Spontaneous Combustion

by Bobby Hutchinson

  Everyone murmured amen.

  Intellectually, John knew that many people said grace, but this was the first time in his entire life he’d been a part of such a group. Religion hadn’t figured in his upbringing. It gave him the strangest feeling to have Caleb mention him by name, and suddenly he felt deeply ashamed of deceiving these good people. When the grace was over, he looked up and met Patrick’s eyes, and it seemed to him that Patrick knew, that he could sense just by looking at him that John wasn’t being honest.

  Get hold of yourself—the end justifies the means, John told himself, but the old mantra didn’t have much power today. The food lost a tiny bit of its appeal, but his hunger dictated that he eat, and every bite confirmed how delicious it all was.

  “So, John, tell me exactly what neighborhood you grew up in in New York? What did your father do for a living?” Willow took a bite of roast and waited expectantly as he swallowed his own mouthful.

  Her words fell into one of those silences that come about in groups, and he could sense that everyone around the table was listening, waiting expectantly for his answer.

  “My dad was a fireman. He’s dead now.” That much was accurate, as far as it went. There had been a fireman named John Forester, and he was no longer alive.

  “We lived in Sunnyside, Queens,” John lied, feeling a sudden and disturbing reluctance about embellishing the mixture of fact and fiction that was his cover story.

  “Queens,” Willow said. “Nice neighborhood. Did your house have a view of the New York skyline?”

  “We lived in an apartment building—one of those six-story brick jobs,” he said, relieved beyond measure that he’d taken the time to scout out the area he’d chosen as his fictitious home.

  “What station was your father at?” Willow asked. “My mother’s family had a number of firefighters. Mother’s people are Irish.”

  Willow was like a bulldog, John thought—grabbing on and never letting go. “Hall Seventeen, in Brooklyn,” he replied.

  “Really? I had an uncle with the Brooklyn Fire Department. He might even have been at Hall Seventeen, I’m not sure. He knew everybody. He was the head of the union, so he might have known your father. Sorry, but what did you say his name was again? My brain is a sieve sometimes.”

  “Same as mine.” John could see Patrick paying close attention as his tongue took him further and further from the truth. “John Forester.”

  “John Forester,” Willow repeated thoughtfully. “I’ll ask my uncle if he knew him.”

  John thought about coincidence. What were the odds of meeting anyone in a small city on the West Coast who’d have personal knowledge of a fire station in Brooklyn? Yet here he was, sitting next to the second person he’d met so far who did. Somebody, somewhere, had a weird sense of humor.

  As soon as he could, he turned toward Linda and asked her questions about the documentary she’d helped make about the smoke jumpers. Here, at least, he was on firm ground, because he’d watched the video enough times that he could talk about it with confidence.

  “I especially enjoyed the story the interviewer told about the sacred pool up in the mountains,” he said to her. “And the footage you had of it was spectacular. It really conveyed a sense of timelessness. Have you made it back there again?”

  “No, unfortunately not. It was a magical place…I still want to go back someday.” She looked over and caught Sean’s eye, and the intimacy of the look they exchanged made John feel uncomfortable again. “We’d planned to go back to the sacred pool on our honeymoon, but Sean was called out to a fire in Montana, and I had an assignment in Mexico. By the time we were back, we’d both had enough of roughing it, so we went to Hawaii. And while we were there, I found out I was pregnant. I haven’t felt up to mountain climbing.”

  John knew less than nothing about pregnancy. The whole idea made him feel queasy, and he averted his eyes from Linda’s flat middle.

  Of course he knew where babies came from. He just hadn’t been around very many women who were growing them.

  “You travel much, John?”

  “Some. A couple trips to Mexico, a few to Europe, and last year I had a job—uh, took a trip to Ireland.” He was still concentrating hard on not looking at her midsection, and the question had caught him unawares.

  Pay attention, he warned himself. You slipped there. A fireman probably wouldn’t have money enough to go globe-trotting, idiot.

  Get her talking. It was safer that way. “How about you, Linda? What are you working on at the moment?”

