by Toni Draper
“The woman at the desk is here to see Ms. Mendoza. Says she’s her partner, or something like that.”
At that, Alex looked up. Confusion registered on her face, and Isa watched as the bewildered expression gave way to professionalism as she headed Sydney’s way.
“Hello, I’m Alexandra Pogue, head nurse on duty. How can I be of help?”
“Thank you, Ms. Pogue. I’m Sydney Foster. Yesterday afternoon, I received a call informing me that Jimena Mendoza was here in this hospital. I’ve just flown across the country to see her. I got here as soon as I could. As you can see,” she said as she motioned toward the bag at her feet, “I didn’t even stop at the hotel. I’d like to see her. How is she?”
Erika, back at the desk, went over Mendoza’s chart and saw that there was, indeed, a Sydney Foster listed as an emergency contact, as noted by the charge nurse when she’d been brought in. She carried the file over to Alex and apologized to both women for having missed it before. Alex then informed Sydney that Mena was there, being cared for in the critical care unit. She also explained that, due to the serious nature of her condition, she was only allowed one visitor per hour, for a maximum five-minute duration.
“I understand,” Sydney much more calmly responded.
Alex ushered her to a chair near where Isa was seated. “I’ll come for you when you can see her. Why don’t you let me take that for you?” she asked, then reached out for the handle of her luggage.
“Thank you, and please forgive me for being so short-tempered and unmannerly. Not that it’s an excuse, but I’ve been worried sick since I got the call.”
Alex smiled at her and excused herself from the waiting area.
From the other side of the room, Isa pretended not to have heard a thing, choosing, for the time being, to remain anonymous.
About a half-hour later, Alex returned. “Ms. Foster, you can see Ms. Mendoza now. Come with me,” she said as she walked back toward the direction from which she’d come. Pausing only long enough to give medication information to one of the staff, she hit a silver square on the wall, which opened two doors inward, allowing them entry into a large open unit filled with hospital equipment. Some beds were occupied, some were not.
As they walked the length of the room, Alex pointed in the direction of the last one. “She remains stable but unconscious. Of course, that’s mostly because of us and the medication she’s being given,” Alex said as she pulled the curtain back enough to create the semblance of a makeshift doorway.
Sydney took a deep breath, and then she stepped in.
It was there, at that precise moment, amidst the blinding light of overhead fluorescents and the constant cacophony of beeping monitors, that she saw Mena’s face and was hit by a wave of emotion. The past and present came together in a rush. Looking at her now, it was as if the clock had remained still, the hands never having reached the fateful day when she made that foolish decision with the consequences of extreme regret and loneliness. But the opportunity she was given to reroute her destiny was not being granted without repercussions. Mena had been seriously injured. The cuts and bruises that covered her body testified to the truth that time had marched on, that now it was her clock that might stop. Sydney stifled a sob and tried not to lose her composure. With her hand over her mouth, she looked silently at the woman lying on the bed before her. Mena’s head was wrapped in gauze, and various parts of her body were attached to wires, tubes, and monitors that checked her vitals and pumped medication and oxygen.
Sydney stood for what seemed like an exceedingly long time, just looking at Mena, remembering, reliving, and praying that this would not be how or where she’d again lose her, without hope for a different outcome.
“Oh, Mena,” she whispered quietly. “Please come back to me. I need you so.” She spoke freely words that before, when they were together, had been so difficult for her to voice.
Unfortunately, Mena was not in a place from which she could now respond, nor had she even heard, but there was one witness to Sydney’s words. Alex had either reentered or remained behind her and now stood at the weeping woman’s back. She gently touched Sydney on the elbow and handed her a box of tissues before leaving the two of them alone.
Although there was much in Sydney’s breaking heart, Mena’s name, repeated over and over again, was all that could find its way out of her mouth. Sydney hoped somehow Mena would sense the torrent of emotions that surrounded them, the intensity that had once bound them to one another, and wake up.
Her memory of the first day they’d met was shattered by Alex’s return. The reunion that had been so longed for was so short-lived. “I’m sorry, Ms. Foster. I’m afraid time’s up. I’m going to have to ask you to leave. As I mentioned earlier, we can only allow visitors for five minutes every hour in the critical care unit. It’s best for the patient, and it’s needed for her recovery.”
“But what if she wakes up or her condition worsens while I’m gone?”
Alex, accustomed to the reactions of loved ones, the fears, the emotions that were so raw, had little more to offer than her word. “I’ll come for you as soon as you can see her again. Until then, we’ll be watching over her, and we’ll let you know the moment there’s any change in her condition. I promise.”
Having no choice nor say in the matter, Sydney returned to the waiting room.
Once she’d resettled into the chair in the corner, as far as she could get from the light and noise of the television, Isa took a good look at her. She was an attractive woman, there was no denying that. Well-put-together, in a skirt and blouse with accessories to match. Stylishly dressed, with expertly applied makeup and expensive jewelry. Even her nails had been recently done, the tips painted white in a French manicure; sophisticated, ultra-feminine, maybe even prudish, definitely intellectual. Okay, maybe some of my observations are being tainted by petty jealousy. Isa imagined her to be somewhere in her mid-to-late forties, possibly a little older, though she obviously took good care of herself. She was fit and still in shape. But Sydney gave off an air that was so impenetrable and cold. Isa felt the arctic blast from across the room. She wondered how the two of them had ever come to be, let alone been together, as a couple.
