by Kat Catesby
“Kelsey can’t tell you what she doesn’t know. Mason didn’t tell her where he’s moved, so you can stop harassing her.”
“Moved?” shouts Helen, clearly troubled by this development.
Maybe they thought he’d just taken a vacation and refused to tell them? It’s not like they have access to his flat to check whether his possessions are there or not.
“Yes, moved. As in, he’s moved across the country and started a new job with a different fire department. The only person who knows his exact location is me. And I’m not talking. The man wanted to leave you all behind…now I understand why. I won’t tell you anything except to sign the divorce papers already. Sign them, send them back to the lawyer and move on with your lives…then he might start talking to you all again. Well, maybe not, if I tell him about the abuse you’re giving the woman he loves.”
“He can’t love her that much if she doesn’t know where he is,” hisses Helen.
“Rest assured he loves you even less,” Max fires back easily.
The man is unperturbed. Not a feather ruffled out of place by this exchange or the hostile glares shooting daggers at him. Max is a first-class firefighter, I guess it takes more than the Foxes to scare him.
Admitting defeat, Helen, Nancy, and Pat stomp away, complaining and muttering all manner of unpleasant things that both Max and I ignore.
“Are you okay?” he asks gently.
“Just the day from hell, nothing I can’t survive.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you back inside.”
“Thanks, but I was fired. The Foxes called in a favor with their good friend the Mayor and I was fired for being the immoral mistress who broke apart Mason and Helen’s marriage. His parents either don’t know or don’t care that we dated legitimately after he was separated. At least, I think it was legitimate? I’ve never considered it, but maybe she’s telling the truth. Maybe I was the other woman and Mason was lying all along?” I ask, suddenly doubting everything.
“It sucks about your job, Kelsey. I’m so sorry. But don’t go listening to a word that fucked up woman says. I never knew about your relationship with Mason at the time but I knew about the state of their marriage. Helen and Mason were having trouble for years. They’ve been separated for over eighteen months now and from what Mason has told me, you and he started dating a year ago and broke up six months ago. There’s no overlap. There’s also nothing to stop Helen Fox lying otherwise about the chain of events, but know that the people closest to you know the truth. We have your back.”
“Thanks, Max,” I say with a little tear in my eye. It’s good to know I’m not some naïve, love-sick idiot who fell for a lie. Mason was honest, what we had was real.
My broken heart is justified.
* * *
I still feel numb and oddly detached from today’s events as I sit on my sofa a few hours later.
That was all the time needed for the scandal of my ‘affair’ to circulate far and wide, thanks to Helen and her big mouth and the over-zealous members of the local online Facebook community group. The comments and angry emojis are coming thick and fast and mostly along the lines of ‘she deserved to lose her job’, ‘Karma’s a bitch’, ‘can’t she find a man her own age’ and my personal favorite, ‘the only thing you get if you’re a slut is gonorrhea’.
That was the point I almost put my laptop down until something occurred to me; Mason doesn’t use social media much but he’s a member of this group and I can’t believe he’d be silent with the abusive roasting I’m taking. With a queasy, sinking feeling deep in my stomach, I navigate to the group members and search for his name…
Nothing.
He’s left the group.
Okay, no big deal. He no longer lives in Aspen so it makes sense for him to leave a community group based here.
So, I search for him on my friend list.
Nothing.
He unfriended me?
I search all of Facebook and find nothing. He’s removed his profile, or he’s created a new one with a different name like teachers do when they don’t want their students to find them online.
Either way, he’s not contactable this way and I find myself hoping he’s just left social media completely instead of lurking somewhere and deliberately blocking me out.
I check Instagram with little hope – he was even less active on this platform – and find the same situation: there’s a Mason Fox sized hole where he used to exist.
The churning in my stomach amps up and after the day I’ve had and the shit his family are putting me through, it’s only fair that he shares the burden and takes responsibility for his part in all of this. I pick up my phone and try to FaceTime him…
The call doesn’t connect.
I try a standard voice call because maybe he doesn’t have an internet signal where he is (is that even possible in the modern world?).
After a beat, an automated voice informs me that this number is no longer in use.
What the hell?
My insides are full-on revolting and clamoring at the opportunity to be on the outside and I’m grateful for the lack of appetite that means my stomach is empty and not able to vomit everywhere.
My last resort is email. I open my account and type a brief ‘call me’ email (because why spend ages spilling my heart when I have a terrible feeling I know what’s going to happen), and hit send…
Five seconds later I get the ‘unable to deliver’ message ping into my inbox and the last shred of composure I have evaporates, leaving me alone in the dark with all the agonizing feelings and knowledge that Mason has deliberately severed all contact with me.
I have no way to reach him.
He’s cut me out of his life completely.
And permanently.
Chapter Four
Mason
L.A. is huge.
I know that’s stating the obvious, especially for a small-town guy like me. Not that it’s surprising, but it is like another world.
What is surprising is how much I love it.
The sprawling metropolis is like nothing I imagined and yet it feels right.
