This Reminds Me of Us

by Julia Gabriel

  But she overcorrected and lost control of the car.

  That’s where the memory ended. But she knew what happened next—the car collided with the white oak tree.

  She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel of the new minivan, her body shaking uncontrollably. Thank god no one told Angie about the accident.

  For a night with no calls so far, the station was barely-controlled mayhem. The department’s “committees”—Oliver always used that term loosely—were meeting to finalize plans for the annual Fireman’s Carnival at the end of the month. For St. Caroline residents, the carnival marked the official start of the summer season.

  “Just put me wherever you need me,” Oliver shouted, then closed his father’s office door behind him.

  “You have plans from the architect already?” His father looked up from his computer screen.

  “Well, not final plans. There’s a process here. So what we have now is the program.” Oliver put air quotes around the word. “It’s a preliminary list of proposed spaces and sizes.” Oliver dropped the printout in front of his father.

  “Oh, okay.”

  “It’s based on the meeting we had with him and some additional input I gave him.”

  His father flipped through the pages. “I see the community room is on here.”

  “We need one, Dad. Come on. If we have a nicer one in the new facility, you could repurpose the old one here.”

  Tim Wolfe toggled his head back and forth, considering the idea. “Maybe.”

  Oliver bit back an exasperated sigh. You’re dealing with a Wolfe here. Stubborn to the bone.

  “Mom always said you were stubborn to the bone.”

  “Your mother was occasionally right.”

  Always right.

  Oliver had no intention of getting in the middle of an argument between his mother and father right now. His head was still reeling from the news that Serena had been headed to Talbot College when the accident occurred.

  “Well, take a look at it and give me your feedback.” His phone buzzed in the pocket of his black pants. He pulled it out. It was Serena.

  “Hey there,” he answered as he backed out of his father’s office.

  “Ollie?” Her voice was faint and shaky.

  “Serena? What’s wrong? Where are you?”

  Thoughts of everything that could possibly be wrong rushed his head. His father looked up from the architect’s program, a worried expression on his face.

  “I’m at the accident site.”

  “Why?” His hand trembled.

  “I was on my way home from the Open House. It’s on the way.”

  “I know, but … are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. But I need someone to come pick me up. I don’t think I should drive the rest of the way home.”

  “You didn’t have another accident, did you?” Oliver started to pace back and forth.

  “No. But I remembered the accident. I know what happened, Ollie.”

  She remembered the accident. That was good! Or wait … how much did she remember?

  “I’m okay, Ollie. I’m just too shaken to drive home.”

  “I’ll be right there, babe. Don’t move.” He leaned back into his father’s office. “Dad, is Jack home tonight?”

  “Is everything alright?”

  “Serena remembers the accident. Is Jack home?”

  “I assume so. Becca is babysitting your kids.”

  Oliver ran from the station, leaving its carnival mayhem behind. He was headed toward his own mayhem—the thing he had wanted to happen. And the thing he had dreaded happening.

  Jack was waiting in the driveway when he got to his father’s house. His brother and new bride were still living there, for the time being. The official reason was for them to save money. The unofficial reason was to keep their dad from coming home to an empty house each night.

  “Dad called.” Jack opened the door and hopped into the passenger seat of Oliver’s SUV. “Why’s Serena at the accident site?”

  “She was driving home from the college. It’s on the way. I don’t know the whole story yet. But she said she remembers what happened. And she knows where she was headed that day. To an earlier Open House at the school.” Oliver backed the car down the driveway. “She didn’t have an affair with Ben Wardman.” Even he could hear the note of defensiveness in his voice.

  Jack held up his hands. “Hey, man. I never thought she did.”

  Right. No one else thought she did. It was only ever me.

  Oliver drove faster than the speed limit and hoped no one recognized him and Jack. EMTs speeding—not a good look. But he needed to get to Serena quickly.

  He spotted the minivan immediately, even in the fading light of dusk. It was stopped on the other side of the road, well away from that damn tree. Gravel on the shoulder sprayed as he pulled an expert U turn and slammed on the brakes.

  A million memories marched through his mind—that moment when he recognized the crumpled car as his own, the heart-stopping fear that the boys were in the back seat, the utter helplessness he’d felt while other men cut his wife from the vehicle.

  The memories were fighting with what he was seeing right now. The car intact. Upright. On the other side of the road from the tree, which would always look menacing to him. This time, he knew the boys weren’t in the car. They were safe at home with Becca.

  He got out and ran to the minivan—and this time, no one held him back. This time, his lovely wife stepped down from the driver’s seat before he even got there. He lifted her up off her feet and swung her around once before setting her back down. He heard Jack driving away.

  “That was quite the driving maneuver there,” she said.

  “You make me do crazy things. Crazy, idiotic things.” He cupped her cheeks in his palms, amazed still—after all these years—that she had consented to marry him.

  “I would never cheat on you, Oliver. I love you. I love the life we have together.”

  He leaned down to kiss her, but stopped himself at the last moment. He needed to do something else, first.

  Apologize.

  “I’m sorry that I doubted you. I was scared and feeling like nothing was under my control after the accident. After mom’s passing.”

