Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kemp
When Oliver woke up just before dawn the next day, I was lying awake, waiting for him, my mind spinning and a plan taking shape.
With Mac and Baxter at my feet like my personal support squad, I changed Oliver’s diaper, gave him his bottle, and dressed him in one of the countless outfits Anna had bought him.
“You ready to go on an adventure, buddy?” I said as I put his baby sneakers on.
“Ahh-ya-ya,” Oliver said with his usual postbottle morning exuberance, his little finger pointing at me.
“Ahh-ya-ya back at ya,” I said, grinning at him.
Oliver was the one thing that had made me smile at all for the past day and a half. He’d been in my life for less than two months, and I had no idea how I’d ever lived without him.
After feeding the dogs and letting them outside, packing a bag of Cheerios for Oliver, and filling a travel mug with coffee, I bundled us both up in warm jackets. Once I buckled him into his car seat, I grabbed an old tarp from the garage and tossed it in the back of the SUV.
The sun was just starting to lighten the sky as I backed out of the driveway. Minutes later, I pulled into the cemetery drive on the outskirts of town, drove the familiar route to the section my parents were buried in, and parked along the side of the road.
In the years since my parents’ deaths, I’d made a point of coming out here every few months.
At first, I’d taken Natalie with me, hoping to help us both process our grief and spend time remembering them.
She’d stopped coming with me a few years back, saying she preferred other ways of remembering our parents.
I’d accepted that but kept coming myself, drawn to the silence and the relative peace under the branches of the ancient oak tree that towered above, the lush foliage shading their plots from spring to fall.
Today, the branches were still barren, but they stretched out over this part of the cemetery. It comforted me to think the tree protected their graves and watched over them, even though the logical side of my brain knew they no longer needed protection.
I removed Oliver from his seat, grabbed the baby bag, and took the tarp out of the trunk. The trek to their graves was short, but the ground was in need of maintenance after the winter. Branches and dried leaves littered the way.
As we reached my parents’ graves, I set the diaper bag and the tarp to the side and crouched down with Oliver in front of the double headstone.
“These are your grandparents, Ollie-O,” I said quietly.
I ran my finger over first my mother’s name, then my father’s.
“Sally Essex. Ron Essex.” Grief bubbled up in my chest and made my voice go hoarse.
“They would’ve adored you, sweet boy.” I shook my head, a bittersweet smile breaking through. “They would’ve spoiled you good.”
Oliver mimicked my action and ran his index finger over the gravestone. He had no way of understanding any of this, but it had me so up in my feelings it was hard to swallow.
“Mom and Dad, this is your amazing grandson, Oliver.” My vision blurred from unshed tears. “I don’t know why it took me so long to bring him out here. I know you’re always with us, and you already knew him, but I feel closer to you here.”
I remained crouched there for several minutes, until Oliver became squirmy and my knees screamed at me.
I stood and carried the bag and tarp to the foot of the gravesite, where there was a concrete bench.
I spread the tarp at my feet and set Oliver down with a couple of toys, hoping he’d be occupied for at least a few minutes so I could work through the thoughts that had been storming through my head since Ryder’s visit last night.
As I unpacked the plush stable and two of the horses, I shook my head, remembering Ryder’s smug-ass grin when my son had been fixated on the farm toys instead of the fire truck.
“I guess we all have to make our own choices, huh, big guy?” I said to my son.
He seemed to have figured that out before I had.
Though I also set out his teething penguin and a cloth book, he predictably went straight for the dark brown horse.
Oliver sat between my feet, focused on his horse. Although he’d started rocking on his hands and knees a few days ago, he wasn’t crawling yet, so I was able to get lost in my thoughts without worrying he’d get into trouble.
The primary point of my visit hadn’t been to introduce my boy to my parents, but that spontaneous moment packed a hell of a chest punch. I imagined what it would be like if my parents were still in the physical realm and able to meet him face-to-face.
“Damn,” I said to myself, overcome with a new slew of emotions.
I picked up Oliver and set him on my thigh, my palm supporting his belly.
I appreciated having the comfort of another living, breathing soul against me.
He was a busy guy this morning, holding out his horse to me, putting it back in his mouth, acting as if he was determined to bite the muzzle all the way off to see how the insides tasted.
