Twilight

by Kristen Heitzmann

  Did his job? What if the cries had been real? What if he’d freaked out when a real child was in danger? “Child killer.” Did someone believe that? Someone besides himself? If he had defied Frank sooner, heard better, seen better, let go the line to reach her …

  Frank swept the bottle into the trash. “You can’t let one slipup—”

  “One slipup and people die.” Cal’s hands curled in his pockets.

  “Let it go, Cal.” Frank’s face looked weary. “If you’d obeyed orders she would have died. You tried the impossible.” He looked up, hazel eyes appealing. “I want you active.”

  Cal jerked his hand free and slapped the pink stress head across the desk. “Can’t you get it into your thick head that I’m done? There’s no law that says I have to be a firefighter for the rest of my life. I never signed in blood.”

  “No, but you sweated enough. How can you waste your training, your skill?”

  “My skill is shot. And I’m sick of playing the clown.” Cal’s hands shook, and he stuffed them into his pockets. Frank had concocted that position for him. He’d given over the instruction, the training, the inspections, all of it to keep him connected until he was ready for action again. Cal knew Frank wanted him part of the department, but it couldn’t be. The throbbing in his head intensified. “I quit.”

  “I don’t accept it.” Frank looked like a bull hunkered down.

  Fine. Cal turned on his heel and went out. Frank would have to accept it. Sooner or later. He stalked to his jeep and climbed in. Maybe he could have driven worse, but probably not. When he saw Danson’s lights behind him, he almost laughed. The perfect ending to the perfect nightmare. Hip hip hooray. Take me to the clinker. Cal pulled over. Danson approached the window, and Cal rolled it down but kept his gaze out the windshield.

  “Watching your speed, Morrison?”

  “Nope.”

  “Lane markers mean anything to you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Got an attitude, don’t you?” Danson leaned on the window frame. His breath smelled like hash browns and ketchup. “Frank told me you worked the holiday shift so he could spend Thanksgiving with his family.”

  Cal didn’t answer.

  “You take it slow home. I’ll be on your tail all the way to Mildred’s driveway.”

  Cal glanced over as Danson pushed back from the window. For a moment their eyes met, then Cal nodded. “Yes, sir.” He rolled up the window and put the jeep in gear. Most of what Cal thought of the sergeant was true. He was a swaggering bully sort of man who liked to play the role of tough guy. But then, that was his job, and Cal wasn’t by nature one of those who disrespected authority or even rules.

  Though he was never averse to a prank, and, in general, thought most folks should lighten up, he liked order and respected those who, in any capacity, spent their lives protecting the public. He and Danson had never seen eye to eye on style, but they hadn’t crossed swords until … Cal slammed his hands against the wheel as a shadow of last night’s shakes started in his spine.

  It translated to his hands again as he gripped the wheel and glanced in the mirror to see Danson on his tail as promised. Cal resisted gunning the gas pedal. No sense increasing the animosity. No sense to any of it. What had Reggie said? God had a time and purpose for everything?

  Okay, God. What was the purpose of last night’s phone call? What’s the time line on post-traumatic stress? Or do I get to live with it forever? Cal scowled at the thought. He’d told himself he was in detox for substance abuse. Now he looked at the truth that Dr. Rita wanted him to see.

  It wasn’t booze and drugs he fought; it was a monster in his own mind. Failure. He closed his eyes against the throbbing of his head, then recalled Danson’s cruiser just behind and returned his eyes to the road. His vision blurred, then cleared enough to make out the center of the road and keep to one side of it.

  He wasn’t still drunk, just suffering the consequences of it. He checked his speed and lightened up on the gas. He squeezed his palm across his eyes and focused. A time and purpose for everything? “So why is Ashley Trainor dead!” His sudden shout hurt his head, but it was the kind of hurt he wanted. “Didn’t she have a purpose? You sure didn’t give her time! You didn’t give me time!”

  He slammed the steer ing wheel again. “Two minutes! You couldn’t give me two minutes!” The jeep swerved, and Danson climbed almost onto his bumper.