I thought it would be harder to adapt to big city life, and sure, I don’t know my way around and it doesn’t feel completely like home just yet, but I know that it won’t be long before it does.
Maybe it’s the laid back, West Coast vibe. Maybe it’s the sun warming my skin. Maybe it’s living near the sea for the first time in my adult life. Whatever it is, I love it.
I feel like I am finally finding a place in the world that feels like home. A personal sense of freedom and space that a forty-year-old man really should’ve experienced by now. Moving halfway across the country is the best decision I ever made and I have no regrets.
…Except that Kelsey isn’t here to experience it with me.
I’ve thought about her offer to come out here with me almost non-stop. I know I was trying to be the responsible one and do the right thing but if she wanted to, did I have the right to stop her? Should I have encouraged her to pack a bag and jump in my truck with me? Could she have been happy here with me away from her family and friends?
I realize I’m asking questions that I have no right to answer; they are questions for Kelsey and instead of giving her the freedom to make those choices, I shut her down and hurt us both…again.
Over the past few days, I’ve nearly called her a dozen times, written messages and emails that I didn’t send, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why I haven’t just grown a pair and spoken to her.
Fear, maybe, that she’s realized I changed my number, email, and social media and deliberately didn’t tell her.
Yeah, I’m starting to regret that decision. But with every hour that passes, it becomes harder and harder to bridge the gap back to her. How can I begin to explain to her why I cut all contact when I’m increasingly unsure of my reasons?
Or what if she hasn’t realized I severed all communication because she hasn’t tried to contact me
? What if she has found the will to move on and doesn’t want to hear from me?
It’s the only part of my life I’m still a mess over and make no mistake, I may look like a functioning adult, but it’s a total fucking illusion.
Despite how much of my brain Kelsey is still occupying, I’ve managed to move into my one-bedroom condo. It’s only a short-term lease until I find a permanent place to buy. I feel oddly reluctant to rush into buying a house because I always thought the next time I purchased a place, I’d be doing it with Kelsey.
See?
Not even twenty seconds and she’s at the forefront of my mind again.
I dump the last of my boxes into the bright and decently sized condo I found in Santa Monica. I wanted to be close to the sea and with the big windows allowing light to flood the space, I’m able to see a sliver of beach and blue sea in between the neighboring buildings. I open one of the living room windows and listen to the hustle and bustle of tourists, traffic, and street musicians. It’s a cool vibe and instead of the noise overwhelming me, I feel relaxed. It’s not overbearing, just the soundtrack of the vibrant area I’m choosing to call home.
When I do eventually buy a place, I may move along the coast to a slightly quieter spot, but for now, I’m happy.
I could be happier.
I ignore the thought and begin the torturous task of unpacking. I’m not going to unpack everything, just in case I move sooner rather than later, but I also refuse to live out of boxes.
As I pick up a large box labeled ‘kitchen’, a knock on my front door saves me. I abandon the box and grab two beers from the refrigerator instead, grinning to myself as I walk over to open the door. There are only two people who have this address, Max and Xander…and Max is still in Aspen.
I open the door to find my old college roommate and new Battalion Chief, Xander, leaning casually against the hall wall.
“You’ve seen better days, Brother,” he says as he slaps me on the back and takes the beer from my hand.
“You’re greyer than I am, Xan. You should probably invest in a higher factor sun lotion as well – you’re looking like wrinkled leather.”
He barks out a laugh as he strolls around, snooping in boxes and generally ignoring my privacy. “Just living the California good life, my friend. Which is exactly what brought you out here.”
He’s not wrong.
“I still can’t believe you’re here. Never thought I’d see the day the mighty Mason Fox moved to my neck of the woods. And taking a job that’s a demotion by several steps no less. I’m looking forward to hanging out and catching up, don’t get me wrong, but are you sure about this?”
“Surer than I’ve been about anything.”
What I didn’t tell Kelsey when I left was that when I said a suitable job came up, it wasn’t a like-for-like swap. I’m not going to be a fire chief anymore or any other senior management position; my new job is Captain of Firehouse Sixty-Three.
As a Battalion Chief, Xan is technically my boss. He may also have given me the heads up when the job became available.
“Are you sure you want to go from being a fire chief to just a captain?”
“I don’t need the money, Xan. I’m happy to trade the prestige of a job title and the paycheque for genuine happiness. Being a fire chief isn’t all it’s cracked up to be; instead of fighting fires, I was firefighting problems. Sorting staff and equipment shortages, dealing with mountains of paperwork. It was a shit job in a shiny disguise. A job I’m pretty sure I only got because I’m Pat and Nancy Fox’s son. My parents can’t have their only son work a regular job, no matter how vital or noble it is, it would reflect badly on their social standing. I can’t prove it, but I know they called in a favor from the Mayor to get me the fire chief position. Or maybe they just threatened to pull their financial and social support. Either way, it wasn’t my job because I deserved it.”
“And you earned the Captain position on your skills and merits,” Xan concludes.
