This Reminds Me of Us Page 8

  “Cam? You almost ready?”

  “Almost!” A minute later, Cam walked through the doorway, his wet hair severely parted and combed flat against his head like some 1930s gangster. She felt a little flutter in her heart. Day after day, it was obvious how hard the boys were trying to be helpful to her.

  After a few minutes of discussion, they settled on a book by a local author, Douglas Preston. He had written it as a fundraiser for the Chesapeake Inn’s summer camp. According to Oliver, she didn’t know him. Until last year, Douglas Preston had lived in town only during the summer when camp was in session. The name sounded vaguely familiar, though.

  The story concerned a group of best friends, all of whom happened to be blue crabs living in the Chesapeake Bay. It was a cute story and one that the boys seemed to know by heart.

  “You read it better than dad does,” Cam said when she turned the final page.

  “It’s not exactly dad’s favorite story,” Mason pointed out.

  Serena set the book on the nightstand. “I can see how that might be.” It was probably too whimsical for his taste. “Has Mr. Preston come to your school to read the book in person?”

  “No,” the boys answered in unison.

  “Well. That seems like a missed opportunity.”

  The boys collapsed into a fit of giggling and snorting.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Dad says that all the time,” Cam replied.

  “Well, that was a missed opportunity,” Mason mimicked his father speaking.

  Serena tried to suppress her own laughter, but failed miserably. She knew she should reprimand Mason but his imitation of Oliver was spot on. She let it go, in favor of a pleasant end to the day and in her own growing recognition that Oliver could be hard to live with sometimes. He didn’t adapt well to changing situations—which was an odd quality in a firefighter.

  Instead, she pulled the boys close and they all snuggled for a few minutes, the feel of their warm, solid bodies in her arms a balm to the confusion and disorientation that governed her days. After a few minutes, Cam began snoring softly. She managed to slide out of the bed and heft him up onto her hip. Cam wasn’t heavy so much as he was all arms and legs.

  She grimaced as her own leg crackled with pain. She lumbered toward Cam’s bed, each step slow and deliberate. Then she felt Mason’s small hand on her back. At his age and size, there was nothing he could do if she were to stumble or fall beneath the weight of his little brother. But the gesture touched her. These boys were good kids.

  My boys are good kids.

  When she made it to Cam’s bed, she lowered him gingerly onto the mattress. Together, she and Mason managed to get the covers pulled up without waking him. She walked Mason back to his bed and gave him a tight hug before tucking him in.

  “I love you so much, Mason. You know that, right?”

  “I love you too, Mom.” He lifted his face to plant a kiss on her cheek.

  They were easy kids to love. As she closed the bedroom door behind her, her mother-in-law’s voice drifted through her mind. Oliver might be a hard man to love. Angela had said that to her once, early in Serena’s relationship with him. At the time, she’d been too head over heels in love with Ollie to give his mother’s words even a second thought. She had loved him enough to accommodate his quirks.

  Downstairs, she retrieved the teacher’s note from Cam’s backpack. It was a “Welcome home” card. Dear Mrs. Wolfe, We are all so glad to hear that you are back home. I am delighted to have Mason’s younger brother in my classroom this year. Cam is an energetic and well-mannered student, and a complete joy to have in class. I know it is probably too early for you to even consider this, but when you feel up to it—I would love to have you as a parent volunteer again. You were one of the best reading aides I’ve ever had. Best—Chelsea O’Connor.

  Serena tried to conjure up an image of Chelsea O’Connor. When she couldn’t, she closed the card and stuck it on the refrigerator with a magnet. Upstairs, she put on her pajamas and climbed into bed. There was no telling when Oliver would be home. She smoothed out the wedding quilt Angie had made for her and Oliver. It was a Double Wedding Ring pattern, according to Michelle Trevor. It looked much harder to make than the project she was working on in Becca’s class. Serena couldn’t even imagine how one would sew all those curved pieces together.

