Epilogue: Alive
"This is Hell, dude . . . I'm expecting to see Satan come out at anytime now.” ~ A Malibu Canyon resident fleeing his home torched by the historic 1993 Malibu wildfires
Two Months Later ~ Joe
I’ve always had a fascination with wildfires, and I’ve read a number of articles and books about them. One in particular is by John Maclean, called Fire and Ashes: On the Front Lines of American Wildfire. A line from the book really stuck with me: “As long as no one is standing in its way, a wildfire is a natural event. Put people in front of it, and it becomes the stuff of tragedy.”
Firefighters know that better than anyone, and of course as a firefighter I’ve done a lot of training for how to fight them.
I just never thought I’d die in one.
As I was lying on that Malibu pool deck pinned under a massive collapsed pergola, and delirious from pain, I thought about my family and how I wished I hadn’t let my brother’s sin create a chasm between me and my parents. I desperately wanted to talk to them one last time.
But most of all I thought about my brave girlfriend, Trisha, and I prayed to God that she was safe and that in her strength she could rise out of this hell and go on for the two of us.
I looked up and saw the wall of flames, a brilliant burst of hot reds and oranges, licking the sky, and I’d never felt so small. Closing my eyes, I prepared for my flesh to burn, willing myself to be brave and accept death with dignity.
It all sounds ridiculously dramatic now, but in that moment I really believed I didn’t have a chance to survive. And I didn’t really, except I had underestimated the determination of one woman’s spirit. There isn’t a superpower or a firestorm that can touch the fierceness that is Patricia McNeill.
At the point that she appeared before me as a vision, I was delirious, falling in-and-out of consciousness from the smoke and searing pain. She cried out, rushed over and fell to her knees, placing her hands on my face as she called my name, and I mumbled back incoherently.
“I’m here,” she said over and over, her voice breaking.
For a moment I forgot that I was trapped under a cage of fallen wooden beams, but I was quickly reminded by the look of terror in Trisha’s eyes as her gaze scanned over me. She pulled out her radio and reported in for back-up.
I wasn’t even sure the bottom half of my leg was still there, but there was the pain, the howling horrific pain telling me that I was still alive.
I had a moment of clarity, when I realized that with the firestorm jumping the highway, it was more than my life at stake. Trisha was frantically pulling debris away from me and testing my responses to determine if my back was broken. I lifted my head off the cement and yelled at her to evacuate and save herself. I was aware of the inferno of flames enveloping us, the circle of survival closing up as every second passed. She was going to die if she didn’t run for her life, and my rage became another inferno when instead of choosing survival she continued pulling the debris and wood beams off of me, and wasting the last precious seconds of her life.
I lost it and summoned up my full breath to yell at her, “Get the hell out of here, you’re going to die!”
“I’m not leaving without you, so back off!” she screamed as I felt more weight lift off my back, freeing my shoulder, which had been pinned down.
As I drifted in and out I could hear her cursing. I found out later that the weight of the largest beam that shattered my leg was beyond her strength, but when the back end of the beam sparked she had an idea and gathered her determination for one last Herculean effort.
“Crawl, crawl!” she screamed while the metal pool sweeper handle, she’d wedged under the beam to jimmy it up, was starting to bend.
Somehow I dragged myself forward just far enough to clear the beam before it fell one final time, shaking the earth beneath us.
Our eyes met and I could see the fear in hers, telling me we didn’t have a prayer in hell of surviving this. Her eyes started darting around as she pounded her fists against her thighs. With one final glance up to the highway, black smoke obliterating any sight that would bring us comfort, her head dropped. My heart fell in my chest but then I noticed her eyes widen and dart from me, splayed out on the deck like a beached monk seal, and then toward the swimming pool.
She waved her arm dramatically at the pool, then grabbed the collar of my coat and pulled. Bewildered I stared at her. Crawl?
“Crawl, damnit!” she screamed again. I didn’t have the energy to tell her she should stop yelling at me, so instead I clawed forward, dragging my useless bum leg as she yanked me along the rough cement and right off the ledge.
When we hit the water I thought, This is it. It must have been the shock because I was sure I’d died and was floating away from the living world. I was eerily calm—I think I felt at peace because I was with Trisha, and we’d move toward the bright light of death together.
But then my smoke-seared nostrils filled with chlorinated water and I realized that I wasn’t on my way to heaven, but sinking in a goddamned swimming pool, lame leg, heavy firefighting garb and all.
I was suddenly very lucid, aware of Trisha pulling off her coat to create a wet bubble over our heads as the flashover blasted the firestorm across the landscape, surely taking everything in its path.
Under her wet coat, which she’d pushed up and tented above the surface with her flashlight, we took tiny breaths. Her arm wrapped around me holding me close. We sunk down, fully emerged in the pool with only our lips exposed, as our bubble got hotter and hotter. We were being cooked alive for what felt like forever, until suddenly we weren’t, and the heat subsided and the water and air grew lighter.
When Trisha lifted the edge of the coat enough to check the conditions, she whispered, “Thank God,” and I knew we had survived.
