Within seconds, Pete was being dragged across the dance floor, through the back corridor where the restrooms were, and I assumed catapulted out the back door though I couldn’t actually see them that far. “And you…” He stabbed a finger in Mateo’s direction.
“It’s okay, Dick. He was helping me.”
“You sure?”I was shivering from the stress of the situation. “Yeah.”
“All right. Then, thank you whoever you are.” He looked at me and said softly. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I just stepped out for a second. Fuck, I knew those guys were trouble the minute they walked in here.” He held out a hand to Mateo. “Good thing you were here, man.”
“It…It’s okay,” Mateo said, taking Dick’s proffered hand and getting to his feet.
“Wanna get out of here?” Mateo asked, taking off his coat and wrapping it around my shoulders.
“Go,” said Dick. “I’ll let the boss know.”
“Right.”
Mateo grabbed my purse off the table and handed it to me. “Oh. You probably want to change first.”
“I do. I’ll be right back.”
It took me exactly seven minutes to slip back into my jeans and sweatshirt, tell Jane I was leaving, and punch my time card. I noticed Mateo over by the front door chatting away with Dick as if they were old friends as I approached.
“You sure you’re okay?” asked Dick. “That pansy ass didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No. No, I’m fine, Dick. Really.”
“You met this guy before?” he asked pointing to Mateo who had left briefly to settle his bill at the bar.
“Yeah, the other week, right after— He bought Jane and I drinks. I think he’s a fireman.”
“Another one, Amy?” He arched one suspicious brow. Jesus, did Jane have to tell everyone about my breakup.
“Surely, they’re not all the same,” I said.
Dick sighed and shook his head.
“He’s all right, besides, we’re just friends.”
He rubbed his jaw as if considering his options. “Okay.” He glared at Mateo as he reappeared by my side. “Just walk her home, buddy. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.” Mateo took me by the hand. “You want to walk?” A glimmer of happiness mixed with confusion reflected in his eyes. “Don’t you have a car?”
“It’s only a few blocks,” I said defensively.
“Kind of dangerous though. I mean, it is ten o’clock at night.”
I linked my arm in his. “That’s what I have you for.”
I was kind of embarrassed about what happened and I didn’t want Mateo to get the wrong impression about my intentions. “Just friends, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“I guess I should thank you then.”
“No need. It’s one of my hobbies.”
“Your hobby?”
“Yeah. I’m an escort...for damsels in distress.”
I laughed. “Well, I’m grateful.”
I hated walking home alone, but I sold my car as part of the ‘save dad’s house fund.’ I’d convinced myself it was no big deal to walk a mile and a half, but Mateo was right about the danger, and the details of what just happened confirmed that.
For the first ten minutes of our journey, we spoke very little. When we both decided we had something to say, our words came out in a scrambled jumble of two people trying to talk at once. We both laughed.
“You first,” I said.
“No. Ladies before gentleman.”
“Okay. I…I guess I was in over my head back there. I’m not really good at flirting with the customers.”
“You shouldn’t have to be.”
“I know but—”
“Listen, that guy was an jerk. Guys like that think because they have money they can do whatever they want…to whoever they want. You did nothing wrong.”
“Thanks for saying that.”
“Why are you working at the Thirsty Turtle, anyway? You don’t seem the type.”
“I don’t?”
“Nope.”
“What type am I then?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t see you as a cocktail waitress kind of girl.”
“Well, it’s honest work,” I said defensively pausing in my stride to glare at him.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. Sorry. That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean… Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being a waitress.” His lips thinned and he looked up and down the street, uncomfortable.
“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh and you’re right. Truth is, I shouldn’t be working there. I…I actually hate my job.” Tears moistened my eyes and I let myself slip into his arms. He groaned a little and I realized my mistake. I wanted to be comforted but not like this. It was too soon. I pulled back slightly and fumbled in my purse for a tissue.
“Hey! Hey, don’t cry. Will you tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can help somehow.”
I hadn’t meant to, but all my troubles with Penelope, my dad’s accident, and the house came rushing out. I told him how lost I felt, that I wasn’t sleeping or eating. I hadn’t cooked myself a decent meal in over two weeks—and I loved to cook. I was living on breakfast bars, oranges and burritos, which gave me so much gas I could power the whole Eastside of my neighborhood. That got us to laughing but soon I was crying again. This time it wasn’t about the house. I suddenly realized that Mateo wasn’t the person I wanted to share this with. I should have shared this with Brock. How was it I could tell Mateo, whom I hardly knew, and not him? It didn’t matter now. The details of our breakup were the only things I didn’t share with Mateo. That, I kept to myself. It was all I had left of my heart.
When the subject of my eventual eviction came up, Mateo got all quiet as if contemplating his next words. “You know, I have a friend…” he said giving me a wide grin. And I told him all about you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brock
The fire was out of control, the heat nearly unbearable in the stiff Texas air. After swiping the sweat from my brow every few minutes, I finally gave up, letting it fall like rain until it slid down the side of my face and disappeared inside my neckline.