  She had promised Michelle that she would use the quilt. When she came home from the hospital, though, she found it already on their bed. Oliver had begun using it at some point. She didn’t ask why, for fear he might change his mind. When they first got married, they had agreed that it was a little weird to sleep beneath—make love beneath—something his mother had created. Now that Angie was gone, it felt comforting to Serena to sleep beneath the quilt. She wished they had used it while she was alive.

  Chapter 13

  “We’re free.” Oliver exhaled, put the SUV in drive, and backed out of his dad’s driveway. The boys were spending the evening—and most importantly, the night—with Paps, Uncle Jack, and Aunt Becca. “What do you want to do?” He turned to look at Serena in the passenger seat. Their eyes locked for a moment and he swallowed the lump in his throat. “You are so beautiful.”

  Once upon a time, those words would have caused Serena to throw herself into his arms. Today, he wasn’t even sure what he was seeing in her eyes. Doubt? Skepticism? Or maybe he was reading too much into things. Maybe he had let his expectations get out of control all those months she was in the hospital.

  “Thank you.” She laid her hand on top of his, gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “So where to?” he rephrased the question. He knew where he wanted to go—straight back home where he could lose himself in her beauty, immediately.

  “This might sound weird, but I’d like to go to the cemetery.” She pulled her hand back into her lap as he used both hands to make a sharp turn onto the cross street. “To see your mom’s and Ben’s …”

  That absolutely sounded weird to Oliver. Well, not so much that she wanted to visit their grave sites, but that she wanted to do it on their date. They finally had time alone together and she wanted to spend it at the cemetery?

  “I don’t want to stay long,” she rushed to clarify. “I just want to see them.”

  “Sure. We can do that, babe. Whatever you want.” He redirected the car toward the edge of town, where the St. Caroline Country Club and then the St. Caroline Cemetery were. “Do you mind if we stop and get flowers on the way?” he added. “We’ve been trying to keep them on mom’s stone.”

  They drove to the supermarket in silence, even as Oliver wracked his brain for things to talk about. What did they used to talk about when they went out together? The boys? Probably, he guessed. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her but she wouldn’t remember either, obviously.

  He’d gone so long without having her to talk to, he felt out of practice all of a sudden.

  Ask her about her day.

  If I do that, we’ll end up talking about the boys. Then he caught himself and stole a glance over at Serena. Was he talking to himself out loud? He’d fallen into that habit when she was in the hospital, to the point where the boys sometimes poked fun at it.

  Then tell her about your day.

  “How are things at the station?” Serena asked, as if pulling the words straight from his brain. “Anyone new start since last summer?”

  “There’s a new guy, but dad and I aren’t sure he’s going to work out long term.”

  “How come?”

  “Not a good team player is, I guess, the most diplomatic way of putting it.”

  “Oh. So why hasn’t your dad let him go yet?”

  “We’re too short-staffed and the state is breathing down our necks as it is.”

  “The state? Why’s that?”

  Oliver signaled to make a left turn into the supermarket’s parking lot. “It’s the weekend people. Every time you turn around, there’s another new mansion going up. And every time there’s
a call to one of their homes, the owner complains to the governor’s office afterward.”

  “Complain about what? Response time?”

  “Response time. Water damage to their artworks. We didn’t save the stables after we got the horses out. Maybe if they didn’t contest their property tax bills every year, we’d have the budget to staff up.”

  He pulled the SUV into a spot near the store’s entrance. “I’ll just run in and grab some,” he said.

  “Get some for Ben?”

  “Sure.”

  Inside, he picked out a large bouquet for his mother’s grave and a much smaller one for Ben Wardman. Personally, he didn’t see the necessity of getting flowers for him but he didn’t want to argue over it either. What he wanted was to get this part over with as quickly as possible.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was pulling the car through the scrolled iron gates of the cemetery. The setting sun was low in the sky but still bright around the edges, at odds with the cold temperature of the day and their present surroundings. But Serena wanted to be here, and he would do what she wanted.

