by P. G. Forte
I wasn’t the only one either. It seemed like dozens of other people were making the same trek, singly or in small groups. Their faces either grim or urgent, most appeared concerned, some merely curious. Their voices were hushed--or maybe it just seemed that way due to the buffeting wind, the din of helicopters overhead, the crackle of radios and static. No sirens though. Apparently all the fire-trucks available were already on the scene.
Badly parked cars were scattered along both sides of the road here. Despite the heat that poured from their shiny glass and metal surfaces, I felt cold inside, chilled to the bone. Even if Mike was here, how would I ever find him? Between the crowds and the confusion, the noise and the smoke, I could pass within feet of him and never even know it. The air itself was dark, heavy and thick with ash. It was hard to breathe, hard to see through. The tightness in my chest and the watering of my eyes made it harder still.
LA is a strange place at the best of times, but today it seemed absolutely surreal. Being a celebrity in LA can leave you with a sense of entitlement, can make you think you’re invulnerable. That you can do no wrong. Like ambassadors to the community, we expect to receive special treatment, special favors, a certain amount of immunity. Most of the time we get it, too.
This, however, was clearly not one of those times. At least not as far as the police officers whose job it was to keep people out of the canyon were concerned. When I reached the final barricade--still miles away from the fire, still acres away from where Mike might be trapped--I was stopped. Just like everyone else.
Oh, I tried everything I could think of to get information from them. I tried begging, crying, cajoling, reasoning, demanding, threatening, name dropping, all to no avail.
A sensible person might have let it go at that point, but I couldn’t. I had to know. I had to know now. What next, I wondered, as I paused for breath. Do I start shedding clothes, try to bribe them, or what? Suddenly, a hand was clamped firmly down on my shoulder. I shrieked in surprise as I found myself being spun roughly around, and then started to cough on a lungful of smoke.
“Claire, what the hell are you up to?” Mike barked at me angrily. “Have you lost your mind? Why are you here?”
“Mike.” Relief washed over me in great, warm waves and made me dizzy. Or maybe it was his handling of me that had done that, or the lack of breathable air. I didn’t care. I didn’t even think about being angry with him for his callous treatment. I drank in the sight of him and felt myself start to shake as reaction set in. He looked so good despite the sooty streaks that marked his jeans and polo shirt. And not dead! Not even injured! Only angry--as if I cared anything about that.
I started to sway and reached a hand toward him, hoping to steady myself, but he flinched away from my touch. Muscles freezing in response to his rejection, I stared at him, stricken. Okay, maybe I did care after all. The look on his face was arctic.
“I asked you a question, goddamn it,” he growled
He’d asked three, actually, but who was counting? And, anyway, I’d started coughing again and couldn’t answer.
“Folks, I’m not gonna tell you again,” the police officer nearest us warned. “If you don’t clear this area...”
“We’re going,” Mike snapped, taking hold of my arm and hauling me away. “I don’t believe you,” he muttered, scowling furiously. “Why were you arguing with those cops? Aren’t they busy enough already? What the hell are you even doing here?”
I tripped on a rock, stubbed my toe and abruptly lost my temper. Pulling my arm from his grasp, I scowled back at him. “Well, that’s a stupid question, Mike. Why do you think I’m here? I was looking for you!”
“Looking for me? Oh, that’s just--Shit, that’s just perfect.” His eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. You’re not gonna tell me you’ve been out here all along? You weren’t here last night, were you?”
I shook my head. “No. What are you talking about? I only heard about the fire when I got to work today. No one knew where you were. I had to come see that you were okay. I was worried.”
“Go home, Claire,” he said, sounding exhausted. “There’s nothing for you to do here.”
“Okay.” Well, that was fine with me. Now that I’d found him, I had no reason to stay. “Let’s go.”
“Stop it,” he snapped. “No more games. I’m not going anywhere and you know it.”
“Then neither am I.” I dug in my heels. “If you stay, I stay.”
“Not a chance. It’s too dangerous. Now get the hell out of here before I really lose my temper.”
I shrugged. “Go ahead and lose it. You think I haven’t seen a man get mad before? Besides, if it’s that dangerous, neither of us should be here.”
“I have a reason to be here!”
I nodded. “I know. So do I.”
He looked at me for a moment then shrugged. “Whatever.” Turning away, he headed down the road to where the cars were parked.
“Wait,” I protested hurrying to keep up with him. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my car,” he called over his shoulder. “There’s no telling how long we’ll be here and I can’t see the sense in just standing around all day, can you?”
I shook my head. “Not with all this smoke and heat.”
“Well, don’t expect it to be any better in here,” he cautioned as he held the passenger door open for me. “You really should leave, you know.”
I ignored that. “At least you still have your car,” I blurted without really thinking.
He looked at me, surprised. “My car?”
I nodded. “That’s something, isn’t it? I mean, I know how much you love your house--and it’s a beautiful house, Mike, really. But, look, you haven’t lost everything and it’s just stuff. It can be replaced.”
“Not everything can,” he said quietly, sounding so bitter it made my heart ache.