Trisha radioed our status in again, and settled me on the pool steps until help arrived. I blacked out with pain when the guys slid down into the pool water and maneuvered my body to strap me to the spine board. Despite my delirium I still had a sense of Trisha chanting words to me while she held my face out of the water protectively until they hoisted me out to the pool deck so I could be airlifted out.
The next thing I remember clearly was waking up in a hospital bed with Trisha’s fingers intertwined with mine. I squeezed her hand gently and blinked repeatedly as my vision slowly cleared. When I finally got a good look at her I realized that she’d passed out asleep, her chair pulled close, and her head resting on the bed right next to my good leg.
“Trisha, baby,” I said, wiggling her hand. Her hair was matted and from what I could see her uniform was filthy. She looked like she’d been through hell and back, and since she had, it would’ve be good for me to let her sleep but I needed to see those blue eyes and know she was okay.
I heard a sob and I glanced up to see my parents stoically sitting in chairs across from my bed, my mother crying. I was shocked, and with so many emotions hitting me at once, I hardly knew what to say. Just then Trisha stirred and lifted up her head.
“You’re awake,” she said, stumbling upright. She ran her hand over my forehead, her gaze softening as she smoothed my hair back. “Oh Joe. Thank God you’re so strong. You’re going to be okay.”
Another whimper and cry grabbed our attention and we both turned to my parents. Trisha straightened up and froze.
It may have been an awkward way for her to meet my parents, but Chief had told them how Trisha had saved my life, and they embraced her like family.
As they hugged, Trisha looked back at me, and I nodded and smiled.
I found out later that Mom and Dad jumped on the first plane they could after Chief’s call, and I was grateful to have this chance to right things between us.
Trisha and I looked death in the face and lived to tell about it. Seemed like a good time to put the past behind us for good.
I’m not going to lie, the next few weeks were rough. It wasn’t just the surgery on my leg, I was jacked up from hea
d to toe: cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, my back sprained. Just getting up and dealing with crutches to use the bathroom was a bitch, but I had to move if I wanted to heal right. So I pushed myself, first rolling round and round the hospital ward on my one legged scooter, trying to ignore the nurses flirting with me. Then later, when Trisha brought me from the hospital to Jeanine’s guest-house, we’d roll around the block or I’d see how far I could make it on crutches. The doctors were impressed with my progress.
I’d expected Trisha’s bedside manner to be tough love, and I was ready for it, but then she threw me a loop by babying me, catering to my every need. My mom teased her about it, but I could tell that Trisha won a lot of points with my parents. In their eyes, she could do no wrong.
Dad had to fly home for work after a few days, but then Jeanine offered her guest room so Mom could stay on longer and look out for me on the days Trisha was at the station. Now, including Jeanine, I had three women doting on me and it was fine by me.
One morning about two weeks after my surgery I had overslept and when I finally rose, and hobbled into the kitchen I found Trisha and Mom talking away. They were sitting at the table with mugs of coffee going over my medications, my physical therapy sessions and what I might like for dinner that night. I stayed back and watched them, going on about me like they’d known each other for years.
It gave me a powerful feeling, a warmth unfurling inside, and I realized that in two weeks Trisha had bonded with my mother in a way Sharon never could.
The night before Mom left, I was finally strong enough for us to accept the McNeill’s dinner invitation. It was a little tight in the front of Trisha’s truck with the three of us, but Mom was delighted when Trisha took the scenic route pointing out celebrity homes, Warner Brothers and stuff that interested mom far more than it ever did me.
She especially loved it when Trisha went out of our way to drive by Disney, and then later stop near the Hollywood sign to take pictures. I was embarrassed when mom insisted on asking another tourist to take a shot of the three of us so she could show all her friends, but Trisha went along with it with a smile.
At dinner we sat Mom next to Patrick, since she had an appreciation for a man who worked with numbers. Sure enough they hit it off, despite Skye occasionally setting the conversation off course with her weird ramblings.
“Did you hear that Patrick and I are going to Ireland in the fall?” Skye announced just after the trifle dessert had been passed around.
All eyes turn to Skye, and then Patrick, just in time to see his cheeks turn red.
“What happened to Morocco?” Paul asked.
“Oh, we’re doing Ireland first,” Patrick said.
“Morocco isn’t in the right alignment right now for a visit, instead we are going to the thin places.”
Trisha let out a long-suffering sigh and I had to look away from her rolling her eyes or I’d laugh.
“The thin places?” Mom asked.
Skye’s eyes grew wide and she sat up taller on the edge of her chair. “Yes, it’s from a Celtic belief in rare locales where the distance between heaven and earth collapses. We’re hoping to catch a glimpse of the divine.”
Paul narrowed his eyes at his brother and Patrick shrugged.
“What collapses exactly?” Trisha’s dad asked. “I’ve never heard of distance collapsing. What kind of nonsense is this?”
“If you see the divine, will you make sure and say hey for me?” Trisha said. When Mom looked over at her and giggled, Trisha winked at her with that I warned you look. I leaned back in my chair and enjoyed that my idea of family had expanded beyond what I’d ever imagined.
Later Paul moved to the living room with his dad and Patrick, while the girls tackled their turn at the dishes. Meanwhile I stayed with the moms who remained in the dining room chatting away about the stress of having children in public service.