  Breathing deeply, Cal controlled himself and brought the jeep into line. He just had to make it home, then he’d shed Danson and go to bed. He wanted sleep. He needed it. What did Danson say? Frank told him? Had Frank called the sergeant to see him home? A fresh fury started inside. Did Frank think he was cracking up again? Incapable of making it home unescorted? Did Frank think he’d do something stupid like … end it all?

  Now that was a thought. Significant. One Dr. Rita kept digging for; one that Cal would never admit. “I’m crazy, not suicidal.” And he’d given her his rascal grin. Cal swallowed. He wasn’t suicidal. He’d seen enough ODs and slashed wrists to know that much.

  He turned into the gravel driveway and waved the sergeant by with a single salute, then pulled the jeep to a stop. He held his head in his hands as he climbed out into the brightness of the morning. His legs were none too steady as he made his way to the stairs. Home free.

  The knock on the window halted him. He didn’t want to hear it, but somehow it penetrated his fog. He dragged his face up through his fingers and succumbed to the inevitable. Mildred pulled open the door. The excessive warmth and the smell of the fruitcake she held assaulted him. He fought the nausea.

  “You smell.”

  He smelled? “I spent the night at the station.”

  “I don’t mean that smell. I thought you didn’t drink on duty.”

  “I’m no longer on duty.” He squirmed under her gimlet gaze. “Did you need something?”

  She shoved the fruitcake his way. “I made you this.”

  “Well …” He took it from her. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. And just so you know, it’ll make your dog sick, so don’t try it.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. Actually, I like fruitcake.” Just not when he felt like this. He tried not to breathe the aroma as he went upstairs. He set it on the table and opened a window. Nothing wrong with the furnace today. He collapsed on the bed, pulled open the nightstand drawer, and shook four ibuprofen from the bottle. He swallowed them dry, then lay without moving.

  The decision had been easy. He should have made it months ago. Seeing the disappointment in Frank’s eyes had been hard, but he’d get over it. Cal’s jaw tightened. The fact was, he was damaged, damage that went deeper than any training. And it wouldn’t go away, not by spilling his guts to Rita, not by drowning it with booze and pills.

  He shook his head. The Souther n Comfort hadn’t kept his thoughts at bay. Instead, it had churned up more memories—the dinner he’d had with Laurie’s family, everyone sitting like mannequins at the table, their faces long and stern, and his adolescent attempts at joviality. They’d gone over like gum on your shoe. No wonder she’d broken free. He just wished she hadn’t run so far.

  But he knew now that he was no good to her. Maybe once— before the damage. Not anymore. The headache was subsiding, and he rolled over. Just before he drifted off, he jolted awake. The phone call, like the accident with the Firebird, had followed Laurie’s visit. Was there a connection? Was it a threat? A warning?

  He gripped his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Ignore it. Don’t even go there. But his thoughts surged on. The voice had been indeterminate, hoarse and low. Male, most likely, but … Laurie’s ex? The shell shock had set in so immediately, he couldn’t be sure of anything.

  By the time the trauma had passed, he’d drowned it with whiskey, a setback Rita would not hear about. Not from him anyway. He sat up, sleep no longer a possibility. He might not be what he once was, but did he have the luxury of giving up? Maybe Mildred was right. Maybe it was time
to find a better way. Reggie had put it well. “What’s the point altering your senses? Live your life. It’s the only one you got.”

  That was wisdom. The trouble was figuring out how.

  Laurie put on her best smile and brought menus to the couple at the counter, who took them without looking up. Funny how many people never looked her in the face. They talked with their eyes on the menu or stirring their coffee or looking at each other as though she were an intercom instead of a person. But she was getting used to that.

  She glanced up as Cal sauntered in and took a seat in the corner booth. Her heart jumped, and she frowned. How could he still do that to her, just by walking in? Maybe, as Rob said, she shouldn’t have gone last night, shouldn’t have raised his hopes. It was just that she needed a friend, someone she could trust. And the truth was, she felt safer with Cal in her life than not.

  She grabbed the coffeepot and went to him. Close up, he looked haggard. But then he’d worked through the night. He might not have been to sleep yet. “Breakfast or lunch?”