Isa was so lost in her wandering thoughts that she hadn’t noticed that she was caught gawking. She smiled and walked across the room toward Sydney.
“Dr. Foster?” she asked, as if she didn’t already know what the answer was.
“Yes, and I take it you’re Isa.” It was more of a statement than a question, thus Isa merely nodded her head and sat next to Sydney. “Please forgive me if I seem less than cordial. Quite frankly, I’m afraid I’m still in a bit of shock. Hearing the news with your call, and now, here, seeing Mena. It’s just all coming together so fast.” A single tear made its way down her face as Sydney’s lip quivered, and she worried and twisted a damp tissue in her hand.
In an effort to change the subject, Isa asked, “Have you found a place to stay?”
“Yes, I just didn’t take the time to stop at the hotel. In no shape to drive myself. I took a taxi from the airport.”
“All the way from Phoenix?” Isa asked, having seen the luggage tag, incredulous at the notion. This woman is either loaded or loca! She rebounded from the thought.
“Yes. I thought it best at the time, or maybe I really wasn’t even thinking at all. Anyway, depending on how it goes, I can always rent a car locally, should I find I need one.”
From there, the conversation veered to details of the accident, and Isa told her as much as she knew. Then, out of curiosity, and because the silence was so thick it was stifling, Isa dared to probe a little deeper. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you and Mena meet? What’s your story?”
With the touch of a smile and moist eyes, Sydney answered, “We met in a rather serendipitous way, I guess you could say, after Mena’d read one of the novels I’d written and ema
iled me to tell me her thoughts about it. I wrote back. Before long, our communication took a more personal turn.”
Isa’s face lit up, and she scooted forward in her seat, leaning in with interest.
“Soon after, we moved our conversations to the telephone. We spent hours each night talking about everything and nothing at all, if you can imagine. A few months passed before we finally met in person. She surprised me by traveling to California, when I was at a conference. After that, we visited one another regularly and often, until Mena decided it was time to do away with the distance between us by moving across the country.”
Isa focused her gaze, smiled, and raised her eyebrows. “How long were the two of you together?”
“That depends on when you start counting.” Sydney lowered her head and smiled sweetly, yet sadly. “I’m assuming you want to know how long we lived together, in which case my answer would be a different one. Not quite a year.”
With raised and curved brows, Isa asked, “And how long ago did your relationship end?”
Sydney narrowed her eyes before responding. “Mena moved back here, to Arizona, a year ago last winter.”
Isa’s jaw gaped. She couldn’t believe it! It had been that long! And this was the woman Mena still held in her heart? Wow! She hoped to someday experience that kind of love. But then, what did she know? There had to be some compelling reason they were no longer together, and maybe Mena’s reluctance to get involved with anyone now had more to do with herself. Maybe she just hadn’t cleaned out her wallet in a while. Time would tell, if she couldn’t get it out of Sydney first.
“Have you eaten? I was thinking about heading to the cafeteria before our next five minutes with Mena. Would you like to join me?”
“I’d love to.”
“Great.” Isa stood to lead the way. “It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other a little better.”
“I’d really like that. After all, you’re the only one who can possibly fill in the blanks for me that exist between our then and Mena’s now. I’ve often wondered how she was, what she was doing, where we’d gone so terribly wrong. Maybe you can help me figure it all out.” Sydney looked at her with a glimmer of hope in what Isa registered as thawing ice-queen eyes.
Over a turkey sandwich and bottle of cranberry juice, Sydney listened as Isa told her all she knew about her former partner and lover.
“The truth is, I’m afraid I won’t be able to provide too many pieces of the puzzle you’re hoping to put together. All I really know is that Mena lives alone in Yuma, that she teaches when she’s not fighting fires, and that she plays the guitar.”
Sydney looked down at the table and smiled.
“What? What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Oh, come on now. There’s no way I’m gonna let you get away with not telling me what it is you’re thinking. What just turned that sad and worried frown completely upside down?”
“I was just remembering Mena’s instrumental inclination, the first time she serenaded me. She had a beautiful voice, so soft, just a little deep. Her words came from a heart that felt so much. She’d given me a beautiful rose and sang me a Spanish song, ‘Amar y Querer.’ You might know it.”
“I do. It’s a classic, romantic Mexican ballad.”
“Anyway, afterward, we discussed and debated the differences in the language’s two similar, yet extremely disparate words for ‘love’. In the end, it all came down to semantics, and the emotion Mena had put into her words that day described each indisputably with feelings that would forever live on in my heart and move me in my memory and soul.”
“That’s absolutely beautiful.”
“Yes, it was.”
“No, I mean what you shared. It’s as if I could see what you must have felt, then and now. Obviously, you have, or had, a very deep and personal connection to Mena. And I must admit, I’m not only a little jealous, but I’m concerned about how Mena’s going to react when she finds you here.”
