The Fireman Finds a Wife

by Felicia Mason

  “Hey.”

  She scrambled out of the car and wrapped him in a hug.

  “Cam, I’m so sorry about Mickey.”

  Still numb, Cameron merely nodded. “What are you doing out here?”

  Summer reached into the back seat and retrieved a small handled basket. “I made cookies for you,” she said, offering him the basket.

  Standing in the street, Cameron just stared at it, then he shook his head and hurried up the walkway.

  Summer followed. He didn’t bar her entry into the house. She set the basket of cookies on the kitchen counter and found Cameron standing in the living room staring at the floor.

  “Cam?”

  “He had everything done,” Cameron said.

  Summer came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

  Cameron didn’t shrug it off, but neither did he lean into the embrace. “Financial bills settled, funeral arrangements made. He saw to it all. All I had to do was sign a few papers. The funeral will be on Wednesday in Raleigh.”

  “Can I get you something?” Summer asked. “A cup of tea? A cookie?”

  Cameron dropped his keys on the coffee table, the sound loud in the stillness.

  “Cookies won’t make it better, Summer.”

  The words, harsh, cold and brutal, struck her like a blow.

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she refused to cry.

  Summer took a deep breath. Grief. This was something she knew a bit about. He was grieving for his friend. It wasn’t personal.

  Intellectually she understood that he wasn’t rejecting her. She’d done what she always did when stressed: she’d baked. Preparing a basket of cookies for Cameron was balm for her, and she’d hoped it would be received as a measure of solace for him, baked and presented in the spirit of love.

  “This is the hour of the butterfly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing. Just something I heard Mickey say once that made me smile.”

  Summer settled on the sofa to wait out this phase of mourning with him.

  “Summer, it’s late. Go home.”

  She bit her lower lip. “All right, Cam,” she said, standing. “I’m truly sorry about Mickey.”

  When he said nothing at all, Summer, who was no stranger to grief, bit her lip. She hurt for him but also knew that this was a path he had to walk alone. She could be there for him, and would be, but now he needed time to grieve in his own way.

  * * *

  Her mother took the news about Mickey with a calmness that surprised Summer, given the way Lovie had reacted when she heard how sick he was.

  “Michael had made his peace with God,” Lovie said.

  Summer would have asked how she knew that, but the doorbell rang and a couple of her mother’s friends from the Women’s Club arrived for a committee meeting. After greeting the ladies, Summer slipped out the door to head to a florist shop on Main Street to order flowers for Mickey’s service.

  Knowing how overwhelming grief and mourning could be, Summer let Cameron know that she was there for him, thinking of him and praying for him. On some level she knew he hadn’t meant to rebuff her the way he had. Nevertheless, it stung. And she wondered if in her own grief after her husband’s death she, too, had unintentionally hurt the feelings of a friend or neighbor.

  This Sunday was supposed to be when Cameron went to service with her at First Memorial. Lovie Darling had talked her daughter into inviting Cameron to join them for Sunday dinner after church and he’d agreed. But that was before...

  As Saturday dragged on, Summer eventually gave in and called him. The phone rang straight to voice mail. When she drove out to his house, the driveway where his Lexus was usually parked was empty.

  But a few minutes before eleven o’clock Sunday morning, as she entered the doors of First Memorial with her sisters and her mother, she saw him.

  Cameron was wearing a dark blue suit and had deep circles under his eyes. He looked emotionally exhausted and Summer’s heart went out to him.

  He broke into a smile when he saw her, and her heart did a flip-flop in her chest. She held out her hand and he joined them.

  But it was Lovie who stepped forward, taking both of his hands in hers. “I am so sorry for your loss,” she told him.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  There wasn’t time for more as the service was about to begin.

  Cameron sat on the end of the pew on the aisle, with Summer next to him. She studied him as the congregation recited a call to worship.

  This wasn’t quite how she had envisioned his first visit to her home church.

  She wondered if he found First Memorial’s worship service stuffy compared to the contemporary and upbeat services of The Fellowship. At First Memorial, they sang songs from the sacred hymn book, exactly three of them. At his church, the words to contemporary Christian songs were beamed on large television screens in the main sanctuary where a six-piece band accompanied the pianist who played an electric keyboard instead of a one-hundred-year-old pipe organ. Tambourines and “amens” rang out in the congregation at The Fellowship, while at First Memorial, the only sound from the congregants might be the occasional cough or a “shh” from the parent of a cranky child.

  Mostly, though, as the service progressed, Summer wondered if Cameron needed more time alone. Dinner at her mother’s might be too much too soon.

  Summer knew he’d taken the death of Mickey Flynn hard—even though he’d known it was coming. A story in Saturday’s paper out of Raleigh featured a story on Flynn, who had trained three generations of firefighters.

  She squeezed his hand and Cameron looked down at it on the pew.

  Dr. Graham’s sermon that morning was on forgiveness. It was a subject that Cameron decided had been special-ordered just for him. He felt convicted. Grief was no excuse for rudeness.

