normal speed.
By that time, they were passing the scene of the accident, where six police vehicles, two fire engines, a scatter of glass, and three absolutely totaled cars, each perched on its own tow-truck trailer, still marked the spot.
Abruptly, silence filled the SUV, and Seth’s ghost seemed to settle inside with them, a powerful presence touching each of them with love, and sorrow, and regret.
Melinda shivered as they drove by the remains of the vehicles and said a quick prayer for the occupants who’d been inside the twisted shells of metal.
Karen called a few minutes later, and Melinda listened in silence while her mom gave her the oft-repeated lecture on safe driving, watching out for everyone else on the road, and reminded her why parents worried so much about their kids being behind the wheel.
As if they needed any reminders.
“Your mom freaking out?” Jacob asked when she hung up, his voice so deliberately casual, it hurt her heart.
“Totally.” She blew out a breath, striving for the same tone. “And your mom says ditto everything my mom said.”
“Got it,” Jacob said.
She could hear the eye roll in his voice and knew exactly what it cost him—all of them—to respond playfully to the parental worry. The way any young adult would who’d never lost a close friend in a devastating accident.
“Mom and Nancy, too,” Christian confirmed from the back seat as he hung up his cell phone. “I could hear Eddie getting his lecture through the phone while Mom gave hers to Rick and me at the same time.” Putting on a passable imitation of Aunt Pat’s voice, he added, “Daniel, you’re to remember you hold all of our lives in your hands, son.”
“Lest I forget,” Danny said.
“Makes me glad my folks aren’t here,” Wendell commented.
“You said it, bro,” said Gabe.
“Keep thinking that, dudes,” Christian said with a smirk on his baby face. “My mom already called both of yours so they’d know you were safe in case they heard about the accident.”
“Are you kidding?” Gabe asked.
Wendell groaned. “Oh, man .”
Right on cue, both of their phones went off, sending the rest of the car into a laughing fit that dispelled the gloom that had covered the group, while Gabe and Wendell tried to hear their mothers over the noise.
Melinda imagined a comforting brush of fingers over her shoulder as Seth’s memory seemed to lift from the car.
Gabe, impatience ripe in his tone, said, “Mom, I’m a professional driver,” into his phone, which was as far as he got before his mother’s voice went audible to everyone in the car with reminders of all the professional drivers who’d died on various race courses and highways throughout history.
Not to mention friends.
“Okay, yes, I’m sorry,” Gabe said, backpedaling as fast as he could when his mother stopped to take a breath. “I know you worry.” Another pause. “Okay. I love you, too.”
Hanging up, Gabe’s level gaze and clenched jaw challenged his fellow passengers to make any snide comments. Wendell completed his own conversation, and silence rang in the car for two beats.
“Lectures delivered?” Melinda asked.
Gabe reached forward and tweaked her ear, and Wendell said, “Shut it, squirt.”
“She’s such a hypocrite,” Gabe muttered.
His entire family, including his mother, raced cars either professionally, like Gabe, or as a hobby. But Mrs. McConnell was the only one allowed to voice words of advice or caution, and only with regard to everyone else. If anyone hinted at concern for her safety, she’d set them straight in a hot minute.
Since Seth’s death, her lectures had trended toward the extreme end of the spectrum.
The guys continued to bitch and moan about the worrywart tendencies of their parental units for a few minutes, if only for form, though none of them had been surprised by the phone calls.
They’d managed to hold off the memories while waiting in the traffic backup, but they’d all been
By that time, they were passing the scene of the accident, where six police vehicles, two fire engines, a scatter of glass, and three absolutely totaled cars, each perched on its own tow-truck trailer, still marked the spot.
Abruptly, silence filled the SUV, and Seth’s ghost seemed to settle inside with them, a powerful presence touching each of them with love, and sorrow, and regret.
Melinda shivered as they drove by the remains of the vehicles and said a quick prayer for the occupants who’d been inside the twisted shells of metal.
Karen called a few minutes later, and Melinda listened in silence while her mom gave her the oft-repeated lecture on safe driving, watching out for everyone else on the road, and reminded her why parents worried so much about their kids being behind the wheel.
As if they needed any reminders.
“Your mom freaking out?” Jacob asked when she hung up, his voice so deliberately casual, it hurt her heart.
“Totally.” She blew out a breath, striving for the same tone. “And your mom says ditto everything my mom said.”
“Got it,” Jacob said.
She could hear the eye roll in his voice and knew exactly what it cost him—all of them—to respond playfully to the parental worry. The way any young adult would who’d never lost a close friend in a devastating accident.
“Mom and Nancy, too,” Christian confirmed from the back seat as he hung up his cell phone. “I could hear Eddie getting his lecture through the phone while Mom gave hers to Rick and me at the same time.” Putting on a passable imitation of Aunt Pat’s voice, he added, “Daniel, you’re to remember you hold all of our lives in your hands, son.”
“Lest I forget,” Danny said.
“Makes me glad my folks aren’t here,” Wendell commented.
“You said it, bro,” said Gabe.
“Keep thinking that, dudes,” Christian said with a smirk on his baby face. “My mom already called both of yours so they’d know you were safe in case they heard about the accident.”
“Are you kidding?” Gabe asked.
Wendell groaned. “Oh, man .”
Right on cue, both of their phones went off, sending the rest of the car into a laughing fit that dispelled the gloom that had covered the group, while Gabe and Wendell tried to hear their mothers over the noise.
Melinda imagined a comforting brush of fingers over her shoulder as Seth’s memory seemed to lift from the car.
Gabe, impatience ripe in his tone, said, “Mom, I’m a professional driver,” into his phone, which was as far as he got before his mother’s voice went audible to everyone in the car with reminders of all the professional drivers who’d died on various race courses and highways throughout history.
Not to mention friends.
“Okay, yes, I’m sorry,” Gabe said, backpedaling as fast as he could when his mother stopped to take a breath. “I know you worry.” Another pause. “Okay. I love you, too.”
Hanging up, Gabe’s level gaze and clenched jaw challenged his fellow passengers to make any snide comments. Wendell completed his own conversation, and silence rang in the car for two beats.
“Lectures delivered?” Melinda asked.
Gabe reached forward and tweaked her ear, and Wendell said, “Shut it, squirt.”
“She’s such a hypocrite,” Gabe muttered.
His entire family, including his mother, raced cars either professionally, like Gabe, or as a hobby. But Mrs. McConnell was the only one allowed to voice words of advice or caution, and only with regard to everyone else. If anyone hinted at concern for her safety, she’d set them straight in a hot minute.
Since Seth’s death, her lectures had trended toward the extreme end of the spectrum.
The guys continued to bitch and moan about the worrywart tendencies of their parental units for a few minutes, if only for form, though none of them had been surprised by the phone calls.
They’d managed to hold off the memories while waiting in the traffic backup, but they’d all been
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