Page 10 of After the End
He laughed before turning to a grinning Soup, who was following right behind them. “You’re driving.”
“As the alternate husband—”
“You’re not.” He cut Soup off as he opened the cab door and put Rory on her feet. She caught her balance and shoved her hair out of her eyes, having lost her helmet somewhere along the way. Despite being sooty and disheveled, she was still the most gorgeous person he’d ever seen.
“Alternate husband?” she repeated, climbing into the cab.
Ian quickly followed her in. They were so close to making a getaway, and he didn’t want any last-minute delays. “Ignore Soup.”
“Okay. That’ll be easy. I’ve had lots of practice.”
Soup, settling in the driver’s seat, gave them both a mock-offended glare.
Laughing, Ian pulled the door shut behind him, waving at the people pouring out of the church.
Soup reached over to activate the lights and siren before easing away from the curb. “I feel like I’m driving a parade float.”
Ian looked at Rory. “Hey, wife.”
She gave one of her rare, beautiful smiles. “Hey, husband.”
That sounded so good coming from Rory, the woman he’d loved since he was a kid, the woman he thought he’d never be lucky enough to touch—much lessmarry—that he just had to kiss her.
Despite the soot, and the lingering smell of smoke, and their heavy bunker gear, and the blare of the siren, their wedding day couldn’t have been more perfect.
Summer
George turned off of the forest service road, driving slowly so as not to shift the load of firewood filling the bed of his pickup. The loaded truck protested if he pushed it over forty miles an hour, so he kept a light foot on the accelerator even as he tapped his thumbs on the wheel, impatient for the drive to be over. Finally, the sign for their county road appeared, and he slowed to turn.
The gravel road was worn and desperately needed grading. The potholes and washboard pattern forced him to keep the truck at a crawl despite his impatience. Trees thickened on either side of the road, and the late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the pine and aspen branches to dapple his pickup, warming his shoulder and arm through the open window. He loved summer in the mountains. It was quick, but it was sweet while it lasted.
After the next curve in the road, his neighbor’s mailbox came into view, and his mouth turned down at the corners. Mrs. Johnson had passed away a few weeks ago, and grief still hit him every time he drove past her place. There was a black SUV parked in the driveway that had been there since her funeral. George figured it must be one of Mrs. Johnson’s children. Before she died, George used to plow the driveway and do odd jobs for her. When he’d finished his work, she would feed him pie and tell him about her son and daughter, both of whom lived in Denver. George had gotten a brief glimpse of them at Mrs. Johnson’s service, but they’d kept to themselves—as did George.
As George slowly drove past, a man stepped out from behind the SUV and waved him down. Grimacing, George pulled to a stop next to him. He hated talking to people, especially strangers. He’d gotten slightly better at it since he’d met Ellie, but he’d still prefer to have a tooth or two pulled without painkillers than make small talk. Bracing himself, George pushed the button to lower the passenger-side window.
“Hey,” the man said, leaning his folded arms on the bottom of the window and sticking his head into the truck. George gritted his teeth. The guy was already too close for George’s comfort. He appeared to be in his forties, with an excessively white smile and dark hair that was slicked back with something that made it look greasy. “I’m Larry Johnson, Bev’s son. I’m here packing things up.”
He paused, as if waiting for George to respond, but George had absolutely nothing to say to that. He wished Ellie were there. She knew exactly how to handle situations like these, smoothing over awkward moments and always saying the right thing.
After a lengthy silence, Larry cleared his throat and continued. “Did you know Mom?”
George tipped his head in a slight nod.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where the key for that shed out back is, would you? I’ve tried every one I can find, but nothing worked. The auction guy will be here tomorrow morning, and he can’t sell a locked shed full of mystery items.” Larry laughed at his own joke, and George sighed. So much for getting away after a quick, one-sided introduction.
Figuring he should just get it over with so he could get home to Ellie, George got out of the idling truck and headed for the shed.
“Wow.” Larry laughed nervously, hurrying to catch up. “You’re a big guy, aren’t you? Quiet, too. Bet you fit right in around here. Personally, I couldn’t wait to leave Simpson when I was a kid. It hasn’t changed at all in the past thirty years. As soon as all of Mom’s stuff is auctioned off, I’m listing this place with a real estate agent and running back to Denver. This is a weird place with weird people.” He gave George a sideways glance. “No offense.”
George tuned him out. He needed to open the shed and then leave. Ellie was home from work, recovering from a lingering stomach bug, and she was probably wondering where he was. He patted his pocket, checking that his cell phone was still there, and was reassured by the familiar rectangular shape. If she needed him, she’d text or call.
He had to hold back a smile. A year and a half ago, he never would’ve thought that he’d be carrying a cell phone in case hiswifewanted to get a hold of him.
Crossing the backyard, George was struck by another pang of sadness. Even though Mrs. Johnson hadn’t been gone long, the property already had a slightly neglected look about it. The flowers on the back deck flopped, brown and shriveled, over the sides of their pots, and weeds had sprouted between the pavers that led from the house to the shed.
As Larry continued yapping about something that George didn’t care much about, he found the fake rock and flipped it over, pulling out the shed key.
“Seriously?” Larry sounded annoyed. “Why not put it on the ring with the others?”