  He’d been both rude and mean to Summer whose only crime was offering comfort to him. So the last thing he expected or anticipated was being embraced by the Darling women. But they were all treating him as if he might break.

  When he’d spotted Summer with her sisters and their mother, it was like watching five beauty pageant contestants walking down the aisle, each one, including their mother, beautiful and striking in her own way. But he had eyes only for Summer.

  Mickey was right. Summer was a woman worth fighting for.

  Cameron had lost Mickey. And now, due to his own actions, he’d hurt Summer. She was giving him a free pass. He realized that. But there was a window, a window of forgiveness and mercy.

  The words to a song sung at The Fellowship came to him: “Great is your mercy.”

  When the service concluded, Winter and Lovie were properly introduced to him.

  “We look forward to seeing you this afternoon,” Lovie said.

  “Two o’clock,” he confirmed.

  Lovie nodded. “Come on, girls,” she told Spring, Winter and Autumn. “Give them a minute alone.”

  Summer smiled.

  “I’m glad you still came,” she said.

  “Me, too. Summer, I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize for grieving.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “See you this afternoon.”

  Cameron watched her follow her mother and sisters out a side door. When he turned to head toward the entrance he’d used to enter the church, a chapel on the side of the sanctuary caught his eye. He entered the small space, his eyes on a simple crucifix on the front wall.

  Unlike the main sanctuary with its stained-glass windows and almost ornate trappings, this space was a place of quiet worship and reflection. Three pews built for no more than six people to sit comfortably were in the chapel, three on each side of the small room.
There was no pulpit or lectern in the front—just the spare crucifix on the wall.

  Cameron stared at it, then sat in the middle row. He closed his eyes and asked for forgiveness.

  “Great is your mercy, Lord. I’ve let my grief and my insecurities get in the way and I’ve managed in the process to damage the one relationship that means the world to me. Lord, You know my heart. You know I love her even though I haven’t had the courage to tell her. Please forgive me, Father. And show me the way to make things right in a way that honors You.”

  Cameron continued to pray. When he finished, he sat quietly for some time. When he finally opened his eyes and rose to go, he was surprised to see someone else in the chapel.

  “Dr. Graham.” He stepped forward and offered his hand to the pastor of the First Memorial Church.

  “I thought that was you,” said the Reverend Doctor Joseph Graham.

  He’d removed his vestments and was wearing a dark blue tailored suit with a white shirt and a tie that included flecks of gold and maroon on blue silk. Cameron guessed the suit cost more than everything he himself was wearing. He inwardly winced at the observation. Since he had been seeing Summer Spencer, he had become inordinately preoccupied with how much things cost.

  It dawned on him in that moment that he was an idiot, just like he’d told Summer.

  Of course Summer hadn’t invited him to dinner at her mother’s home. The one time she’d suggested cooking dinner for him at her house, he’d jumped to the erroneous—as always—conclusion that she was just trying to save him some money.

  “Chief Jackson? Are you all right?”

  Cameron startled as if surprised to see the minister in front of him. He pumped the man’s hand with an unexpected exuberance.

  “Yes, Dr. Graham. Yes, I am. Thank you. And thank you for your message today. That was something I needed to hear.”

  After asking God for forgiveness in the chapel at First Memorial Church, and then realizing that the issues he needed to work on were parallel to what Summer had been going through with the loss of her husband, Cameron left the church with a newfound sense of both peace and purpose.

  And he was looking forward to Sunday dinner with the Darling women.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Why can’t we listen in?” Autumn whined.

  “Because we aren’t six years old,” Spring said. “At least, some of us aren’t.”

  They were in the main kitchen at The Compound, ostensibly putting the finishing touches on a salad for the opening course of the meal, but in reality spying on their sister. Spring lived at the house, but in a wing far removed from her mother’s living space. Her own kitchen was not nearly as elaborate as her mother’s.

  The circular drive at the house looked like a luxury-car-dealer’s lot with Summer’s Mercedes-Benz, an older model one that had belonged to their father and that Lovie Darling drove occasionally to keep it running. Plus there was a BMW and a Volvo. Cameron’s Lexus brought up the rear.

  “At least he drives a decent car,” Autumn observed.

  “When did you get so shallow?” Spring asked.

  “When he messed with my sister,” Autumn said in full defensive mode.

  “Give it a rest, Autumn. You’re way too sensitive. The man just lost his best friend and mentor.”

  “That’s still no excuse for making her cry,” Autumn said petulantly.

  Spring nodded toward the gazebo near the koi pond outside where Summer and Cameron sat. “I think they’re working things out.”

  Autumn brightened. “Really? I liked him before and didn’t want him on my permanent nasty list.”

  “You keep a nasty list?”

  Autumn raised an eyebrow. “You’d be surprised.”

  Spring shook her head. “I don’t want to know.”

  * * *

  “I’m sorry, Summer,” Cameron said. “I had no right to lash out at you the way I did.”

  They sat next to each other in the gazebo that Lovie Darling had constructed as a respite from the cares of the world. As girls, Summer and her sisters had spent many an afternoon playing dolls on the floor of the structure, and much later, the gazebo was the place for chats and maybe stolen kisses with boyfriends while still under the watchful eyes of either her father or mother, who could and did monitor gazebo activity from the kitchen.

