by L. Nicole
We all jumped on the truck with practiced precision—well-oiled machinery coming to save the next person in distress.
3
June
“I guess we’re spending the night in the tub,” I say to Lucy, her trembling body snuggled up against me. I’d brought a pillow and blanket into the bathroom once I realized she wasn’t about to leave anytime soon.
The fireworks are still going on. They let up slightly every now and then, and just when we start to breathe a little easier, they explode all over again.
Stroking Lucy’s fur, I murmur to her, doing the only thing left to do to comfort her. I feel terrible for her. I hate that she doesn’t understand what’s going on.
Whistling fireworks fly by the window, explosions lighting up the sky outside.
“Why do they have to be so close?” I ask Lucy. She looks at me in complete agreement. I shake my head, pulling her closer, as she lays her head on my shoulder and sighs.
I sniff the air, the smell of sulfur and smoke permeating the air.
Lucy stiffens, raising her head and smelling the air herself before barking loudly, startling me. She looks at me in alarm, then raises her head to look up at the ceiling and barks again.
“No, no, no,” I stutter as she jumps out of the bathtub and runs out of the room. I scramble from the tub, following her. “Lucy!” I call out. As soon as I make it to the hallway, the smell of smoke intensifies, sending a shock of alarm through my entire body.
“Oh, my God, no,” I cry. “Lucy!”
I run through the hallway and stop when I see the stairs to the attic are slowly disappearing in a cloud of smoke billowing out from under the door at the top of the stairs.
“No!” I shout, covering my mouth and running for the stairs.
There’s so much up there I haven’t gone through yet. I know for a fact that it’s filled with items that belonged to my parents and grandparents and there’s no way I’m going to let that all just perish without trying to save it.
Lucy runs downstairs to the first floor, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to bark at me.
“Go outside!” I shout to her. She knows where the doggie door is in the kitchen, she can get out herself. She barks back and I know she isn’t going to leave without me.
“Dammit!” I cry, the hallway steadily filling with more smoke.
I eye the attic door, knowing I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try. And when I’m done grabbing things up there, I need to retrieve the storage bin with the peach pit in it, too.
I have to save that peach pit, if I don’t save anything else.
Pulling my shirt over my face, I head for the stairs, straight into the thick cloud of black smoke pouring from under the door.
4
Lee
“Dammit, it’s Betty and Don’s old place!” the Chief exclaims, as we pull up to the large blue Victorian with a smoking roof.
“I was so sad to hear they died last month,” Tony said. “At least nobody’s home.”
“Their daughter was in town,” Rob said. “She might be inside.”
“Then, we better get in there, boys,” Chief said. “Lee and Tony go in, we’re right behind you with the hose.”
Tony and I start towards the front door, the first flickers of flames escaping from the windows of the attic. We knock down the door and rush in, the house already filled with smoke.
“Anyone in here?” I shout. I’m greeted by the sound of a dog barking and I head towards it. A yellow lab stands at the bottom of the stairs by the kitchen, dancing around excitedly and barking furiously. I lean down and pet her head, before scooping her up and heading towards the front door. I carry her outside and put her down on the lawn.
“Stay!” I command, pointing at her, hoping like hell she’s trained.
Of course, she wasn’t about to listen to me.
She runs past me and heads right back into the house.
“Dammit,” I growl, heading back in. I follow the sounds of her barking again and find her at the bottom of the stairs where I’d found her. “Tony!” I shout.
“In here,” he hollers back from another part of the house. “Take this dog outside! I’m going upstairs!”
“Ten-four!” He shouts back.
I head up the stairs, calling out as I go up. “Hello!”
The smoke's heavier on the second floor and I go quickly from room to room looking for any sight of life. Boxes line the hallways, as if the place is being packed up, and I make my way around them. I remember what the Chief said about the folks that lived here dying recently. I was looking for a young woman at this point, and the fact that I’d not found her yet was concerning.
“Lee, give me a status report!” the Chief’s voice crackles in my ear.
“Nothing yet but a bunch of boxes and the dog. Did Tony get the dog out?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, I’m heading up to the attic.”
“Copy that. We’ve got a stream going straight in there now.”
I nod and head up the steep stairs where the smoke’s coming from. I’m pretty sure a firework landed on the attic and once we get everyone out we can really get to work putting out the flames and try to save this place.