  “I’m not that desperate. Think the coffee’s safe?” He gave her a crooked smile.

  “I made it myself.”

  His smile spread. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He turned over his cup for her to pour. “I missed you last night.”

  “I couldn’t stay.” She almost told him Rob had all but run her off, but what good would that do? So she used the other excuse, which was also true. “Mother.” She shrugged. Mother had contested her going in the first place. But there was also no point in going into that. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m celebrating.”

  “What?”

  “My deliverance.”

  “Deliverance?” She hated it when he made her drag it out of him word by word.

  “From work.”

  Boy could she relate. “I’m sure you’re exhausted. Especially after a twenty-four-hour shift—”

  “I mean permanently.”

  “Permanently.” She rested her hip against the side of the booth.

  “I quit the fire department.” The blue of his eyes darkened.

  Laurie stared at him. He couldn’t mean it. As long as she could remember that’s all he’d wanted to be. She’d teased him, saying most little boys grew out of their fireman stage. But not Cal. He’d stood at attention every time the fire engine passed, quivering with something vital, knowing that whatever it took he’d be one of them.

  Seeing him there last night, having him take her around the station, pride had been there again in his voice, in his manner. And now he had quit? She should be elated. Now he could get serious, look outside Montrose for— What was she doing, imposing her own values on him? Listen to what he’s saying. He was giving up his life. Why?

  Why not? He was Cal Morrison. High on potential, low on motivation. She stopped the thought. It was unfair. Hadn’t he thrown himself into the training over and beyond the requirements? This was not some disillusionment. He was leaving what he loved. “Why?”

  “Tired of clowning around.”

  She didn’t understand that. What was this clown part he played? Why was he entertaining kids with magic tricks when he knew so much more? The incident Rob mentioned? A fierce annoyance rose up. There were too many unknowns, and right now she had her own trouble. What did he expect from her?

  “I’m having some friends for poker tonight. Want to come?”

  “I know better.”

  He sipped his coffee, set the cup down. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Sure.”

  “I swear. Everyone stays clothed.”

  Laurie glanced around as though Daddy could appear from the grave. Cal took her hand. She quickened at the warmth of his touch, but she did not want those feelings to start. She’d drawn the line, and she would keep to it. He flashed his smile again, but it seemed empty. Where was he? Why did he have to be falling apart now when she had nothing to give? She slumped. “All right, I’ll come.”

  “Seven o’clock. I’ll tell Cissy to expect the kids.”

  “I’ll leave them with Mom. They’re doing a lot better with her, and she … Well, she’s alone so much.”

  “Suit yourself.” He released her hand. “Good coffee.”

  Laurie recalled her other customers. If Maple saw her slacking … She hurried back to take the couple’s order. When she looked up again, Cal was gone.

  11

  AFTER ALL, IT IS HARD TO MASTER

  BOTH LIFE AND WORK EQUALLY WELL.

  SO IF YOU ARE BOUND TO FAKE ONE OF THEM,

  IT HAD BETTER BE LIFE.

  Joseph Brodsky

  CAL SPENT THE DAY FIXING everything around the house that was chipped, scratched, or missing a screw. The hinge on the shed door, the half dozen dead branches, the peeling shingles … Mildred had no reluctance about accepting his help, though she had plenty of input on the how and when of each task. But the adrenaline from losing most of a night’s sleep along with the sleeplessness that came with the post-traumatic stress disorder made him hyper. Manual labor was just the ticket. He poured himself into it with a vengeance.

  Then he attacked his own rooms. Never dubbed a neatnik, he now scrubbed and scoured for more than two hours. Annie watched him, following from bedroom to living room to kitchen with a worried look on her face and a tiny whine now and then. Cal wondered if the folks who dumped her had moved, and she’d been subjected to a cleaning like this before losing them. “Don’t worry, girl. I’m not parting with you. No chance.”

  Cal reached for the Robert Frost book of poetry and held it a moment. Why had Laurie visited last night? He’d intended to leave her in peace, as she obviously wanted. Then why had she opened it up again? Why bring him dinner, make his heart rush with just her presence? She knew the chemistry. She felt it.

