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Ethan comes back out, grabs the camp chair he’d been sitting in, and drags it over next to mine. He gets it so close that the arm of his chair overlaps with mine.
“You feel like talking?” he asks. He stares at the fire instead of at me.
“Only if you want to.” I don’t want him to go anywhere in his memories that will be uncomfortable or painful.
“I want to,” he replies. He closes his eyes. “I can still remember the day so vividly. I can still smell the scent of her perfume when I think about it. And I can still smell the rest of it too.”
“The rest of what?”
He doesn’t look at me. He just stares at the fire and starts to talk.
And I listen.
20
Ethan
Melanie, Mitchell’s mom, and I woke up early in the morning because we’d planned to go on a day trip, just the two of us, to a wine tasting. Essentially, it was a place that grew grapes—to call it a vineyard would be a stretch—made and sold wine, and they’d created “an experience.” Melanie had been wanting to go for a while, so I’d bought tickets for her birthday.
She settled into the car next to me, the lilac scent of her floating over to me. I’d always loved the way she smelled. Mitchell kicked his little feet in his car seat behind her and sucked on his pacifier, which we couldn’t get out of his mouth. I was afraid the kid would never speak a word, since that thing was always jammed in his mouth. But he wasn’t ready to give it up, and our pediatrician had said it could wait until he was ready, that it wouldn’t do any harm for him to keep it for now.
We stopped at Melanie’s parents’ house to drop Mitchell off. He had no problem staying with them for the day. I knew that Imogene would probably set him on the kitchen counter and let him help her bake cookies, the way they normally did. Then he would eat too many, and she’d eat too many, and they’d both walk around holding their stomachs. Mitchell couldn’t talk yet, but he was really good at filling up a diaper after he left Imogene and Derrick, every single time.
Melanie burst through their front door like she still lived there. She’d never grasped the idea that she’d been gone long enough that this wasn’t her house anymore. As far as she was concerned, this would always be her other home.
Her mom met her coming around the corner toward the kitchen and took Mitchell from her arms. “There’s my big boy! We’re going to bake cookies, you and I.” Yeah, no surprise there. “When do you think you two will be back to pick him up? I don’t want to start something we won’t have time to finish.”
Melanie looked at me, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her birthday-girl face looking fresh as a daisy. “Around dark?” she asked me.
I nodded, and we both kissed Mitchell goodbye, but Derrick was already flying him
around like an airplane while Mitchell giggled out loud. The pacifier fell out of his mouth, and Imogene swooped in, scooped it up, and washed it in the sink. She set it on the edge of the counter so he could get it when he wanted it. He would want it immediately, as soon as the airplane ride was over, I’d wager.
“Oh, honey,” Imogene said to Melanie, “remind me to give you your birthday present when you come back.”
“Why can’t I have it now?” Melanie whined with an exaggerated pout. Being an only child, it was a miracle she wasn’t spoiled rotten. Instead, she was simply adorable.
“It can wait. Now go on. Have fun!”
We got in the car again, and Melanie reached over to run her hand up my arm. “Do we have time to go back home for a few minutes?”
I shook my head, a grin on my face. “Nope.”
She fluttered her lashes at me. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I said as I put the car in gear.
“But it’s my birthday!” She sat back with a huff, but I could tell it was all pretend. She had been looking forward to this outing. I reached over and took her hand in mine.
We were almost to the state line, about an hour from home, when my phone pinged. Melanie was reading a book and she was thoroughly engrossed in it, so I picked my phone up from where I’d left it in a cup holder, and looked down at the picture and message that had come through. It was from a buddy of mine at work, and it was just something stupid. I laughed at it.
“What’s so funny?” Melanie asked.
I twisted my wrist to turn the phone in her direction. We both looked at the screen, and Melanie rolled her eyes.
I didn’t see the truck. I didn’t see anything but that picture and her comical reaction to it. I shouldn’t have even picked up the phone at all while I was driving. I should have waited until we stopped. But I had wanted to be sure that it wasn’t Imogene or Derrick calling about a problem with Mitchell. I’d tapped my phone and stared down at it, trying to read the small message accompanying the picture and—
I’d drifted into the lane of oncoming traffic.