When Trisha returned to the table to check for stray dishes Mom took her hand.
“Your girl saved my son, Millie. I owe her everything.”
“Oh stop now,” Trisha said, wiggling out of her grasp.
Millie sniffed and then looked over at me with a gentle gaze and then back at Mom. “She hasn’t told me any details. Just that Joe was at death’s door.”
“Indeed,” said Mom as she poured Millie another glass of wine. “Did you know he was buried under a collapsed patio and she got him free and then dragged him into the pool just before the flames took over the yard?”
“My God! Is this true, Patricia?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“It’s true,” I said. “I owe your daughter my life, Millie.”
Millie leaned back, fanning her face with her napkin. “This is too much. I’m beside myself.”
Mom nodded. “I understand. I was the same.”
Millie held up her wine glass. “You know my dear, I’m counting on these two getting married one day, and when they do we could host it here. We have a lovely backyard and the most understanding neighbors that will pay us no mind.”
Trisha put her hands on her hips. “Hey, hey, hey . . . enough with the wedding talk. Do you see a ring on my finger?” She waved her hand at both of them. “Nope. So calm yourselves down.”
“Would you like a ring?” I surprised myself by asking.
She turned to me with an alarmed look and then narrowed her eyes as she slowly nodded her head. “Sure Murphy, two carats or nothing. I don’t come cheap.”
We were on a roll and it felt great. “Okay, two carats it is. Nothing’s too good for my sweetheart.”
She was close enough that I reached over and grabbed her by the hips, and pulled her to my lap. “You’re mine, woman. Go big or go home.”
I imagine the guys could hear the roar of laughter from the living room.
That night was the first time we made love since the firestorm. I’d been fighting my raw need for her from the day we left the hospital, but I think we were both afraid to even try since I was such a physical mess. But once we were kissing and naked under the sheets, we figured out that being tender and slow could be satisfying too. Besides there was plenty of time later for wild stuff, this was about love.
After, I pulled her into my arms and she rested her head on my chest as she settled down.
“Do you remember that time at the station that I told you that I’d paid attention to you longer than you realized?”
She nodded and then snuggled further into me.
“Do you want to know what I meant?”
She paused and then nodded slowly. “If you want to tell me.”
I chuckled, it all sounded funny in the moment, when it wasn’t funny at all at the time.
“It was your first day at the station. From the moment I met you I knew.”
She lifted up and looked at me, her brow arched. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“I had no idea,” she said.
“Of course, I made sure you had no idea about how I felt. You were married, so it was impossible. After Sharon and all the game playing with other women I’d been with before her, I needed someone who’d be straight with me and always have my back. I realized you were exactly the kind of woman I’d always wanted, yet never had. You were right in front of me, but you couldn’t be mine. It was torture. I asked Chief if we could fix the schedules so I’d never be working with you.”
She looked up at me, recognition lighting up her face. “So after my marriage imploded . . .”
I nodded. “I knew this was my chance.”
“But I chased you,” she argued. “I offered my land to you.”
“And I accepted,” I said. “I knew you needed time, and that was the one thing I had on my side. I’m a patient man.”
“Wow,” she said.
“Wow?” I asked.
“Well, remind me not to play cards with you because I bet you’re masterful at not showing your hand.”
So the weeks passed and good things were happening.
Trisha’s house sold above asking price after only two days on the market, despite or perhaps because of, all that fancy furniture inside.
And I had to hand it to her ex, Mike—his friend Bruno was a craftsman and artist and he fixed Betty up beyond what I’d hoped for. Mike also insisted on paying for the work that insurance didn’t cover from his part of the house proceeds.
I respected him for that, stepping up like a man and following up with Bruno and sending me pictures of the progress when I couldn’t physically get there. Through the process of my healing and Betty’s repair, we found our peace.
It took a while to get Trisha to agree to our plot of land in the hills of Burbank. After Malibu she didn’t want to live anywhere near wild brush. But I convinced her saying what were the odds that we’d be trapped in a wildfire again. As I figure it, we have a free pass for life.
Yesterday we went to see the progress on the KitHaus that Trisha wanted in our “compound” as she calls it. The modular home that she calls Burt, is bigger than Betty and not on wheels, but all stream-lined and modern. Jeanine had told her about the L.A. company that designs and builds them.
The best part is that now I get to tease her that it’s kind-of a tiny house. She teases me back that she needed a back-up place to sleep when I piss her off. But based on the full kitchen that’s the focal point of the space I suspect she was angling to get me cooking again. I think I might be ready to do just that.
We went for the whole thing—the hot-tub, the outdoor shower, and a wide deck between Betty and Burt. It should all be done right before I return to work at the station. I’ve really appreciated Jeanine putting us up, but I’m ready for Trisha and I to be in our own place so we can start our new life together.
So now as Trisha sits across from me on the deck attached to Jeanine’s guesthouse, I’m sure you aren’t surprised to know that there’s nothing about this woman that I’ll ever take for granted. Trisha gave me life, not just that day in Malibu, but the day she let me into her heart and gave me a reason to take a chance on love again.
Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) Page 25