  Or did she? Did he imagine she cared the way he did? He opened the book flap. A true friend is worth more than any lover. He frowned. That’s what she said, but all his instincts said otherwise. What was holding her back?

  The broken window seemed to be a fluke, unless she’d kept any other incidents from him. That was possible. And there was the business of the black Firebird. And last night’s phone call. The hairs stood up on his head. He shook the thoughts away. He had no proof any of it was connected. But what if someone was warning him off? Her ex? Was he some jealous maniac?

  Cal wished she’d told him something more about Brian Prelane. Maybe tonight. Blowing his breath through his lips, he set the book on the shelf. It looked strange and a little lonely among Clancy and Grisham and Clive Cussler’s Dirk Pitt mysteries. Turning, Cal surveyed the room. He almost didn’t recognize it. But he’d worked himself into a tired enough state to try sleeping again. Sleeping without dreams, without the sound of that child crying. After all, he had to be at his fleecing best tonight.

  After a decent four-hour nap, he pulled the door open to Reggie and Rita.

  Reggie rubbed his hands together. “Hope you’re feelin’ lucky. I am hot today.”

  “You win the lottery or something?” Cal took Rita’s blue suede coat.

  “No, sir. I got Smilin’ Sal to talk.”

  Cal stopped in his path to the closet. Smilin’ Sal, who’d been in the center two years and had not said a word? He looked at Rita, who nodded back, then to Reggie. “How?”

  “The power of the Holy Ghost. I am gifted with the mentally bewildered.”

  “Kind of a kinship, hmm?”

  Reggie laughed. “You might say so.”

  “Congratulations.” Cal held up a Coke.

  Regg ie shook his head. “No thanks. What you got in the fridge?”

  “Nothing to put a dent in that appetite.” Cal waved at Reggie’s midsection.

  Laughing, Reggie wrapped his enormous hands around Cal’s neck and shook him like a rag doll. Cal fought free and looked at Annie wiggling her whole body with her tail. “Some protection you are. Sic, Annie!” She licked his hand, and Reggie guffawed.

  “She tho
ught you said lick, bro.”

  “If you men have finished with your machismo, I’d like a drink.”

  “Sorry, Rita.” Cal tossed her a bottle of Snapple.

  Reggie dug through the refrigerator chill drawer and pulled out a roll of liverwurst. “This all you got?”

  “Pretzels and chips.”

  Reggie shook his head and took out the loaf of rye. “Mustard?”

  “Bottom shelf in the door.”

  “So …” Rita accepted the glass he handed her and poured the tea. “What’s this I hear about you leaving the department?”

  Record time. What else had she heard through the hyperspeed grapevine? Cal shrugged. “That’s what I love about you, Rita. You’re so subtle, never pry, never …”

  “Come on, Cal.” She sipped. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  He clicked his fingers. “I forgot my mind’s on file with you.” She waited.

  Well, she could wait. He wasn’t going to tell her about the call, the little crying voice that had sent him over the edge. All things considered, it wasn’t any of her business. He was no longer ordered into her care; she was a friend, nothing more. If she heard about the booze, he didn’t care. He’d walked away, and it didn’t matter.

  She leaned on the counter. “Why did you quit?”

  “Time to make a change.”

  “Oh? You have something lined up?” She tapped her fingernail on the glass.

  “Maybe.”

  “What?” Brutally unrelenting.

  “Maybe … furniture.” The thought had sprung up in the nick of time. “Dad taught me cabinetry. It’s always been a thought to try it someday.”

  “That’s bosh, and you know it.”

  Cal frowned. He wished Rita didn’t have X-ray vision. “It’s not bosh at all. I’m good with wood.”

  “You made your table, didn’t you, Cal?” Reggie spoke around the bite of sandwich.

  “As a mere sprout. And other things over the years. Sold them too.”

  “And you’re going to make your living that way?” Rita put a fist to her hip. “You know what I think? I think it’s a cop-out.”