  “Mom’s is closest,” he said. “Okay if we go there first?”

  “Of course.”

  The cemetery looked nicer in the summer, he thought, as he steered the car along the narrow path. Today the grass was winter-yellow. The trees were bare branches, with nothing shading them from the ice blue sky. They passed a freshly-dug grave, the dirt dark and wet looking. He averted his eyes even as he wondered whose it might be. He was unaware of any recent passings in town, but occasionally a weekend resident would buy a plot in the cemetery. Personally, he didn’t get the logic of having yourself buried in a town where you had no family. Who would come visit your grave?

  As his mother’s headstone came into sight, he gently braked the car to a stop. There was another bouquet of flowers already there and a matching arrangement on her twin brother’s stone, next to hers.

  “I guess dad was here earlier,” he said, opening the SUV’s door and then hurrying to the passenger side to help Serena out. He took one of the bouquets from her arms. The frozen yellow grass crunched beneath his good dress boots. He wasn’t dressed for a trip to the cemetery. He was dressed for a date with his wife. Khaki pants, the turtleneck sweater she had given him for Christmas two years ago, the one she said matched the deep blue of his eyes. She hadn’t remarked on his choice of clothing today—she wouldn’t remember that she gave him this sweater.

  You were never that crazy about the sweater before.

  It’s itchy around the neck.

  “Ollie?” Serena hurried to catch up to his long strides. “Did you say something?”

  “No. I mean, I’m glad I wore this sweater today. It’s cold out.” He pressed his lips together, hard. He really needed to break this habit of talking to himself out loud.

  “Ashley said we can walk to Ben’s grave from here,” she said after he nestled the flowers against his mother’s stone. “But we can drive, if you want to.”

  “No, I’m fine. It’s not that cold out.” He laid his arms across her shoulders and pulled her against his ribs. Even encased in her puffy winter coat, she felt small and fragile. He was supposed to be taking care of her, but how could he do that when she wanted to do things like visit the cemetery? How was that supposed to be good for her?

  They stood silently for another minute and stared at the flowers, then he gave her shoulders a squeeze before dropping his arm to take her leather-gloved hand into his own bare one. Oliver was the only person he knew who actually kept gloves in the glove compartment. Unfortunately, that’s where they were right now. The old Serena might have reminded him before they left the car. The new one said nothing as their shoes crunched along the path toward Ben Wardman’s final resting place.

  And why was St. Caroline his final resting place, anyway? The Wardmans weren’t from around here. Didn’t he have a hometown to be buried in? Or parents who’d purchased a family plot? This was another issue the town’s government was struggling with—the cemetery was going to reach its capacity faster than projected if new people kept moving here.

  “Ash said Ben’s mom wanted to bury him in Minnesota.”

  Great. I was talking out loud.

  “Is that where he’s from?”

  “Yes. One of the suburbs of Minneapolis. That’s where he and Ash met, when they were in grad school.”

  “So why didn’t they bury him there?” He scanned the headstones up ahead, trying to see Ben Wardman’s name in the dusk. He hadn’t gone to the funeral. He could have hired a babysitter for the boys but, with their mom in the hospital, Oliver didn’t want to draw attention to the idea of death.

  “Ash said he wanted to be buried here.”

  “Huh.” He spotted a headstone that was surrounded by flowers. A lot of flowers. That’s probably it. “Was I talking to myself out loud back there?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I was wondering why they buried Ben here, that’s all. Then you brought it up.” As they drew closer, he saw that the grave with flowers was, in fact, Ben’s. It doesn’t exactly need more flowers.

  “Maybe I’m reading your mind.”

  “How’s your leg?” He changed the subject. The last thing he needed these days was anyone reading his mind.

  “Good. It’s good today.”

  “The cold doesn’t bother it?”

  “Not so far.”