“But you can rebuild. If it’s even damaged--and it might be fine, you know. But, either way, you’re strong. I know you. You won’t end up like me, giving up and settling. And you know what? You’ll probably make it even better than it was before. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
An impossibly sad smile curved Mike’s lips. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked softly.
I looked at him, blankly. “No. Like what?”
“Zoe. I think I might have a little trouble replacing her.”
“Z-Zoe?” I stuttered as the bottom dropped out of my stomach and once again I felt like throwing up. “Are, are you telling me sh--she’s...? No. You mean you...no. No!”
Mike nodded, looking wretched.
“Why?” I wailed, tears welling up in my eyes as I thought about it. “How could you? Why would you leave her behind like that, Mike?”
“I didn’t leave her behind,” he snapped. “Not intentionally. I wasn’t home when the fire broke out and by the time I got back here they’d already started evacuating people and they wouldn’t let me in.” He glared at me coldly. “Obviously, if I’d known ahead of time there was going to be a fire, or if I’d been there when it started, I’d have taken her with me when I left. But I haven’t been home since Saturday. I’d have had to be a psychic to know she wouldn’t be safe there when I left her. Clearly, I’m not.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, lowering myself into the Jaguar’s front seat before my legs gave out. “I didn’t mean to accuse you. I know you wouldn’t do anything like that on purpose. Sometimes I... sometimes I say things without thinking. Dumb things. Things I don’t even mean.”
“I’ve noticed,” Mike replied dryly, walking around the car and opening the driver’s side door. “So, where were you anyway?” he asked as he settled himself in the driver’s seat.
Where was I? Confused, I looked at him questioningly. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Just for curiosity’s sake. So I can see exactly how big an idiot I’ve been.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, still puzzled. “Where was I when?”
Mike t
urned to stare out through the windshield. “When you didn’t return my calls on Saturday, I figured you were ignoring me. That made me mad. So I decided to drive into town and have it out with you.” His lips twisted. “But I couldn’t find you. I went to your house first. You weren’t there. Next I stopped by the exercise studio, but they didn’t know where you were either, or so they said.”
“They didn’t,” I interjected quickly, not wanting him to think I’d told them to lie.
“Right.” He sighed and went on. “So, I didn’t know what else to do. I drove around town for a bit but I was too angry to go home. I went back to your house and... ah, crap, I still don’t believe it.”
He passed his left hand over his face, scrubbing violently. His other hand was fisted on the console between us. I covered it with mine. “And what?” I asked finally.
He shook his head. “And...congratulations. I’ve finally become the stalker you always thought I was. I spent most of the weekend camped out in front of your house waiting for you to return. It’s a wonder none of your neighbors noticed or called the cops.” He turned his head and met my gaze. “So? Where were you?”
I opened my mouth to answer, to tell him all that I’d been doing while he was searching for me, waiting for me, risking embarrassment for me, sleeping in his car...
The soothing Acutonics sound therapy, the relaxing Thai massage, the crystal infusions, the oxygen facial, the full-body mojito sugar scrub, the mud bath, the herbal wrap, the manicure, the pedicure, the sauna...
Oh, hell, no. I could not tell him about the spa. I shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“I guess not.” Glancing down at my hand clasping his, Mike shook his head. “We really fucked this up good, didn’t we?”
I didn’t ask him what he meant by ‘this’. He could have been referring to any of a half dozen things and his assessment would still have been accurate. I nodded. “Yes, we did.”
We lapsed into silence. He didn’t withdraw his hand though, I counted that as a good sign and left my own where it was as well.
Time passed slowly. It’s just like a wake, I thought at one point, but again held my tongue. I’m learning, I thought sadly, even though it seemed like a clear case of ‘too little, too late’. I’m finally learning to keep my mouth shut.
Shortly before dark, word filtered down that the fire had been contained. We hurried to join the crowd clustered around the barricades, eager for news and listened while the Fire Marshal announced that, although the danger was past, no one would be allowed back in until morning.
“Why don’t we go back to my house now,” I suggested as we turned away.
Mike shook his head. “No. You go. I’m staying here.”
“Mike, come on, you can’t spend the night in your car.”
He snorted. “Sure, I can. What’s one more night?”
“Really dumb, that’s what,” I snapped. “And what about food? Have you eaten at all today?”
“I’m not hungry,” he replied sounding petulant.
“No? Well, I am.” I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Considering the amount of food I’d eaten the two days before that, it was no wonder I was suddenly famished. The break-up/brush fire/spa cuisine diet might not ever catch on, but it was effective as hell. I felt like a wraith.
“Claire, just go,” Mike sighed. “I’m not driving all the way back into town tonight. I doubt I can even get my car out until they open the road back up in the morning anyway. And even if I could, I wouldn’t go. I want to be here early.”
“There’s lots of motels out on the highway,” I pointed out. “That’s not very far, is it? And I’m parked out that way anyway. Let’s get a room. We’ll still be close enough to get back here early in the morning. Plus you’ll be in a lot better shape to deal with... with whatever you have to deal with... if you’ve had a meal and a shower and slept for a few hours.”
He said nothing, but I could tell he was wavering.
