by Toni Draper
Mena’s eyes grew wide, and her brows raised; even her mouth gaped open in shock.
“I wanted to tell you that the day you found me in the closet. I had every intention of telling you, to explain what I was feeling, why I was so overwhelmed. It wasn’t really you, Mena. It was me. And I’m not sure I entirely realized it until I entered counseling.”
Before Mena had a chance to respond, a nurse walked in and reminded them, “I’m sorry, ladies, but your time together this evening is up. Our patient needs her rest. Visiting hours are over.”
Sydney tentatively reached out a hand and let it land on the blanket over Mena’s leg, and she gently gave a squeeze before reaching into her purse to pull out a CD. “Con Los Años Que Me Quedan” by Gloria Estefan. “This time, I’m leaving you with a song. My story, our story, is…to be continued,” Sydney promised before she turned toward the door and slowly walked out.
Mena hadn’t slept at all that night. Her mind had been a firestorm of thoughts. What else had Sydney been going to say? Had there been others? Other loves after Allyson? And what about her time as a novice? So much of it all makes sense now. But before Mena could reflect any further, Isa came charging in with a cheerful grin, swinging the bag she’d been given days earlier that held Mena’s belongings.
“Buenos días, chula. I came by to see how you’re doing and to give you back your things.”
“Actually, she shouldn’t have any jewelry or money here,” said Alex, who’d walked in hot on Isa’s heels. “There are lots of people in and out, all the time, and we have no place for safekeeping. That’s why we give it to someone to take home,” she informed them both.
“My bad.” Isa hung onto the bag. “But I thought she was being sprung today?” She looked to both of the women with a confused expression on her face.
“Not for another day or so, I’m afraid. I’m sorry. Doctor’s orders. He wants to repeat the MRI once more and consult with the neurologist before he signs her walking papers. And, unfortunately, as we’ve only recently learned, neither one of those can happen today.”
Mena shattered Isa’s mental reverie by asking her, “Do you think you could hang onto my things until then?”
“No problem,” she said.
Since it was clearly visible through the bag she held in front of her, and because it had piqued her curiosity ever since Mena had been brought in, Isa took the opportunity to comment on the necklace. “That’s a very pretty gold chain. The link is unusual. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one like it.”
Both Mena and Alex looked at the bag. The tears that shimmered in Mena’s eyes told both women all she didn’t say. It was a piece of jewelry that came with a story, and, given the reverberating silence that followed Isa’s inquiry, it was a very emotional one.
Mena motioned for Isa to hand her the bag. She pulled the chain out and ran it through her fingers. “It was Sydney’s. I would have given it back to her when she was here if I’d known she wasn’t coming back. But then, I didn’t have it, you did.” She smiled at Isa.
Beginning to feel like a third wheel, Alex made an excuse for why she should be somewhere else, “Well, ladies, it looks like it’s time for me to fly. I only stopped by to check on my star patient.” She patted Mena on the arm. “Duty calls me a few wings and floors away, where they’re probably wondering where I am, and I’m never late. If you have any other questions, or find you need anything, I’m sure the next nurse on duty here will be able to help either of you.” She excused herself by saying, “Enjoy your visit,” and left the two alone.
Mena saw her opportunity to change the subject and seized it. “How’s it going with the fire? Has it been contained?”
Isa looked at Mena and shook her head. “It’s a mess, Mena. Every time we think it’s under control, the wind picks up, and there we go again. They’ve called in all kinds of help. Even smokejumpers are parachuting in.”
Mena thought for a minute about what her friend was saying. She decided to share with her what she’d dreamed. “I had a dream about the fire.” Isa’s eyes widened, so Mena told her about the vision that had come to her during her sleep. “I dreamed that it blew up while you and Peña and a few other guys were trying to make a getaway. The flames closed in too fast, you were trapped, and there was no escape. You had to shake open your shelters. By that time, the heat was incredible, and your skin was blistering.”
Mena, who had drifted away with her storytelling, looked at Isa before continuing.
“I was there, in the dream. Well, not there, but I was able to see everything. I watched you run until you couldn’t anymore. I saw you crying as you fell to your knees. In your hands, you clutched a wooden rosary.” Mena’s voice revealed the level of her emotional involvement with her dream. “You were right there, but I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t do a thing. I felt so helpless. That’s when Peña came back for you. He picked you up and carried you to safety.”
“Wow. I’d say that was more of a nightmare than a dream. Thank God that’s all it was. I can’t even imagine coming that close to such a life-and-death experience.” Isa shuddered visibly.
“I woke up terrified. Not to scare you or anything, but I’m still afraid it could have been a prescient dream. Please promise me you’ll be careful out there.”
“I will. There’s no other way, believe me.”
As she remembered the details and relived her feelings, Mena tuned the rest of what Isa had to say out. She became aware that she’d not been listening to what Isa had been saying when she realized the room had grown quiet and Isa was no longer talking.