I shove open the door and head through the smoke, barely able to see, but enough to see a body lying on the floor. I come closer and spot the woman lying there — her long black hair hanging over her face. I check her pulse, thankful to find her heart beating but she isn’t conscious.
I scoop her up over my shoulder and head back down the stairs as fast as I can. The faster I get her out to the EMT’s, the better.
She wakes up when we get to the landing, her head raising behind my shoulder.
“No!” She cries, then immediately coughs. To my surprise, she starts pounding on my back. Everyone reacts differently to trauma, though, so I’m not too concerned. I can take a few punches.
“Relax, ma’am, I’m going to get you out of here,” I shout over my shoulder.
“No!” She cries again, still hitting me. “Put me down! I have to get the peach pit!”
I shake my head. She must have hit her head, too. People say crazy things in these situations.
“Ma’am, we just need to go down the stairs. Your dog is safe outside already.”
She hits me again. Hard. I glare at her over my shoulder and keep moving.
“Dammit, put me down!” she insists.
“Ma’am, it’s not safe,” I reply, tightening my grip around her thighs. The Chief would sack me so fast if I told him I had a hold of this woman and then put her down.
“But the peach pit! It’s in the box in the study! I can’t leave without it!”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry,” I say, as we burst through the front door, the fresh air filling my lungs with its sweet life. The woman slung over my shoulder isn’t so happy about it. I carry her until we’re several yards away from the house. The EMTs rush us and I place her on the soft grass.
“No!” she cries, tears pouring down her face. “I have to go back!”
“Ma’am, it’s not safe,” I reply, shaking my head. Her eyes meet mine with a fury hotter than any fire I’d ever been in.
“You!” she shouts, pointing at me, her finger like a dagger she’s attempting to fling right between my eyes. “It’s your fault!”
“Ma’am,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t —.”
She scrambles to her feet, the EMTs attempting to gently discourage her from doing so. She takes two steps until she’s standing in front of me, her face turned up to me in pure rage.
“I told you, I couldn’t leave without the peach pit!” she shouts.
My heart skips a beat now that I’m getting a good look at her. Even covered in soot, her long black hair tangled and disheveled around her face, dressed in dirty sweats and her eyes filled with white-hot fury— she’s breathtakingly beautiful.
She pushes past me before I can respond, heading back towards the house.
&nb
sp; “Are you kidding me?” I mumble, heading after her.
I didn’t have to go far.
She collapses again, her body falling in a lifeless heap at my feet.
5
June
The burning in my lungs wakes me up. And then, the coughing — the excruciating coughing that rips through my entire body, leaving my lungs feeling shredded and weak. My eyes flutter open and that’s when the panic really sets in.
Where am I? I wonder, as my eyes dart around, trying to make sense of it all.
A bed.
A window.
A television mounted in the corner of the ceiling.
My mind races trying to put everything in place. I raise my arm and that’s when I see the IV attached to my hand.
The hospital.
I cough again, which sets off a series of beeps that echo through the room. Seconds later, a nurse flies through the door.
“You’re awake!” she says, flashing me a gentle smile.
“Arghhhh,” I try to speak, but I end up sputtering again, the pain tearing through my chest.
“Don’t talk, honey,” she coos, her voice sweet and soft. “It’ll take a few hours for you to be able to do that. You were lucky. You were rescued pretty quickly.”
Rescued?
Rescued from what?
My eyes widen when it all comes rushing back to me — the bathtub, the fireworks, the smoke, the attic, the flames. Tears rush to my eyes and the nurse shakes her head and pats my hand.
“Shh,” she whispers. “I know who you are, June. Your parents were wonderful folks. Everyone in town loved them. But don’t you worry about a thing. I hear the house doesn’t have that much damage at all and your dog is okay, too.”
My eyes widen in question.
“The firefighters took your dog to the vet and she’s waiting for you to pick her up when you get out,” she assures me. I flash her a grateful smile and nod.
“Now,” she says. “You just rest. You’ll most likely get out of here in the morning, okay?”
I nod in understanding and watch as she checks all the monitors attached to me.
“Everything looks good,” she confirms. “Feel free to get up if you need to go to the bathroom. But, try to rest as much as possible. You’ll have to take that pole with you.” She points to the pint of IV fluids hanging in a bag over my head.