  “Until very recently, I worked as a television photographer based in San Diego. I traveled most of the time. When we got back from Hawaii, I landed this super job at the local station. I’ll be filming interviews, covering sports events. I never thought I’d be content to settle down in one place, but that was before I met Sean.”

  “So you don’t miss it, the globe-trotting?”

  “Not so far.” She smiled across at her husband. “I guess falling in love changed me. Living with Sean is all the excitement I can handle these days.”

  “Works for me,” Sean declared.

  Had he ever met a couple who appeared to be this happy? John wondered. This visibly in love?

  “How about you, John?” The question came from Mary. “You think you’ll be able to settle down here in Courage Bay after all the excitement of the big city?”

  “Oh, for sure. Courage Bay has a lot to offer—no traffic jams, no crowds.” He remembered that he was supposed to be living on a fireman’s wages. “No exorbitant rents, either, I hear.”

  “John’s looking for a condo or an apartment to rent,” Shannon said. “I called Matthew. He said he’ll be in touch, John.”

  “My nephew’s an honest Realtor,” Caleb assured him. “He’ll find you something at a fair price.”

  The talk veered to real estate. When everyone was finished eating, Shannon got to her feet and began to collect the plates.

  Linda started to get up to help, but John said, “Why don’t you let me?”

  He stood up, gathered plates and cutlery and followed Shannon into the kitchen. He noticed that Mary and Willow also started to help, but at some signal from Linda they sat back down.

  He was grateful, because he was sweating and felt as if he’d been through an ordeal. He and Shannon repeated the clearing process several times, and after the final trip to the kitchen, Shannon said, “So, Forester, you rescue injured ladies on the beach, walk dogs, help with dishes. Do you do windows as well?” She set the last load of plates down and started scraping food into the garbage container and then stacking the dishwasher.

  He did the same. “Only when there’s a fire and the windows need breaking. I’m not exactly what you’d call an expert in the kitchen.” He smiled at her, admiring the way her simple dress skimmed her body, hinting at the slender curves underneath. “Willing but inexperienced, that’s me. Cooking is pretty much a mystery.”

  She gave him a curious look. “You must have had to cook at the fire station when you were a probie.”

  Jesus, Johnny boy, get a grip. “Yeah, of course. I’m just not much good at it.”

  Damn. He was slipping and sliding all over the place today. It wasn’t like him.

  “Well, stick around here and we’ll get you whipped into shape.” She was bent over, rummaging in the fridge. Her dress hiked up to the top of her thighs, and he took full advantage of the view.

  “Speaking of whipping…” She looked at him over her shoulder and caught him staring. He raised a suggestive eyebrow, and her dimples appeared as she laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you. It’s the cream we’re working on here.”

  He longed to take the container out of her hand, back her up against the cabinets, press her tight against him and kiss her senseless.

  There’s danger here.

  “Here’s the mixer.” She handed it to him, dumped the quart of thick cream into a large bowl. “You do that, and I’ll make coffee.”

  He’d never whipp
ed cream before, but how hard could it be? He plugged in the mixer, shoved the blades in and turned the machine on high.

  Cream spattered across his face, his shirt, his jeans, the curtains, the wall. He yelped and then swore, and Shannon burst into giggles.

  “Your technique needs work. You have to hold the beaters straight up and down, like this,” she demonstrated, moving in close and taking the machine.

  Her hair brushed his arm. She smelled like coffee, like cream, like vanilla, like everything delicious he’d ever tasted.

  “Now beat this until it’s good and thick, but not too thick, because it’ll turn to butter, and we’ll be sunk. Put a spoonful of sugar in once it starts to thicken, and then add the vanilla and mix it just a tiny bit more. I’ll slice these pies and put the pieces out on serving plates, and you scoop up a good-size dollop of cream and plonk it on each one.”

  “Plonk? Is that a cooking term? I thought it was cheap wine.” He was enjoying himself. He was enjoying her. He was wondering how long they could spin this out.