Sydney looked at her as if for an explanation.
“I can only imagine the shock and torment such powerful emotions might unleash, and I’m worried Mena might not be in the best place to handle them. What should we do?”
How could Sydney tell her when she didn’t know herself?
Chapter 4
The sound of chain saws ripping through heavy-boughed evergreens revved, whirred, and roared all around. Nearby, the flames of hot spots seemed to tease, taunt, and laugh at the men, women, and machines failing to keep them from rising. Like reenergized firebirds from the ashes, they jumped over their heads, and—with whooshes—ignited more outstretched limbs with their undying sparks.
Peña had to shout to be heard over the thump-a-thump-a-thump of helicopter blades from above. The helitack crews within the choppers had been trained to rappel out once they hovered over the right spot.
Other aircraft, including small scooper planes with tanks of retardant and larger heavy-lift helicopters were used to carry siphoned water from reservoirs, lakes, and rivers to where it was needed and was dropped.
Using the arm of his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his face, Peña stopped to hydrate himself for a respite from the unbearable heat and radioed, “Johnson, Becker, Gonzalez, come in.”
“Becker here. Johnson, Gonzalez, and Williams are with me. Over.”
From his location, about a mile south of Elden Tower, Crew Chief Peña had a responsibility to the men he led on this mission to bring this fire under control. He couldn’t afford another injury and needed to know what was going on and where each of his fighters was. “How’s it looking where you are?”
“Like a goddamned firestorm! I’ve never seen anything like it, chief. There are trees burning everywhere I turn, and the smoke is doing its best to drive us out, but into what? God only knows.”
Peña made the split-second decision to pull them out. “I need your crew to move west. It looks like several of the larger spots are about to converge, and we need to try to head them off. Stand by for the coordinates.” As he waited to be handed the numbers, he reminded Becker, “Don’t forget where you are in relation to your anchor point.”
Becker was a seasoned fire veteran and, as such, Peña knew he was preaching to the choir, but he also knew emotions ran high in the thick of their work. In the frantic panic and confusion, a man could lose his bearings and forget which direction he was going. Especially when he was running for his life with over a thousand degrees licking hot on his heels with a fiery tongue.
Once latitudes and longitudes were relayed, Peña signed off and ran a hand over the canvas pack attached to his belt. Each of the firefighters had one. It held their only hope for salvation should the fire rage toward them out of control. Other than Peña, Henderson was the most experienced of the crew. He spoke words no one wanted to hear. “We’re wasting our time. I’ve been on the front line lots of times fighting fires like this one. There’s too much fuel. There’s no way we can stop it. I think we should just all pull out and let it burn.”
All around him, frustration mounted. “Then why are you here?” an angry Peña challenged. “You know we don’t stop till the fire is out. There are people out there depending on us to save their lives, their homes, this land that they love. Besides, it’s racing northwest toward the thick of the woods. If it makes it that far, we’re all screwed. We’ll be surrounded with no way out!”
That reality silenced them all.
Robles, one of the volunteers who had just joined the squad, asked, “Has the area been evacuated?”
“We’ve tried, but you know how stubborn some of these homeowners can be,” Henderson responded. “We’ve lost several crews to housing perimeters and wasted water dousing rooftops. They’re fighting a lost cause. Residents who choose to build and live nestled away in these forests don’t understand the force of an angry nature until it’s
too late. There’s no way they’re not going down. Or, maybe I should say, up in flames. It’s not possible for us to save them all.”
Peña shook his head and trudged on. Picking up his radio, he pushed the talk button down. “Davila, do you copy?”
The radio crackled for what seemed like too long. Anxiety was high. Then the man’s voice came on the line. “Davila here. Over.”
“Any word on Mendoza’s condition?”
There was no denying her accident had taken a toll on them all. It was the first time any of them had been injured on the line. And even though it had happened before the fire really got going, and it involved a fall rather than a burn or smoke inhalation, it gave them all reason to pause. Made them think about the risks they took, about their own mortality. It brought the possibility of what could happen home. They could try to tame and control it, but fire was a living, breathing being. Given the right amount of oxygen and nourishment, they would never beat it; they could only hope to control it by depriving it of food and air, weakening and squeezing the life out of it. Until then, and as long as it had what it needed, it was and would continue to be a volatile, unpredictable force.
“Last I heard from Salas, she was still down for the count,” he came back.
Not knowing how to respond, Peña simply signed off with, “Copy that,” and put the radio back on his belt. Maybe her fall was a blessing in disguise, he thought to himself. At least it got her out of this mess. He immediately felt bad for thinking such a thing. After all, there was no guarantee she’d come out of it any better off than the rest of them. She’d taken quite a fall and had been in and out for a while now.
While fighting fire was their life, blood, and passion, what many of them were born to do, they didn’t want to die for it. No one looked forward to getting into the ring with an opponent that outweighed and outboxed them, against whom they didn’t stand a chance of winning a round. Meanwhile, Peña and Castillo were doing their best to plot strategies and coordinates on maps, redirect their men, and monitor and record conditions to stave the beast off.