  She stepped ahead of him to approach the grave. He stood back and watched while she kneeled in front of the headstone, surveyed the profusion of blooms, then laid her flowers off to the side. Ashley must be coming every day. No reason for us to be here.

  Ashley and Serena had befriended each other immediately, but he and Ben never hit it off. There was no one specific thing Oliver could point to that he had disliked about the man. Part of it was probably that he and Ben had built-in social circles that their wives didn’t. Oliver was from town—he had friends that dated back to kindergarten. He had the guys at the station. Ben had socialized with other teachers.

  But Ashley and Serena were both newcomers to town, and neither had full time employment with the coworker relationships that normally brought. But people in St. Caroline had always liked Serena. Hadn’t they? Granted, he and Serena tended to do family-type things. That happens when you have kids. You hang out with other people who have young kids. You go to kids’ birthday parties and Little League games. Help out with all the silly school fundraisers like selling wrapping paper and hoagies. Serena was a champ when it came to stuff like that. She could organize the hell out of anything.

  But Ashley, though, was the only person she did girl-type stuff with. Shopping, lunch, that quilting class they were taking. Things that didn’t involve young kids.

  Friend-type things.

  And his mom, now that he thought of it. Ashley Wardman and Angela Wolfe had been Serena’s close girlfriends.

  Serena stood suddenly. He rushed to her side to offer his arm for support. Together, they stared at the words carved into the granite for another long moment. Then they left, not talking as they climbed back into the SUV. And even though Oliver did not believe in ghosts or any of that woo-woo stuff, the same questions that had tormented him for the past month flitted in and out of his brain like apparitions.

  Normal Oliver was whispering in his ear. Why was her first memory of Ben? Why not you? Or the boys? You guys are the important men in her life.

  Hell, Oliver would even settle for a memory of one of his brothers. Well, maybe not Mattie. But her best friend’s husband? Why?

  The Blue Crab Bistro was crowded, and Oliver silently congratulated himself on making reservations. For two. He’d left Normal Oliver on the side of the road. He was determined to let nothing spoil this evening out with his wife.

  He waved at Sean Crane behind the bar. Sean’s parents owned the Blue Crab; Sean tended bar on weekends. During the week, he was a teacher at St. Caroline High and thus a colleague of Ben’s. Oliver didn’t hold that against
him, though.

  Really, he had nothing against Ben Wardman. Other than that the man had been his wife’s first memory after four months in a coma. But hey, other than that …

  Sean waved back as Oliver and Serena followed the hostess, a young high school girl, to a table tucked away in a quiet corner. Just as he had requested. Serena wanted to eat out, but he didn’t want every other person in St. Caroline coming over to say “hello.” This was their alone time, and they needed it. Or he needed it, at least.

  No sooner were they seated than Sean himself brought over two sparkling glass flutes of rosé champagne. He wasn’t a champagne kind of guy—well, what guy was?—but he had called the restaurant that morning to ask Sean to bring some over when they arrived.

  “On the house for you two lovebirds.”

  They clinked their glasses together.

  “To us,” she said.

  “To us,” he agreed.

  Leave the cemetery back in the cemetery.

  He watched as she took a sip of the champagne. You’re the luckiest guy in the world. First, that he had ever met Serena in the first place. Second, that she—improbably enough—fell in love with him. And now third, that she was back home safe and sound. Oliver wasn’t a praying man but if he were, he’d know not to ask for anything else ever again.

  Not even another child. That was a topic both he and Serena had conspicuously avoided since she got out of the hospital—the fact that she was pregnant when the accident occurred ... the fact that she was carrying a girl.

  He took a tiny sip of champagne and pushed the thought from his mind.

  “Our honeymoon in Hawaii,” Serena said. “They greeted us at the resort with this kind of champagne. Pink.”

  Matt had suggested trying to trigger Serena’s memories by starting with something she was unlikely to forget. “Then work your way forward,” Matt advised. As much as he hated taking advice on women from his brother, he was desperate to find a way back to his old life.

  “They did,” he agreed.