“Exactly. You told me about the job, but I applied, was tested and interviewed, and offered the job because I’d shown I was the best candidate for it. That achievement is all mine. And I want to get back to being on the ground and making a difference in emergencies instead of sitting behind a desk pushing paper.”
Being a fire chief in a small town isn’t the same as being one in a metropolitan city. Especially in one of the largest cities in the country that is completely different in terms of its geography and topography. L.A. has a different social demographic, different terrain, larger population, and densely populated areas. All of which means the types of emergencies will be vastly different from what I’m used to and being hands-on and making a difference on the ground excites me in a way my job hasn’t in years. I was as done with being a fire chief as I was with my marriage.
Maybe this is all just a midlife crisis?
I dismiss the thought as soon as it enters my mind. My life might have been in crisis and technically my age puts me in the ‘midlife’ category, but I wasn’t suddenly discontent with my life…I’d never been content with my life to begin with.
It’s just taken me this long to man up to that fact.
I lived my life how my family expected, instead of living for myself. Now I’m forty-years-old, single, childless, and starting all over again in a new city. It shouldn’t have taken me this long to take control of my life, but it’s never too late to stop and evaluate what brings you happiness and what doesn’t.
It’s never too late to make the changes you need to make your life worth living and it became blatantly obvious all the things which brought me misery…and the one thing that didn’t.
The six months I spent with Kelsey was the first time I’d felt freedom, love, and happiness at the same time in my adult life.
Moving to L.A. to be Captain of firehouse sixty-three makes me feel free and happy, but the love part still eludes me.
Probably because I left my heart crying on the floor of her apartment.
“Whatever just crossed your mind can’t be good. Want to share?” asks Xander, nodding towards the white-knuckled grip I have on my bottle of beer.
I loosen my hand and gaze out the window, my mind’s eye wandering to an image of Kelsey jumping around the apartment like an excited tornado at the sight of the ocean. She’d abandon the unpacking, grab me by the hand and plead/demand that we go explore our new home. It wouldn’t be possible for her to smile to be any wider, her cheeks would be aching from grinning so much, her eyes alive and devouring every new sight and the ringing of her laughter would be infectious.
She should be here.
But I’m not ready to face the fallout of my actions. Not yet, at least. I can only handle so much in one go. I’ve already piled my plate with a new city, new home, and new job. I’m going to need a while before I can dive deeper into my emotional issues.
“Let me guess, woman troubles?” Xander says after I stay silent for too long.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Helen still refusing to sign the divorce papers?”
“Yeah, but that’s not what’s bothering me.”
“Intriguing. Spill,” Xander demands.
“I met someone else. And the short version is that I left her behind and I’m regretting that decision.”
“And the long version?”
“Is complicated and going to require several more beers.”
* * *
A few days later I head to my new firehouse. I’m not technically on shift for a few more days but I’m meeting the outgoing Captain to get an overview of the crews and how they’ve been working. I’m not the sort of guy who feels the need to put his mark on a place the moment he sets foot through the door and I’m not planning any radical shake-ups. I just want to get to know my firefighters and find a comfortable way of working for us all.
I’m not oblivious to the fact that there’s probably a Lieutenant or two who applied for the Captain position and may not be impressed to
have a new Captain they know nothing about. It’s probably going to be a little bumpy for a few weeks while we all adjust. That’s why I thought it would be a good idea to meet them all informally.
I hop out of the cab of my truck and take in the relatively new building in front of me. Built no more than a decade ago, modern, with big windows on the upper floor. The garage doors are open and I can see various engines and firefighters walking around. The ladder engine is being hosed down and its equipment is checked and cleaned. From what I can see, everything looks organized and the team thorough and efficient. From first impressions, these guys aren’t going to need a lot of hand-holding.
My kind of place.
I was mildly concerned that perhaps I’d taken a job at a firehouse with sub-standard practices and crews who’d need intensive work and training to bring them up to the standard I demand.
I make my way towards them, my boots crunching on the sidewalk and drawing attention. I want this to be as informal as possible so am just wearing a smart pair of jeans and a collared t-shirt.
Several pairs of eyes assess me, but I don’t sense any hostility. A few people smile as I get closer and then an older guy appears from a storage room, notices me, and begins walking towards me. Given the total greyness of his hair and the deep wrinkles on his face, I think it’s safe to assume that it’s the outgoing Captain, Bill Watkins.
“You must be Mason Fox?” the older man asks.
“Yes, Sir. Bill Watkins, I take it? A pleasure to meet you,” I hold out my hand for him to shake.
“Pleasure’s all mine. Seeing you means my retirement is only a few days away. Though with all the jobs my wife has lined up around the house for me, I’ll probably be busier once I leave this place.”
“I’ve heard that’s often the case,” I smile.
“No wife keeping you busy at home I take it?” It’s obvious Bill isn’t trying to pry into my personal life, just the slightly too comfortable conversation the older generation sometimes engages in. Older guys like Bill, who’ve been married their whole life to the same woman (I’m presuming), and who make their family their whole world, often asked pointed marital questions to impart their hard-won insight and knowledge.