  The peaceful oasis was the model Summer had used to develop her own little backyard retreat at the house on Hummingbird Lane. Instead of a gazebo, she had her reflecting bench.

  “It’s all right, Cam. I understand. We all respond to grief in different ways.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not all right. After you and your family left the church today, I stayed behind for a bit. I found that little chapel off the main sanctuary.”

  “The prayer chapel,” Summer said.

  Cameron nodded. “And that’s what I did, Summer. I had a revelation,” he said.

  She glanced over at him waiting for him to voice it.

  “I have some issues,” he admitted. “Things that it will take me a while to get comfortable with.”

  “Like the fact that my family is wealthy?”

  He nodded. “Yes. That’s one. The other is occasionally jumping to conclusions. I’ve asked the Lord to help me with those things. And I’m asking you to be patient with me as I become a better man.”

  * * *

  In the kitchen, Spring nudged Autumn. “See. Told you they’d work it out.”

  Summer and Cam were holding hands as they walked back to the house.

  Autumn grinned. “Do you think we’ll eventually get a wedding out of this? I’m ready to be a bridesmaid for one of you.”

  Spring shook the salad dressing she’d created with oil, vinegar and fresh dried herbs from Lovie’s solarium gardening endeavors.

  “A few minutes ago, he was on your nasty list. Now you’re ready to witness vows and then throw rice at them?”

  Autumn shrugged and snagged a carrot. “If he makes Summer happy, I’m happy.”

  Spring watched her sister and the fire chief. “It may be a little early to be talking about weddings.”

  * * *

  Dinner wasn’t the tortured affair that Spring had described, that Summer feared, or that Cameron anticipated.

  It began in a cozy parlor with small talk and a salmon mousseline on small, thin slices of a crusty toast. Cameron could have made a meal out of the hors d’oeuvres served by Summer. Luckily, he hadn’t been raised by wolves, and despite the desire to reach for the plate, he restricted himself to just two.

  “I have something that I’d like to give you, Chief Jackson,” Mrs. Darling told him.

  Cameron didn’t quite know what to make of that.

  She went to a side table and returned with a photograph.

  “I thought you might like to have this,” she said, handing him the small snapshot.

  It was of Mickey. He looked to be in his early twenties and was leaning against a fire truck. “Mrs. Darling, I can’t take your photo.”

  She patted his hand. “Michael always knew what he wanted to do,” she said. “I sense you probably have a lot of Michael in you, too. This is something you should have.”

  Cameron stared at the image of his mentor, then met Lovie Darling’s gaze. “Thank you.”

  She nodded, and with that, Mrs. Darling, dressed in the yellow chiffon-enhanced suit she’d worn to church, guided them all in to dinner.

  They ate in a formal dining room on a table of dark wood and on china that complemented an exquisite table setting. If he hadn’t actually been seated at the table Cameron would have thought he was looking at a photo shoot from one of the home decorating magazines his mother loved to read. Had he been in anyone else’s home, he would have asked to take a picture of the
table with his smartphone to email to his mother. That wasn’t going to happen here. He’d have to remember the details to share with her.

  Fresh cut flowers in pale creams, pinks and delicate blues formed a centerpiece that did not impede conversation or vision. The dinner plates carried the same color scheme and had a delicate scalloped edging trimmed in gold. Cam noticed that the flatware had the heft and sheen of real silver, not the stainless steel that his own knives, forks and spoons were made of. And the goblets were cut crystal.

  Despite the luxury, the table’s occupants, including Cameron, were at ease. The dinner didn’t seem formal, but comfortable, the way a family’s Sunday meal was supposed to be.

  The Darling women were gracious Southern hostesses.

  Mrs. Darling sat at the head of the table and Cameron was opposite her. He guessed that the sisters, Summer to his right with Spring next to her, and Autumn and Winter on the opposite side, sat in the places where they’d been sitting down to supper all of their lives.

  He noticed that his chair had arms and the others didn’t. He wondered if, for some reason, he had been placed at the head of the table.

  The salad of fresh greens included arugula, spinach, diced apricot, shaved carrots and some other green Cameron didn’t recognize. It was followed by a stuffed filet of sole that had Cameron wondering how soon he could wrangle another invitation to dinner at the Darling residence.

  He lifted his water goblet to Mrs. Darling and complimented her on the dish.

  “My contribution to the meal was minimal,” Mrs. Darling said. “The girls take turns on the second Sunday.”

  “Except for Winter,” Autumn said. “You really don’t want her cooking for you.”

  “If what she does is considered cooking,” Summer said with a wink at Winter.

  “A microwave is a perfectly acceptable cooking device,” Winter said in her own defense.

  Laughter greeted that pronouncement.

  Cameron enjoyed the byplay and teasing among the sisters.

  “I have to confess,” Spring said. “You all were my guinea pigs today with the sole. I debated about what to stuff it with—crabmeat or shrimp. I was trying out a recipe for the supper club.”