  “Get busy, slave.”

  He did, and this time, he actually managed to turn the thick mixture into whipped cream. Together, they ladled out generous portions of pie and cream. When the last was done, Shannon ran a forefinger around the bowl, scooping up the remainder of the cream, and stuck it in his mouth.

  “Good, huh?” She gave him a teasing, mischievous grin, and those blue eyes seemed to dare him.

  Her smile faded and she gasped when he sucked lasciviously on her finger, holding her hand so she couldn’t pull away. Then he tugged her close and kissed her, hard and fast and very thoroughly. She tasted like something elusive that he’d been searching for all his life.

  “We’d better get this pie in the dining room before my dad comes looking for it,” she said when he let her go. But he noticed that her voice wobbled and her hands were trembling when she started loading the plates on a huge wooden tray.

  He lifted it, and he was on his way out when he heard her say in a soft tone, “I can’t quite put my finger on what’s going on with you, John Forester. But I’m going to find out…you can bank on it.”

  Now why didn’t he find that reassuring?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  LATER THAT EVENING, Shannon somehow found herself alone with her mother, a situation she tried hard to avoid.

  John had been the first to leave, and then it was like lemmings heading over a cliff. Uncle Donald and Willow hurried off to attend a movie. Linda was tired, so she and Sean had gone home, and Patrick took Gramps and her father to the marina to look at a boat he was thinking of buying.

  After dessert was eaten, everyone had helped clean the kitchen, so there wasn’t much left to do except strip the cloth off the table, put it through the laundry and carry the garbage out. While Shannon was doing that, Mary made another pot of coffee and set two mugs and a plate of oatmeal cookies on the kitchen table, which made it pretty difficult for Shannon to stage the quick getaway she’d planned.

  “I like your young man,” Mary said, pouring cream into her mug.

  “Mom, John is not my young man.”

  “Oh, so you let just anybody kiss you like that in the kitchen? I wasn’t spying. I was just coming to see what had become of the pies.”

  Rats. Busted. And how on earth could she explain now that she figured John might be an arsonist, and she was just trying to get at the truth?

  “I don’t think he’s been around families like ours a whole lot. He seemed a little on edge. What do you know about his background, Shannon?”

  Good question. The answer: not half as much as she’d like to know.

  Shannon shrugged. “Just what he told everybody at dinner. That his father was a fireman, that he’s dead now. And he did tell me he’s an only child and his mother’s alcoholic—she’s been in and out of hospitals. I gather that John takes care of her.”

  Mary nodded. “He’s a kind man. It shows in his eyes.”

  And by the way he drags dogs and women out of burning warehouses?

  Time to change the subject. “Mom, you used to know Willow really well, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yes, long ago. We were friends before either of us married. We toured with that little rock band. But years passed, and we lost touch. People change, I can’t say I know her all that well anymore.” Mary’s voice took on her usual worried tone. “I just hope Donald isn’t going to break her heart. He’s so careless about women’s feelings.” She sighed and then brought her attention back to Shannon. “Why do you ask, dear? Isn’t it working out, having Willow board with you?”

  “I’m not exactly sure yet.” Shannon explained about all the things Willow had ripped out at her house. “I just wondered if you knew how good she is at finishing things she’s started.”

  To Shannon’s surprise, Mary laughed. “If that isn’t just like her. I remember her taking a dress of mine apart one afternoon. I wanted it for the show we were doing that night and she insisted it needed to be taken in and hemmed. She went to the store for thread, and darned if she didn’t go flitting off with some boy she met there. I was furious with her. I don’t think she ever fixed that dress for me.”

  Shannon tipped her head back and groaned. “That’s what I was afraid of. Willow the total whacko, the human wrecking ball. I’ll bet she drove her husband nuts, ripping their house apart. I’ll bet he’s relieved she’s gone.”

  Mary looked uncertain. “I doubt that. I never met Steve Redmond, and she’s never really said it in so many words, but I think Willow was in an abusive marriage.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, Lordy, Mom, why would she stay with him so long?” It was something Shannon never understood. There’d been calls she’d gone on where it was obvious the woman had been beaten. A month or two later, another call, same woman. What was that about?