I hardly had time to think about what lay before me. The air sizzled and popped. A troublesome windstorm had evolved under treacherous dry conditions. Nerves jumped inside my veins.
This wasn’t my first forest fire but I was older now, my reaction times slower. I hoped all my strength training would give me enough gusto to do what I had to do, lead me to where I had to go, and get me and anyone else I happened to encounter, out safely and alive. The thing about fires of this magnitude was they were totally unpredictable. We needed to contain what was there, keep it from spreading further, and faster
I was the only one of our group with wilderness training so I took charge of the men from Intercourse Company. After sending each of them into the calmest part of the forest wearing respirators and heavy gear, I ducked my head as I boarded a chopper in a blinding whirlwind of dust, and thick smoke. I needed to get to the top of the highest hill.
“How bad is it?” I had shouted to the pilot not knowing whether he could hear me above the copper blades. “We’ll talk later.” It wasn’t easy, wearing all my gear, but I managed to , settle myself in and throw on a lap-belt. The plane lifted off the ground, the whapping of blades echoing our ascent.
When we were high above the smoke, the pilot glanced over at me, shouting out the worst. “It’s pretty bad. We’ve already lost three men, and that was just the first day. If we don’t get this monster under control, a whole forest could be destroyed.”
That was not what I wanted to hear. Sabine National Forest wiped out? I couldn’t think of anything more devastating. It wasn’t just forest and wildlife that would be destroyed; there were homes that weaved in and along the Sabine River and businesses that made a living on tourism.
We shouldn’t have been surprised. For years, locals feared the Indian Mounds Wilderness, which had nothing to do with a
ctual Indians, with its falling pine timber and ground-level fuel would start a forest fire one day. I guess that day had come.
As we turned around the bend, I peered out the helicopter door, trying to see through the haze. Finally, there was a break in the smoke. Civilization loomed below.
“See that farm over there?” asked the pilot. “There’s about twenty thousand head of cattle plus four families. There’s also a refinery on the far back.”
The severity of the situation hit me in the pit of my stomach. All those families. Their livelihood. They’re lives. They’d all be destroyed.
“If you have any ideas,” said the pilot. “I’m all ears.”
I leaned over the back of the pilot’s chair. “If we can divert the fire to the lake… Maybe we can save at least those few acres.”
“Might work,” shouted the pilot. “That is, if the wind starts to fade or doesn’t change course. If it does, who knows what the hell will happen.”
“How many men do we have?”
“Not nearly enough, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry. Those guys are tough and they’re the best of the best. If anyone can get this thing under control, they can.” I patted the pilot on the shoulder. I had great respect for bush pilots. It was hazardous enough flying in these conditions. I wanted to, on some level, project as much confidence into him as I could.
“Really,” I said. “I have seen worse.” Actually I hadn’t, but I wasn’t telling him that.
The chopper dropped me on the top of a steep mountain along with about twenty other seasoned and trained fire companies called the Hotshots from other parts of the country. Even though the wind was blowing the fire downhill, my face, hands, and body were covered instantly in hot sweat.
As I ran out from under the blades of the helicopter, I met a man with short grey hair and a goatee. He stuck his hand out to greet me. “As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Brock Fitzgerald,” he said, shaking my hand profusely. “I’d know you anywhere, you old dog.”
“Hello, Jack,” I said, not mincing any words. I hadn’t seen the man in fifteen years. Not since he saved my life when we were caught inside a structure fire gone bad. “No time for small talk, I’m afraid. What’s the plan?” Judging by the power saws and hand tools all over the ground and fifteen or so men digging a trench, I had a pretty rough idea what he was going to tell me.
“We need to make a fire line,” Jack said. “Five maybe six feet down, light a back fire, and see if we can get the wind do the rest.”
“What if the wind direction changes?”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”
It was risky, but, there wasn’t any other way. We couldn’t get in front of the fire and Jack explained they’d already tried shooting foam from overhead and on the ground but it hadn’t worked.
I grabbed a shovel and began digging.
The plan involved pushing the fire down-hill—into the primary blaze. After what seemed like forever, we lit some unburned fuel to get it going. With a little luck, we would lead that sucker to the lake. It worked like a charm and I started to see the forest through the trees, so to speak. The wind had slowed , the smoke a grey mist of sizzling misty ash. We continued to trudge on, cutting and digging until we were ready to light the back fire.
Two hours later, we were halfway down the slope when the wind suddenly shifted.
“Shit!”
The trees in front of us erupted into massive explosive flames.
Some of the men panicked. Their wild eyes searched for an escape route as they ran in all directions. Those who kept their heads, looked to me for direction. Copying my actions, they understood. Quickly, they put on their oxygen masks but one hadn’t donned it fast enough. He dropped with heat exhaustion.
I scurried over and place his mask on the fallen man’s face. He slowly opened his eyes, then I turned to the rest within hearing. “Keep calm. And we’ll get out of here alive.”
Several of the men attempted to go back up the trench trail but it was no use. That was on fire too.
