Friday night, and they hit every red light on the way. Stuck at one three blocks
from the gas station, Casey asked, “Do you remember Jeremy Kerns?”
“Jeremy Kerns?” William echoed. “Why are you bringing him up?”
“The van right in front of us has his name on the back window. His birth and death
dates.”
“Oh, yeah.” William squinted at the decal. “Didn’t he die over Christmas break last
year? I think he was a grade below us.”
“He did and he was. I heard it was an accident on the ski slopes, during a family
vacation,” Casey said.
“Well, that’s more plausible than what I heard,” William replied.
“And what did you hear, my husband?” Casey asked with a grin, already bracing for
something dumb.
“Um.” William hesitated. “It probably wasn’t true, so... forget I said anything.”
Casey slapped his arm. “You shouldn’t keep secrets from your wife, Mr. Further.”
“It’s not a secret, Mrs. Further,” he said. “Just a made-up story passed around by
teenage boys. I never believed it anyway.”
“Okay, don’t tell me. But I’ll get it out of you eventually,” Casey teased.
“Will you now?”
“Of course. Dhalia Doodles has her methods for extracting information,” she said in
a flawless Russian accent.
“Can I ask you something?” William asked.
“Sure, I may even provide a real answer,” Casey joked.
The light turned green. As they approached the final turn before the gas station,
William asked, “Were you nervous today?”
“Nervous? No. I've felt like I’ve lived through this wedding a thousand times