“I said yes.”
“I know why,” he whispers, the scent of turkey wafting off of him.
“Oh, please do tell, Watson.”
“You made a mistake yesterday.” He turns the car on, and without hesitation, he speeds down the drive, probably afraid I might change my mind. The only thing I’d even worry about is Lark, and I know she will be fine.
“I never make mistakes,” I reply, and then I dig out my phone and strap on my seatbelt.
“You’re right—this was no mistake.”
I pause and look at him. The male species handbook specifically stated how to and not to handle those of the Y chromosome.
Rule number ten—if they agree, you’ve pushed too far and did something wrong.
“Can you repeat yourself?” I shift in my seat until I can look him in the eye, or as much as I can as he treats this back road like a speedway. Vin Diesel he is not.
“You are right,” he repeats, then continues, “You called the B&B home.”
“I—” My brow wrinkles as I mentally flip through the picture book that was yesterday in my mind. There it is, me in his sweats as I kept calling the B&B home. I asked him to take me home. I thump back in my seat, staring out at the foliage heavy with the warm hues of fall. Even I can surprise myself from time to time. “I did.”
“Yep,” he replies, reaching across the console for my hand, which he grabs and squeezes gently. “Tell me something about yourself.”
“What?”
“Well, we have a few hours’ drive to a haunted winery. I figure we could chat or?—”
“Sing?” I suggest.
“If you want to sing, then you may sing, Birdie.” He gestures to the radio. “I don’t know what she has in there. It could be anything from Enya to Nine Inch Nails. You never know what you will get from Sera.”
“Oh, I want to take a gamble.” I flip through the compartments, finding a CD collection, but I want to know what she has in, so I press the CD release and find… “This is unexpected.”
“I told you, you just never know what you’re going to get from Sera.” He grabs the CD and looks at the cover of a naked swimming baby. “Nirvana.”
“I’m rather fond of Nirvana myself.” I set the CD aside. “But I believe you asked a very important question.”
“I did.” He seeks my hand, threading his fingers through mine and making my heart skip a few beats.
“All right. I was a straight A student.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, try again.”
“Fine.” I nibble my lip as snowflakes dust the windshield. Déjà vu strikes me before I tell him the one thing that haunts me to this day. “I don’t remember my parents.”
“What?” Arlo swerves a little in his shock, and I reach out to slap the steering wheel.
“Eyes on the road!” I let go when he bats my hands away. “I remember little bits and pieces, mostly just the feeling of love, but I don’t remember her scent, I don’t remember the timbre of my father’s voice, or the way they’d he ld me as my gram assured me they did.” I clear my throat of the emotion building there as Arlo reaches for my hand once more. “All I remember is Gram. I remember her being there for Robin and me for every milestone, scraped knee, and school event. It was always Gram, and a part of me hates my parents for that.”
“I think” —Arlo glances at me, then the road— “that is a normal feeling.”
“I know, and somewhere deep inside me, logic tells me that, but they should have been there for us over the years and they weren’t, and I feel like a spoiled child by not realizing that wasn’t their fault. Their death was accidental, but no matter how many times I tell myself that, I can’t accept it.” I heave out a breath, enjoying the silence that stretches between us for a moment.
Arlo squeezes my hand once in support, but the dam is now shattered.
“I don’t want to forget Eric. Not like Mom and Dad. I don’t want to wake up one day and not remember the scent of his cologne or the way he laughed at Lark. I don’t want to forget the kindness he gave us each day, while I worry that he never knew how much I loved him. How much he meant to me.” I sniffle and glance out the window, brushing away my tears as they spill over my lashes.
“He knows,” Arlo whispers. “They know.” Before I can say something snarky back to him, he continues, “I’m not a religious man, Birdie, but I believe there is something so much more than the life we lead. When we die, we feel all that love from those we cared for. I don’t believe for one second it’s the end, and I believe that Eric, your parents, and my father know how much we loved them, and they are just hanging out wherever they may be, watching over us like guardians.”
