The Wreck by Marie Force Page A

looking for in others but had never found again. Oh yes, he remembered
her.
    He went out of his way not to ask his
parents about her, so he had no idea what her life was like today. Even as he
told himself he didn’t want to know, he knew he was lying. He wanted to know
everything, and that desire to know had been growing stronger over the last few
months. Why now? After all these years, why has the longing set in
now?
    Tossing Dr. Pellingrino’s business card
into the drawer that served as his Rolodex, Brian stood and went over to the
credenza. He picked up the picture of Sam on the rope swing at the lake. Taken
in by his brother’s laughing face, Brian wondered if anyone ever thought as
they smiled for a photograph that someday a particular instant caught on film
would be all that was left of them. Between the picture of Sam and the one of
Brian with his parents at his law school graduation was the group photo from
the junior prom. Putting Sam down, he picked up the other one and studied it
for a long time, for once giving himself permission to remember, to feel, to
wish, and to regret.
    For the first time in years, he slid the
back off the frame and removed a second picture, the one he had hidden under
the group shot. These two and the picture of Sam were the only photos he had
taken with him when he left home. Brian’s arms were around Carly from behind.
Her hands rested on his, the corsage he had given her decorated her wrist, and
her auburn curls fell over shoulders left bare by a peach dress. Her pleased,
contented smile said there was nowhere in the world she’d rather be than in his
arms.
    He missed her. The feeling came over him like
a tidal wave, leaving him stupid and weak with need. Yesterday, in the
courtroom, when the jury foreman had said the word he had waited months to
hear— guilty —the first person he’d wanted to tell was Carly. He had tried
hundreds of cases and heard that word many, many times before, but this was the
first time he had wanted—no, needed —to share it with her. Why? Why
now?
    It’s got to be the anniversary of the
accident , he reasoned,
taking a long last look at the picture before he returned it to its hiding place
and put the frame back together. There’ve been fifteen anniversaries. Why
should this one be so different? He couldn’t answer that question nor could
he explain the sudden overwhelming yearning for what used to be.
    He pulled his wallet from his pocket. As
he eased the piece of paper from the compartment where he kept it, he told
himself that doing this—especially in his current state of mind—was a mistake.
The vellum had grown soft with age, the folds sharp and pronounced. He opened
it carefully, afraid not just of what it said but what it still had the power
to make him feel. Every dream I’ve ever had begins and ends with you. No
matter how much time passes, if you want to come home, I’ll be here. I love you
always. Only you. Her voice, her essence filled him so completely it was as
if he had last seen her only five minutes ago.
    “Pointless,” he said out loud as he put
the paper away. “This is pointless.” As he returned the wallet to his back
pocket, he vowed to carry on as he had for fifteen years and to keep the past
where it belonged. His determination to move forward, to continue putting one
foot in front of the other, had gotten him this far, and it couldn’t fail him
now.
    Like a man on a mission, he quickly
disposed of the third stack of paper. He wrote checks for the overdue bills and
dug around in his top drawer until he found some stamps. It took another hour
to go through his e-mail. When there was nothing left to clean, he collected
the huge assortment of discarded clothes that were piled on the sofa where he
had spent many a recent night, jammed them into his gym bag, and set the posted
bills with the bag by the door.
    Returning to his desk, he picked up his
cell phone and was almost surprised to find he still had service after