“Take your packs out! Take your packs out!” I reached over my shoulder and pulled out an aluminum foil-type cloth, my emergency tarp. I threw it over myself and then dropped to the ground, tucking the edges below my feet. It wasn’t sure if it would work. We hadn’t had time to prepare the ground, but I had to try. Then I got an idea.
n a rush of inspiration, I threw off the tarp, found my pick axe lieing on the ground next to me, and began chopping a giant ring around myself before shouting, “Dig, Dig!” I cleared away as much dirt as I possibly could, hoping I had reached the mineral soil underneath, and then I curled myself into a ball. I pulled the tarp back over my head and waited, pray the rest of the men were doing the same, but not having the time to monitor them. In the great scheme of things and no matter how much I tried to protect them—in a fire, each man was on his own.
I crouched like that for hours—feeling helpless and terrified.
I didn’t know what was happening, only that that bone-melting inferno raged out of control around me making me incredibly hot inside my little cocoon.
The sound of trees exploding and people shouting made me certain I couldn’t move from where I hid. Not yet.
I gasped. How long before I ran out of oxygen? Without cool refreshing air? The oxygen near the earth sucked into the fire.
I took small cleansing breaths while coughing so hard I thought my eyes would pop out of my head.
This is it, I thought. I’m going to die.
Then, everything went blank.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Amy
ED The clock on the wall ticked annoyingly loud as I glanced around the great room of my family home filled with boxes of all sizes, and huge garbage bags for linens, towels, and anything else that didn’t belong in a cardboard box. The room still looked the same as the day my mother decorated it. Almost as if she’d never gone away. Well, most of it had her touch, minus the garish crystal chandelier Penelope purchased and the hideous lime green wallpaper on one wall. Placing another box with my coffeemaker in it on the other side of the room, I traced the white satiny woodwork, let my fingers glide along the pencil markings. Four years. Five. Six. And then ending at twelve. All markings of my height at various stages of my growth. That would be the first thing the owners would paint over. Soon, no one would even know I existed. I. They’d paint over everything, actually. My mother’s mural included. My heart squeezed and a lump formed in my throat.
Still in my pajamas, I glanced out the window, anxious for the mail to come with a notice saying the bank was finally repossessing my home. At least, I’d have a date to go by. Closure, so to speak..
What the hell was I going to do? How would I bring all this up in conversation when I visited my father? Hey, dad…about the house. We don’t have one anymore so you’re stuck here forever in this godforsaken nursing home.
What kind of a daughter does that?
No wonder, Brock didn’t want to be with me.
This was all my fault and the blinders I wore were no excuse. I knew what kind of a snake my stepmother was since the moment I laid eyes on her. She’d convinced my father, unbeknownst to me, that we needed to mortgage the house right after he had his accident. Naturally, he thought he’d be coming home and it was temporary, but after breezing through all of the money, Penelope made small payments every once in awhile, just to keep the bank off our backs. I never knew about that either. I never knew about any of it. I was too wrapped up in school and living my little life. I’d actually thought the fact that I had to put graduate school on hold was the worst thing that could have happened to me. I was so selfish and wrong. About everything.
I strolled into Dad’s bedroom and smiled. Somehow, the mural was still intact. Lord knows how it survived with Penelope running the show. On my parents tenth anniversary, and before I was actually born, my parents took a trip to Italy. Mom had become pregnant on that trip. Totally thrilled that she was expecting m
e, she’d hired an artist, as soon as they arrived home. He’d painted a portrait of Venice right on their bedroom wall. The most magical place on earth, she’d told me once. I remembered being slightly disgusted when she told me that. When you’re twelve, you really don’t want to think of your parents that way, but as I grew, I learned the love behind the wall.
I hadn’t slept much in nearly two days. After the incident at the Thirsty Turtle, I’d sort of given up my plan of saving the house leaving me anxious and restless. I’d come to realize there was no way I was going to make that much money. Even If I ate, slept and lived at the Thirsty Turtle, it was literally impossible to raise ten grand in less than three months, so I decided to stop putting myself through that particular torture, though god knows I deserved it. I could live with Jane while I figured out.
The sound of footsteps on my front porch alerted me to the postmaster. I dragged myself to the front room just as she was getting back inside her truck. I opened the door and reached inside the mail slot stuck on the side of the house. Pulling out several envelopes, the metal flap slammed shut making me jump. What the hell was I so jittery about?
Trudging to the kitchen counter, I dropped the mail on top of it. Sure enough, there was a letter from the bank. I pushed it aside, not wanting to read what I’d considered my death sentence at the moment. Taking an envelope opener from the sideboard, I ripped open the electric bill instead. Next, I opened the heating bill, the cable bill, and a letter from one of my aunts. The letter I placed aside too. I was in no mood to hear her brag about going to the Grand Canyon with her grand kiddies or whatever mindless adventure she was known to drone on about. I took the electric bill out of the envelope first and read the big red letters saying SHUT OFF. The same general message was in all the other envelopes.
I braced myself for the worst and then ripped open the bill from the bank, throwing the envelope on the floor.
I stared at the letter for a long time in complete and utter shock.
I grabbed the envelope I’d tossed on the floor and re-read the address.
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