed, which was empty. For a split second, he thought he was going to hurl. But the waffles and bacon he’d eaten at Paps’ house earlier stayed in a heavy lump in his stomach. Then he saw his mother sitting in a wheelchair by the window, dressed in normal clothes, her hair also brushed to look normal.

  “Merry Christmas, sweetie.” She smiled at him, a smile only slightly less weird than the nurses’ grins had been.

  He walked around the bed to get to the wheelchair, where she leaned forward to hug him. The lumpy stockings got mashed between her and Mason’s stomach.

  “Baby, you’re up,” he heard his dad say. (Uncle Mattie said never to call a girl “baby,” but his father did it all the time.)

  His mom loosened her hug and leaned back into the chair. “Where’s Cammy? Is he out flirting with the nurses?”

  “We left him with Jack and Becca.” His dad shrugged, a thing he always did when he knew he’d made a mistake.

  “That’s okay,” his mom said. “He’s probably having too much fun with his presents.”

  It wasn’t that, Mason knew. Uncle Jack and Aunt Becca had taken Cam and Jackie to the Trevor house. Cam didn’t take any presents with him. It was because Cam had lost hope that their mother was ever leaving the hospital. He wasn’t buying Mason’s lies anymore.

  “Mason? Want to come get this?” His dad nodded down at the presents in the crook of his arm.

  Mason carefully lifted the gift he had wrapped and turned to hand it to his mother. “Merry Christmas, mom. This is from me and Cammy.” The box held a bubble bath set that matched her favorite perfume. From France, his dad had said. Mason wasn’t sure why that mattered but whatever.

  She smiled at him and, for a moment, he forgot that this whole thing—his family—was messed up “six ways to Sunday” (Aunt Becca). Sometimes his mom seemed like a completely different person than the one he remembered. But maybe he was remembering her wrong. Maybe she had never known his first grade teacher’s name from last year. Or who his best friends were. Or that Nevaeh Logan was always trying to kiss him at recess. And that her name was “heaven” spelled backwards.

  Maybe he had to just keep lying to himself, as well.

  “Why thank you, sweetheart.”

  She never used to call me sweetheart.

  “But ho
w about if I open this at home? Santa stopped by this morning and said I can leave here today. That’s the present he gave me.”

  Mason’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped, in almost perfect sync with his father. Wait til Cammy finds out. Their mother was coming home! And he didn’t even care about the whole Santa lie. She probably doesn’t remember that I don’t believe in him anymore anyway.

  Serena snuggled up against Oliver in their bed. The boys were finally in bed, too—their candy cane sugar high finally dissipated enough to let sleep take over. She was exhausted. Between the excitement of leaving the hospital and the excitement of it being Christmas, she was spent. Coming home on Christmas probably wasn’t the best idea, but she had begged the doctor for days and promised to be extra careful.

  Oliver pulled her into him and she pressed her nose to his warm shoulder and took a long, deep inhale of the scent of his skin. She remembered what his skin smelled like. And she definitely remembered the first night she’d spent with him. After the night of the firemens’ carnival, she had returned to her “normal” life in Washington, DC. When she hadn’t heard from him after two days, she took matters into her own hands and rung up the St. Caroline Fire Department. Luckily, he was on duty.

  She went back to St. Caroline the very next weekend. Oliver took her to a lovely restaurant for lunch, then they went for a drive in the countryside in his pickup truck. It turned out to be a long drive, to accommodate the hours of talking they ended up doing. It felt like she had known Oliver Wolfe forever. When he reached over and held her hand as he drove, she knew she was going to sleep with him that night.

  By late afternoon, they were in her room at the Chesapeake Inn. To say they devoured each other would not be understating the matter.

  “Penny for your thoughts, love.” Ollie’s voice yanked her back into the present.

  “I was thinking about our first time.”

  “Mmm.” He pulled her even closer. “Sex, room service, then more sex, then room service dessert … I had to marry you after that because everyone in town knew I’d spent the night holed up at the Inn. Even my mother knew.”