  Now he could kiss her—kiss her the way he should have been kissing her these past months. Her lips were warm and soft, and her body melted into his. Just the way it had before they were married. Before they had kids and a house to take care of and … sorrows to share. “I needed an explanation for what happened.”

  “Now I can give you one. But it might upset you, so we should drive home first.”

  Normal Oliver knew they should do exactly that. Go home, relieve Becca of her babysitting duties (untie her, if necessary), put the boys to bed. Load the dishwasher, take out the recycling, turn out the lights.

  He locked Normal Oliver in the backseat.

  “I have a better idea.” He turned and knelt. “Climb on.”

  “Your better idea is a piggyback ride?” But she looped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. “I do make you do crazy things.”

  He jostled her a moment. “This is just the transportation.”

  He looked both ways up and down the road, then jogged with her over to the other side. He let her slide down to the ground, then led her to the base of the white oak. He sat down and pulled her down with him, wrapped his arms around her.

  “So tell me what happened.”

  And then he listened, holding Serena as she began to cry again, biting his lip to keep his own emotions under control, hugging her tighter.

  “So my mother called you to say ‘goodbye?’”

  She nodded. “I was so upset, Ollie. It wasn’t real until that moment, that she was going to die.”

  “I know, babe. I know.”

  “It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know I was in the car.”

  “She didn’t know you were headed to the college?”

  “No. I didn
’t tell anyone. I guess I should have.”

  Headlights appeared in the distance, tiny spots of light that grew until the car neared the tree, going too fast for the road. A car full of teenagers. One boy leaned his head out of the window and yelled, “Get a room!”

  “I think that’s our cue,” she said. “Are you okay to drive?”

  “Yes.” He stood and helped her to her feet. “And babe? You’re going to be a terrific teacher. St. Caroline is lucky that I convinced you to move to town.”

  She jabbed an elbow playfully into his side. “You’re incorrigible, Oliver Wolfe.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile.

  Chapter 40

  “I’m going to be in the dunk tank someday,” Mason said apropos of nothing and through a mouthful of funnel cake. He sported a powdered sugar mustache and Serena’s mind flash-forwarded to a time in the future when Mason would be able to grow real facial hair.

  Not ready for that yet.

  She handed him the rest of her own funnel cake. The oil it was fried in was making her stomach queasy. “I don’t doubt that.” If he ended up in the St. Caroline Fire Department, he probably would do a few rounds in the dunk tank every year.

  It was the last weekend in May, and the opening night of the annual Fireman’s Carnival. Oliver was off somewhere, working. She spotted Jack up ahead, dressed in the department’s Sparky the Fire Dog costume and handing out red plastic fire hats to kids. And a few adults.

  This was where she and Oliver met, at a silly game she’d been completely inept at. He’d given her a prize anyway. She still had that black and white stuffed dalmatian. She’d given him her room number. Room 222. She would long ago have forgotten that, if it weren’t for the fact that Oliver remembered it.

  She smiled. Exactly none of her life before that night had been leading her here. Yet here she was.

  And she was happy.

  “Mom?” Cam tugged at her elbow. “Is Dad in the dunk tank yet?”

  “I don’t know, bud. We’ll go check.”

  The boys needed a break from the rides anyway. After funnel cake, french fries, milkshakes … yeah, they needed some time to let their stomachs settle. She held their hands—Mason on the left, Cam on the right—as she made her way through the crowds.

  “Mom! Mom! He’s in there! Hurry!” Mason tugged at her left hand.

  “Slow down,” she said. “I need to buy some tickets.”

  She shepherded them into a line at the ticket booth, wondering whether the dunk tank still required three tickets or whether the “price” had gone up since she had dunked Oliver that first night. Behind them, the cheering grew louder, culminating in a distinct splash.

  “Dad got dunked!” Cam shouted.

  At the window, Serena squinted at the sign and then requested six tickets. The price was the same. It was probably three tickets back when Oliver, Matt, and Jack were kids.

  “No charge for you, Mrs. Wolfe,” the young firefighter inside the booth said as he slid over a strip of tickets.

  “Really?” She had her wallet out. “I don’t mind paying.”

  He shook his head. “Kids get to dunk their parents for free.” He leaned forward to speak to the boys. “Guys, the secret is to keep your eye on the metal target, not your dad. Okay?”

  Serena doubted the boys would even remember that advice by the time they got to the front of the line at the dunk tank. Or that either of them had a strong enough arm to dunk their father. She hadn’t, at the ripe old age of twenty-two. Oliver had cheated at that game for her, too. Those were quite possibly the only two times that straight arrow Oliver Wolfe had ever cheated at anything.

  When they got to the head of the line, Mason went first. He handed over his tickets in exchange for the first ball. He hefted the white ball in his hands, while the crowd chanted, “Mason. Mason. Mason.”

  Serena looked up at Oliver, wondering whether he would cheat for his sons.

  Mason’s first throw went wide, missing the metal target entirely.

  “Keep your eye on the target,” Cam advised.

  “I know.”