“Come on,” I pressed. “You know I’m right.”
“Fine,” he said, giving in at last. “You win.” Then he glanced down at my feet. “You walked all the way up here in those? Nice shoes.”
It took me a moment to realize he was being sarcastic. I looked down at my feet and wiggled my toes in my strappy, open-toed pumps. They had been nice--once. But they hadn’t been designed with this type of terrain in mind and their metallic, cracked-leather finish was all but wrecked now. I shrugged. “What can I tell you? It seems like neither one of us have been very lucky with our plans lately.”
* * * *
It took us a while to get back to my car and I have to admit my feet were aching by the time we did. I slid behind the wheel, kicked off my shoes and sighed in relief.
“Omigod,” I groaned when I checked my reflection in the vanity mirror. My face was in worse shape even than my shoes! Tracked by sweat and coated in dust and soot, it was almost unrecognizable. “No wonder I couldn’t get those cops to listen to me. Look at this--I’m a wreck!”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Could we just get going, please? I’m sure we’re not going to be the only people looking for a place to stay tonight.”
“All right, all right,” I muttered, making a couple more ineffectual swipes at my face with a tissue I’d taken from my purse. “I can’t really do anything about this now, anyhow.”
We had to try several motels, but eventually we got a room, took quick showers to wash away the heat and the grime and then went down to the adjacent restaurant for a light dinner--salad, burgers and iced tea for both of us, most of which Mike left untouched.
He was still acting distant and uncommunicative and as much as I would have liked to talk about my change of heart, I didn’t. He had other things on his mind tonight, I thought, and, frankly, I didn’t even know where to start.
On the television over the restaurant’s small bar the news showed pictures of the fire. Mike’s gaze strayed back to the screen again and again. My heart broke at the despair in his eyes.
“She’s going to be okay,” I murmured finally.
He looked at me, saying nothing, his disbelief obvious.
“Birds have all sorts of instincts, don’t they? Like with earthquakes and things. They probably face this sort of danger all the time in the wild. I’m sure they always know how to get to safety.”
He shook his head sadly. “Not always. Not when they’re trapped in a house. Besides, she can’t fly. I clipped her wings, remember?”
I hadn’t remembered, actually, although I nodded just the same, just as though I had. In my mind, however, I’d seen a different picture. I’d seen a smoldering tree branch fall through the bathroom skylight, opening up a hole in the roof. I’d seen Zoe winging her way to safety, a small, bright spot of gold, brilliant and beautiful, against dark clouds of smoke.
In my mind, I still refused to see it any other way. She was free, safe, untouchable, clever. Smart enough to know when to stick and when to make a break for it, to know how to avoid injury, how to protect herself, how to stay alive.
“You have to believe it Mike,” I said as I picked at my salad, doing my best to appear confident, unconcerned. “You have to tell yourself, over and over, that she’ll be okay. You have to see it with your mind’s eye.”
He stared at me for a moment, then he shook his head, picked up a fry and began to eat. “Sure,” he mumbled between bites. “Okay. Why not? I’m good at imagining stuff.”
After we ate, we went back to our room. Mike sat down on one of the beds and stared at the floor between his feet. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and change my clothes--having finally remembered during dinner that I still had my overnight bag in the car. When I returned, wearing my very favorite, brandy-colored satin and lace peignoir, he still hadn’t moved.
“You look tired,” I told him.
He nodded, his face wooden, his eyes still focused on the carpet. “I am. Very tired.”
He also looked like he’d stopped believing a
nd was back to fearing the worst. “Maybe you should get into bed, “I suggested.
“I will,” he muttered. “In a minute.”
I busied myself applying face cream and hand cream, covertly watching him through the mirror. I wondered if we would be using both beds tonight or just the one. I wondered how to ask without embarrassing us both. Or whether I even should ask. Maybe I should just assume.
A minute passed. Two minutes. He got as far as taking his shirt off and then stalled again. He looked so sad, it wasn’t hard to guess what he must be thinking about. His house. All the bad choices we’d made recently. Zoe.
To be honest, I was having a hard time staying positive myself. Every time I thought about it, I found it hard to breathe. And even though I knew it wasn’t really my fault, it still felt like it was. My chest felt tight, weighted down with guilt and grief and shame. I was sure Mike must be feeling and thinking the same.
If Zoe was dead, even if Mike didn’t blame me for it, I would still be a reminder of everything that had gone wrong, of everything he’d lost. But, most likely he would blame me and, either way, I wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to see me again.
If Zoe was dead... but no, I could not, would not think like that. Until I knew otherwise I would keep believing, I would keep hoping. And I would do whatever I could to keep both our minds focused on something--on anything--other than what we might find tomorrow.
That decided me. Crossing the room to where he sat, I went down on my knees on the cheap carpeting.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked, sounding alarmed, as I lifted one of his feet.
“Taking off your shoes,” I replied calmly, evenly, even though I thought that should have been evident. “And your socks. You weren’t planning on going to bed with them on, were you?”
He shook his head. “No, but I can undress myself, you know.”
“Well, obviously you can’t, Mike. You’re just sitting there.”