“What?” Mena asked when she saw her staring expectantly.
“I said, whatever happened between you and Sydney, anyway? I mean, has she gone home? Or is she still here in Arizona? Have you seen her yet this morning?”
“No, I haven’t, and I don’t know what to make of it. I thought she’d be here first thing.” Especially given last night’s revelation. She wondered why Sydney hadn’t returned. She thought she’d be anxious to resume their reunion and continue their conversation, but so far, nada.
Mena remained quiet for a while, then shook her head and shared, “It was all so very strange, having her here. I don’t understand it or know how to explain it, but, in a way, I was somehow expecting it.”
Isa’s eyebrow raised.
Mena tried to explain. “For whatever reason, I’d been experiencing a resurgence of memories. About her, us, our time together. I felt sad, almost like I was in mourning. Then, well, my accident led to my seeing her again. Now I have no idea what to expect, what’s going to happen, what’s going on.”
“I wish I could tell you that I understand, but I have yet to experience such a rite of passage. My relationships thus far have amounted to little more than flings and interludes of intimacy too brief to even be called such.”
“Thankfully, for your sake, I don’t think all relationships are this complicated. Just make sure you keep open communication. That seems to be the key.”
Having said that, Mena realized having the key wasn’t always all that was needed to open a door. Especially one that had been impenetrably closed. Why did Sydney open up like she had, only to disappear again? What is going on with her? Has she reentered my life? Is she hoping for another chance? Does what she shared change anything?
Chapter 13
Sydney couldn’t believe her luck when her rental car wouldn’t start. As it was, she didn’t have time to spare. She was due back in Maryland at the university for the first day of classes and couldn’t let the chair of her department down. She had always been so dependable. To make matters worse, how would her absence look to Mena now? Just when it appeared their relationship might be on the mend. Why now?
Isa had called her to tell her about Mena’s accident on the university’s phone, and in her worried haste, she’d neglected to write her number down. Why didn’t I
add her as a contact in my phone? She cursed herself. Oh, well. No sense beating herself up about that now. Plan B. She looked up the hospital’s website. But last she knew, Mena had still been in the critical care unit. Had they moved her? I’ll just call and see if I can at least get word to her.
“Flagstaff Medical Center. How may I direct your call?”
After explaining the situation, the receptionist said the best she could do was take the message and pass it along. “I’ll do what I can to make sure she gets it.”
“Please do. She may even be checking out this morning. I don’t know.”
Sydney had worried her hair into a mess by running her fingers through it repeatedly as she paced the floor. Patience was never a virtue bestowed upon her, and she was very aware of that now. Still, she thanked the woman and disconnected the call.
What else can I do?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a call from the rental agency in which the representative said they’d have someone over to look at the car right away. And, if need be, they could have a replacement vehicle for her within the hour.
The day for Mena’s release from the hospital had arrived. Dr. Johnson was there to give her a clean bill of health. Alex, who in such a short time had become a friend to both her and Isa, had shown up to send her off. Peña and Salas rolled up to whisk her away in their version of a park service limousine, a recently cleaned pickup truck. There was much cause for celebration: she was going home, and the fire was mostly contained, all but out. But there was still no word or visit from Sydney.
Mena couldn’t imagine what could have happened to keep her away. Maybe she was in hiding again after having revealed what she did. I wonder if there was even more to tell. Before she left, Mena gave Alex a plant to care for in her absence, a succulent. She laughed, and Mena said, “It won’t require as much care as I did.”
As she passed by the rest of the staff, she said, “Thank you all, for everything, for taking such good care of me, for your kindness.” In turn, they wished her well and raised their hands to wave goodbye as Isa wheeled her out the automatic door, mumbling, “Yet another hospital regulation. Sheesh. Did they ever think if you’re not well enough to walk, maybe you shouldn’t be leaving?”
“Shut your mouth!” Mena playfully threatened. She was more than ready to go home and get on with her life.
After catching up with Peña and assuring him, at least a dozen times, “I’m fine,” Mena felt like she really was, for the first time in a long time. At least, she was starting to be. Maybe all she’d needed was to see Sydney again to get the closure she’d needed, but she wasn’t sure more had been opened than closed during their last talk.
The drive from Flagstaff to Yuma took forever, and while she was happy to see Peña and was grateful for the ride, Mena doubted she was being the best company or seeming very gracious. She hoped they would blame it on all she’d been through or chalk it up to the fact that she was probably tired.
Meanwhile, the hypnotic humming of the truck’s tires on the asphalt could be heard loudly during the lulls in conversation between the passenger and driver up front, but Mena was disappointed to find the miles did nothing to distance her from all that had happened in the place she was leaving behind. The fire. The accident. The hospital. Most of all, Sydney, who hadn’t returned as she’d promised. Why? And why hadn’t she even called?