  “I’m only guessing, but I’d imagine it was because of her son. Aaron had to have numerous operations on his leg when he was growing up, and Willow had no career apart from playing the guitar. She couldn’t have supported Aaron and herself all on her own. Things were different back then…laws weren’t as strict about support. And I’ve read that women who are beaten always believe the man is going to change.”

  “Yeah, right, like that’s gonna happen. Why are women so gullible?”

  “I guess we all want to believe in happily ever after.”

  Shannon remembered something Willow had said about Mary refusing Caleb’s marriage proposals. “Was that what you wanted, Mom? To get married and live happily ever after?”

  Mary studied her coffee cup for several long moments, and then she slowly shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. As a matter of fact, I didn’t want to get married at all. You know there were fourteen kids in my family. I grew up changing diapers and baby-sitting and sleeping in a bed with at least two of my sisters. I decided early on I wanted a singing career instead of that.”

  “So what changed your mind?”

  Mary raised her eyes and met Shannon’s. “I got pregnant, and I didn’t believe in abortion. So your father and I got married.”

  Shannon was stunned. She stared at her mother. “You never told me that before.”

  Mary’s smile was wry. “It’s not exactly something I broadcast, dear. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be happier about Sean and Linda. Attitudes were very different when I was a girl.”

  Shannon was doing math in her head. “But—was that—were you pregnant with…with Thomas?” Of course she knew that Mary and Caleb had lost their first son when he was only two. He’d caught some virus and died within twenty-four hours. But the dates still didn’t add up. Shannon figured they’d been married a couple of years before Thomas was born.

  “No, no. Not Thomas. I lost that first baby when I was six months pregnant. She didn’t live.”

  “But you were already married.”

  “Yes, of course. Your father had proposed time and time again. When he found out about the baby, he was overjoyed. We got married right away. And the
n I had the miscarriage. In those days, they didn’t let you see the baby, but I insisted. She was so beautiful. I called her Angela, because she was already with the angels.” Mary’s hazel eyes filled with tears. “I got pregnant again almost right away. With Thomas.”

  Who’d died at age two. Shannon reached across the table and took her mother’s hand.

  “Mom, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  Mary squeezed Shannon’s fingers and let them go so she could get up and find a box of tissues. “Of course you didn’t.” She sat back down and blew her nose. “How could you? It’s not something I ever talk about.”

  Shannon didn’t know how to phrase the next question, but she very much needed to ask it. “Were…were you sorry you’d gotten married, Mom? I mean, you lost the baby. You still could have gone ahead with your career—”

  Mary shook her head. “Never. I grew to love your father more after we were married than I had before. He was heartbroken when we lost the baby. Sometimes love happens fast, like it did for Sean and Linda. Other times, it grows slowly, like it did for me with Caleb. One kind is no better than the other, as long as you recognize it and treasure it. And I’ve been so lucky. You and Sean and Patrick are all healthy, thank God.” She paused, and Shannon knew what was coming. She got the usual sinking feeling in her stomach.

  “Although I guess I’ll never get used to you and Sean having such dangerous jobs.” Mary sighed, a familiar sound, and her face took on the expression that Shannon thought of as her martyr mask. “I know you think just because you’re young and strong, nothing can happen to you, but it’s not true, Shannon. Your father’s lungs are damaged from breathing in smoke. Sean has had I don’t know how many close calls. I’ve told you before I think it’s foolhardy and thoughtless of you to work on the trucks the way you do. You could transfer into dispatch or become a medic. Why won’t you see reason, honey?”

  This was the point where they usually got into a heated argument. This time, however, Shannon didn’t feel the usual irritation and impatience with her mother. She hadn’t realized before how vulnerable Mary must feel about her children. Losing two babies was enough to make anyone paranoid. And she’d also lost her dreams, regardless of how much she denied it. Instead of anger, Shannon felt compassion.