“Ahh, Ollie-O. Your grandma would’ve doted on you and showered you with toys, clothes, and love.
When you’re a little older, she’d make you her award-winning pecan-pie cookies and her southern fried chicken.
” I closed my eyes momentarily, letting out something between a laugh and a sob.
Oliver craned his neck to look at me, as if he’d never heard the sound before.
That pulled me closer to the laughing side.
I kissed his head, lingering to inhale the scent of his baby shampoo.
“I wonder whether she would’ve wanted to be called Nana, Grandma, or something else. ”
“Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba!” Oliver hollered.
“That sounds like a vote for Nana.” I wrapped both arms around his front and pulled him tight against me.
“Your grandpa…” Shit. Another wave nearly took me under as my dad’s face became clear in my mind’s eye.
“You would’ve been the light of his eye.
” I swallowed around the ball of emotion.
“He probably would’ve already taken you to see the ladder truck at the station.
There’s a picture of me a little younger than you, in my dad’s lap, the two of us sitting in the driver’s seat. ”
There were dozens more photos of me at different ages, climbing on the trucks, in the back of the ambulance, trying on my dad’s huge helmet. They outnumbered school photos in our house.
“Your grandpa loved being a firefighter and a father. You would’ve loved him as much as he’d love you,” I said with complete confidence. “He was a good dad. The best. He taught me how to throw a football and ride a bike and fish.”
I realized I was smiling as I remembered the time I caught the biggest fish of the day and had the photo to prove it. I must’ve been about five, and the smallmouth bass hanging on my line was nearly half my height as I held it up for the camera.
“I’m gonna teach you to fish as soon as you’re old enough,” I told my son.
“And all the other things my dad taught me. And I guess we can go horseback riding too someday,” I said begrudgingly, grinning at the thought of my son growing into a person with his own interests, even if they were Ryder-influenced.
The conversation with Anna’s brother came back to me.
It was what had me lying awake most of the night, looking at things from the perspective of a father.
His comments compelled me to visit the cemetery first thing this morning, before work at the brewery, before dropping Oliver off at Quincy and Knox’s.
What he’d said about my dad wanting me to be happy first and foremost had dug in and taken root in my brain.
With Oliver in my arms, I stood and walked around the graves to the headstone again.
I squatted back down. “Dad, I’ve loved sharing something so dear to you.
Firefighting, just like you and Mom, has been foundational in my life, in shaping who I am, in developing my values.
I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything, especially the years we got to work together.
But I think… I think I need to choose a different path now.
” My voice cracked. “Firefighting was the right thing for me out of high school and for a lot of years after that, but…everything’s changed.
By some miracle, I’m a father now myself. ”
“Baaaaa!” Oliver’s outburst, as if emphasizing my point, made me laugh through tears again.
“I’ve got the best little boy in the world.
And Anna…” I sucked in a slow breath, fighting off the fear that I might not have Anna anymore.
“You and Mom loved Anna, and she loved you guys. I think you’d be happy for us…
” If there was still an us… I cleared my throat.
“I’m hoping we can make a family, the three of us.
But I don’t think I can do them justice if I’m working two jobs.
It’s not fair to Anna or Oliver. It’s not fair to the fire department or the people we serve.
By trying to do everything, I’m failing at all of it, Dad. But I think…”
My heart raced, and my lungs felt like they seized up. I raised my gaze from the names on the stone, and the big, protective oak tree came into my view. Then my vision dimmed as an image filled my mind’s eye—Anna, Oliver, and me. My loved ones. My family.
“I think you’d agree that the most important thing is to be a good father and a good partner,” I said.
I nodded as that truth sank into my cells.
“That’s what I want more than anything. And now I can see it.
That’s what you’d be most proud of. That and we’re making some damn good beer at the brewery. ” I laughed quietly.
Again my aching knees had me standing. Oliver had started squirming, so I carried him back to the tarp, set him down with his toys, and sat back on the bench, feeling…clearer. Lighter. A thousand times lighter.
The peace of the early morning made its way into my consciousness.
I embraced it and let it seep into my weary soul and recharge me.
The air out here was brisk, enlivening, invigorating.
I breathed it in for the next few minutes, wrapping my head around my new impending check list—the to-do list that, God willing, would allow me to build a future with Anna and Oliver.