Suddenly, Mena remembered the CD she’d been given. She knew some of Gloria Estefan’s stuff, but not that particular song. She’d play it as soon as she got home. She smiled to herself. So this is how it feels to be on the receiving end. No matter what the message in the music might be, she knew it wouldn’t explain why she hadn’t seen or heard from Sydney. Unable to join the efforts on the fire line, she’d need something major to occupy her mind.
After an enthusiastic reunion with Chesa and Emi, and, of course, the requisite goodbyes to her human entourage, Mena couldn’t wait to hear what Sydney had to say via Estefan’s song. She played it through several times. So far, the only thing time told her was that Sydney had disappeared from her life once again, and without words other than these. The words didn’t explain her actions, only confused them more. On one hand, Sydney was asking for a second chance, promising a lifetime of love. But the other hand had apparently waved goodbye. She didn’t know what to make of it all. For the time being, she turned the music and memories off and headed to the study.
There was no time like the present to begin distracting herself. The first thing she did was pull up a satellite image of the burn area of the fire closer to home, the one she’d been called out on before she’d headed north to the Coconino.
It was much easier to see from above where the point of origin, the fire’s starting place or vortex, likely was. Since all infernos followed a U or V pattern, once that had been determined, the path the flames had followed as they fanned out across the land took shape on the monitor’s screen. Next, she looked at maps to see which roadways were closest. When the NOAA stats confirmed what she already knew to be true, that there had been no lightning strikes in the days preceding it, she decided to do a little more digging and conduct some surveillance of her own.
I may not be ready to get out there on the frontlines just yet, but there’s no reason I can’t sniff around in an area where I’ve already been. She shoved a couple of water bottles and the computer printouts into her backpack and took off.
The first thing she realized, as she walked the woods, was how much easier it had been to see where a fire had likely started from the outside looking in, or from the upside looking down. From ground zero, where everything looked the same—black, burnt, and barren—it was harder to tell. She decided to start where she was and work her way westward over the burnout until she came to ground that appeared to have been untouched.
The area burned in that direction was much larger than she’d thought. But, as she walked, she saw recognizable evidence that she was headed in the right direction. Remaining vegetation had been bent forward as the fire had roared over, and she saw parts of burned tree debris with one-sided ash buildup.
Finally, she came upon some surviving live green on the verge of the dead black, and she marked the zone where she would begin looking around. She was on the hunt for a needle in a haystack, she knew it, but what else did she have to do right now?
Her work would have been much easier with some help, but she didn’t want to burden Isa and wasn’t sure who she could trust. So she went it alone, marking off grids and searching for anything that seemed out of place or looked like it could be of significance. A footprint, tire mark, or the remnants of a time-delay device, anything that might have survived the destruction in this otherwise natural environment.
Using a stick, she poked around in the high grasses while snippets of conversations she’d picked up earlier from the guys moved around in her mind and added fuel to the fire of her suspicions. She couldn’t seem to quell the uneasy sense that something was very wrong, that this fire had not been a naturally occurring one. There had been too many recently, all within too close a proximity to each other. The crew wasn’t getting much of a break. In past years, they’d had lots more downtime. Some of the guys admitted to being grateful for the financial windfall the firestorms brought. “More money in my pocket,” they’d said. And it was true. When there were no fires to fight, money earned was tight. That wasn’t the case right now. These days, there seemed to be much more boom than bust. There was actually money to burn. And, she wondered, could that be what this was about?
As much as she hated to do it, she thought of each of the guys, of the motives they might have for starting the very fires they were putting lives at risk to put out. There were new babies, expensive hobbies, and plenty of wives that liked to shop. But who among them would do such a thing? She would put speculation aside and let the facts and findings figure it out.
When she got home, she put her sleuthin
g aside and tore into the bag she’d picked up from KFC. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. As she devoured a breast and a leg, she noticed the words on the container’s side. There are few problems a bucket of fried chicken can’t solve. Okay, Colonel Harland Sanders, she thought, I hope you’re right. I’m gonna hold you to that promise. These days, promises didn’t mean much.
With that acknowledgment and a full stomach, she fired up another hunt, this one for a paper she’d written after her and Sydney’s breakup. It had been written impulsively in response to a call for submissions she’d stumbled upon that was in search of stories about relationships that had started online. Though she’d never sent it in, the words had flowed forth so freely and therapeutically, unlike any she’d ever written before. She’d given it the title, “Love at First Write” and had never shared it with anyone.
Amazingly, she was able to put her hands on it in no time.
“La vida es sueño.” Life is a dream, or once upon a time, so wrote a seventeenth-century Spanish playwright. As one with an innate love for literature and an insatiable interest in the workings of the human mind, I delved deeply into the self-assessing of such a thought-provoking drama with “gusto” and “placer,” never dreaming I would one day soon experience firsthand the protagonist Segismundo’s philosophical musings and a similar surreal state of being as the result of the much more modern words of a contemporary novelist and her creative writing.
