“I did. I finished not too long ago. I came by to pick up the uniform I left the other day to take it home for a cleaning,” I explained.
Captain gave me a funny look. “Well?”
I lifted my eyebrows as if to say ‘well what’while I stuffed my uniform pants and shirt in my duffle bag.
“How’d it go?”
“It went well,” I answered, distracted.
He gave a short snort. “You really are the conversationalist,” he chuckled.
I returned his laugh. “I’m waiting to tell someone about my exam first before I let anyone else know.”
He gave me a nod. “That’s understandable. Well, happy ghost and goblins day!”
I paused, standing in front of the captain, giving him a look.
“So focused on the exam you forgot today’s Halloween? We’ll be pretty busy tonight. Lucky you have off. Or not so lucky. What type of firefighter wants to be off on the busy nights?” he mused to himself.
“October thirty-first,” I mumbled.
“That’s usually the day Halloween falls on.”
I blinked. “Hey, Cap, sorry, I gotta go.” I didn’t even give him a backward glance. I slammed my locker closed and hitched my duffle bag over my shoulder, rushing down the stairs and out the back entrance of the station to avoid running into anyone. I wasn’t in the mood to be held up by talk or questions of the exam.
I felt like a complete and total heel as I drove. Having checked my messages after the exam and only having one from my mother and father wishing me luck on the test, I became slightly agitated. Seeing my parents make more of an effort to support my career felt good, but I’ve grown not to need it. The one voice I did want to hear wasn’t in my voicemail. I drove to Angela’s home but got no answer when I knocked on the door. Next, I stopped by the bar but was even more surprised when she wasn’t there either. Stephanie, one of her employees, stopped by at that exact moment to prepare for this evening, and informed me that Angela had taken the night off. I tried calling more than once, but my calls went straight to voicemail. It took the captain reminding me that it was Halloween to realize what I forgot.
I pounded on the horn as drivers in front of me seemed to be taking their sweet ass time. With each passing second, my impatience grew. I’ve been so focused on my test that I completely shut out thoughts or the lives of those around me. I wouldn’t let that happen again. Not when it came to her.
I stopped at a local flower shop and picked out a small colorful bouquet, with a huge sunflower in the middle. I remember Angela told me her mother loved sunflowers. Taking the bouquet from the cashier, I made it back to my car and was once again on the road that led to the Williamsport Cemetery in record time. Ten minutes later, I parked in the lot off the cemetery and climbed out of my car. I had to ask one of the groundskeepers where the plots for Angela and Theodore Moore?Angela’s parents?were. I thanked him once he pointed me in the right direction.
The Williamsport Cemetery was divided into three sections because it was so huge, and Angela’s parents were buried about a quarter of a mile from where I parked. When I came up over a small hill, that’s when I saw her. From behind it looked as if she was sitting, cross-legged. As I grew nearer, I could see her shoulders shaking, in the telltale sign that she was crying, but doing her best to hold it together. I picked up the pace to make it to her, stopping just behind her, not wanting to intrude on her private time with her parents but also wanting to be there for her; to be her comfort just as she was mine all those late nights of studying.
Before I could announce myself, her head popped up, and she turned, looking over her shoulder. My heart slammed into my chest when I saw how red and puffy her eyes were from crying. Instinctively, I widened my arms, opening them to her, and she leapt up into them, shudders wracking her body as she cried into my chest. I squeezed her to me, holding her through her tears and pain. I only loosened my grip when her shuddering reduced to a slight tremble, and she pulled back.
“How did you know?” she asked through watery eyes.
I swiped her soft cheek with my thumb, wiping away tears. “October thirty-first. You told me.” The day her parents died on the trip they took to celebrate thirty years of marriage.
“You remembered.” Her lips trembled as she gave me a small smile. “Even with the test this morning.”
“I’d forgotten, but when the captain reminded me of the date, it came back to me.”
She dipped her head, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Thank you for coming.”
I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Of course.” I honestly didn’t know if it was the right decision or not. I thought maybe she might’ve wanted to be alone in her grief. But the idea of her grieving all alone didn’t sit well with me. I would’ve left if she wanted me to, or at least, gone back to my car to give her some privacy. But not showing up at all was totally out of the question.
“Sean usually works on this day. Says it makes him feel closer to Dad. I guess that makes sense.” Her shoulders lifted and dropped. “I come to their grave and talk to them and usually go home to bake and then eat my feelings.” Her voice hitched on the last word. She looked back at the grave, her arms still surrounding me. “Want to meet them?”
I gave her a nod when her eyes returned to me. Removing the arm holding the flowers from her waist, I held the bouquet in front of her. “I brought these for them.”
A small gasp escaped her lips. “A sunflower.” Surprise filled her tone. “Mama would’ve loved this.” She squeezed me around the neck, kissing my lips before taking my hand and walking us closer to the two graves.
Twin grey headstones stood side-by-side, both of them inscribed with the names of each of Angela’s parents. Underneath her father’s name read “Psalm 66:12.”
“God will bring you through the fire,” I stated.
Angela turned to me, forehead wrinkled. I jutted my head at her father’s headstone. “Psalm sixty-six, verse twelve. Guys around the department translate it asGod will bring us through the fire.” I wasn’t a religious guy, but some things you pick up being in my line of work.