  Serena could hear the frustration in her older son’s voice. His second and third throws merely clipped the edge of the target, not with enough force to drop his dad into the water.

  Mason stepped dejectedly back as Cam took his place. Serena again met Oliver’s eyes. She could tell he was rethinking his parenting at the moment. His hand flirted with the release lever she knew to be beneath the narrow seat. She shook her head at him. If he didn’t do it for Mason, he shouldn’t for Cam.

  “Cam-my, Cam-my,” the crowd chanted.

  Cam looked at the ball in his hand, then looked up and squinted his eyes, his concentration fierce. Serena held her breath. The crowd’s chanting died down and she could hear Cam’s quiet voice.

  “Eye on the target.”

  Then Cam let loose with a beautiful line drive. Oliver was laughing as the seat gave way beneath him.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Oliver touched Serena’s shoulder. She was looking a little green around the gills.

  She smiled wanly. “I’m fine. Just a little … too much junk food tonight. You two go on.” She waved at the ferris wheel. “I’ll wait here with Cam.”

  Cam was still floating on cloud nine from his dunk tank triumph. But he wasn’t fond of heights. He had inherited that from the Irving side of the family.

  “Do you think … maybe?” Oliver lowered his voice so the boys couldn’t hear.

  She gave a little shrug. “I’ll go to the drugstore in the morning.”

  As he climbed into the ferris wheel seat with Mason, he tried to tamp down his hopes. The metal car swayed gently in the night air as it rose.

  “You okay, bud?”

  “Fine, dad.”

  This was the first year that Mason was tall enough to ride. The car stopped near the top as more people got on below. He glanced over at Mason, whose expression was a mix of wonder and peace. Oliver knew that feeling well. He could still remember riding the ferris wheel when he was a kid. Tonight, he enjoyed the shared moment with his son as the two of them took in the view. Out beyond the lights of the carnival and the edges of town, the countryside was dark.

  The carnival was a place to test your luck. He’d gotten very lucky the year he met Serena Irving. He had known pretty quickly that he wanted to marry her. His was not an impulsive nature, but falling in love with Serena had never felt like a decision at all—much less an impulsive one. It felt more like he had been waiting for a woman like her—so when she showed up, there was really no decision to be made.

  He peered down at the ground. Cam was engrossed in a nearby game of chance that some older kids were playing. But Serena’s face was lifted toward the sky. She waved. He waved back.

  He had almost lost her. Twice. Once to an accident and once to his own stupidity.

  “Your mom is a good woman,” he said to Mason, as the car began to move again.

  “I know.” In Mason’s voice, Oliver could hear that his son was only half paying attention to him. In fairness, it was hard to compete with the view.

  “One day, you’ll meet a good woman too.”

  “Whatever, dad.”

  Epilogue

  Mason felt older.

  Well, it was his birthday so—duh. He was now officially eight years old. It was July 7th, also his dad’s birthday. He wasn’t quite clear on how old he was. Old. Maybe older than his mom? He wasn’t sure on that, either.

  But no matter. He was eight and going into the third grade in the fall. It just seemed older than seven. A lot older. Second grade was still kind of young. Like kindergarten, first grade, and second grade were the baby years of school. But third grade? That’s almost fourth grade.

  He glanced over at his younger brother, strapped into the minivan next to him. It wasn’t fair that Cam was basically as tall as he was. Although Mason was pretty sure he was growing too. He wiggled his new Converse high tops. If he concen
trated really hard, he could almost feel his leg bones stretching.

  Two plastic-wrapped bunches of flowers lay across Cam’s lap. They were driving to Ocean City for a week’s vacation. The beach! Cotton candy! Saltwater taffy! He couldn’t believe Cam didn’t remember what saltwater taffy was.

  But first, they were stopping at the cemetery to put flowers on Nana’s grave. Cam was nervous about going to the cemetery, because they hadn’t been before. Mason had the impression, though, that his parents were going on a regular basis. Of course, they had to if they wanted to talk to Nana.

  Mason could talk to her almost every night. So he wasn’t the least bit nervous, not even when his dad pulled the minivan through the fancy iron gates and row after row of gravestones came into view.

  Okay, well maybe that made him a teeny bit nervous. There were an awful lot of gravestones. That meant an awful lot of dead people who were probably hanging around downtown, talking to their grandkids.

  They walked along a path, and Mason eyed the stones as they passed. Some of them were so old you could barely make out the names and dates. But if he squinted, he could see 1792. Then 1845. 1871. 1923. Man, he knew St. Caroline was old, but …

  “When are we gonna get there?” Cam’s voice interrupted the scenery.

  “Almost there, bud,” his dad answered.

  After a few more minutes, his parents stopped in front of a grave that looked newer. “Angela Jane Wolfe,” it said. That was Nana.

  “Is this it?” Cam asked.

  “Yes, this is it.” His dad unwrapped the flowers and handed one bunch to Cam and the other to Mason. “You guys put the flowers on.”

  “Where?” Cam looked from the flowers to the grave and back again.

  “Just right there. On the ground.” His dad pointed at the grass.

  “How will Nana know they’re here?”