I smile again and she heads towards the door, turning around again before leaving.
“Oh, and Lee brought that storage bin for you,” she says, pointing to the corner of the room before she walks out.
I turn my head, my eyes landing on the plastic bin.
“Lee?” I asked, my voice sounding completely foreign. I barely manage a whisper and the pain is so much that I don’t say more than one word.
“He’s one of the firefighters that rescued you and your dog.”
I nod and smile. “Thanks,” I murmur.
The lid’s melted, as is a corner of the bin itself. Slowly, I raise up, pulling myself to my feet before shuffling over to the corner, IV pole in tow.
I lift the melted lid to inspect the contents.
It may look like any blue storage bin you can find at almost any store these days, but it holds a treasure that I never expected would become so important to me.
Reaching down, I pull out the cigar box, now covered in a thin film of ash, and wipe it off. Slowly, I pull back the lid, a smile spreading across my face as I see the receipt and peach pit resting securely inside, safe and unharmed.
6
June
Two Weeks Later
The last two weeks have flown by in a blur. I’ve spent most of my time talking to contractors and restoration workers as they try to restore my parent’s beloved home back to the beautiful state it was in before a roman candle decided to burn a hole in the roof and try to take me out with it.
Lucy and I had a tearful reunion at the vet and came home to an absolute mess. Smoke damage, fire damage and water damage had left my parents’ home looking like something out of a disaster movie. I was sure it was a complete loss until the insurance adjustor called me with the good news. Most of the damage was cosmetic and could be repaired, and luckily, my parents had the best policy they could buy, so it would all be covered. They were even paying for my hotel room while the work was being done.
Lucy and I settled into a small hotel a few blocks away on the other side of the small downtown area and I started making the first of what seemed like a million phone calls to get the work started.
It was a full-time job, but it was almost finished.
Tonight, I’m taking a break from the stress of coordinating the whole thing and heading into town for the county fair. Once a year, for one weekend, the whole town comes together for a big party. They bring in carnival rides, concession stands and craft vendors. They set up a stage and a makeshift dance floor in front of it, and practically everyone in town shows up to drink, eat and dance.
The sense of community in this town is the one thing that kept my parents here for so long and some of my fondest memories are anchored around the seemingly endless summers and the annual county fair.
So, while it’s hot as hades outside tonight, and I’m exhausted and burned out from trying to keep track of all the work at my folk’s house, I’m thrilled to be going to the Townsend Country Fair once again.
I can’t wait to get my mouth around a foot-long corn dog slathered with extra mustard. I throw on a sundress and head outside, after making sure Lucy is set to be alone for a few hours. Then, I lock up my hotel room and strolling down the sidewalk in the direction of the town square.
The town is buzzing, with people lining the sidewalks, and cars bumper to bumper as they slowly crawl down Main Street looking for parking spots. In the distance, a Ferris wheel is sparkling in the night sky, slowly spinning on its axis.
I can smell the cotton candy in the air and my mouth waters.
I know I’ll be going home five pounds heavier and I don’t care one teensy-tiny bit.
The thing is, I don’t know when—or if—I’ll ever be back here. While I haven’t made up my mind just yet, the possibility of me selling off my folk’s property and never coming back is a very real.
I buy a ticket at the gates and head into the chaos with that in mind, determined to make the best of my night and make as many memories that I can. I want them engraved into my mind. That way, no matter what, I can carry them with me for the rest of my days—wherever that may lead me.
The fair’s in full swing when we arrive, the sound of country music in the distance competing with the sounds of bells and whistles from the arcade games and people shouting with glee when they win.
I make my way to the stage and jump in the nearest concession line. After getting a corn dog and a cold, foamy beer, I settle in at a table on the edge of the dance floor and start people watching.
The band’s great. It’s made up of a group of guys with longish hair, wearing jeans, boots and hats, guitars strung onto their swaying bodies, as people of all shapes and sizes dance together in front of them. They look like they’re having a wonderful time, too. Two sets of what look like fathers and daughters are dancing together, the girls standing on their dad’s feet, with adorable smiles plastered on their faces.
Tears sting my eyes as I remember doing the exact same thing with my Dad. I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes discretely. I’ll never stop missing him, I realize.
Looking around while I finish up, I think about where I’ll go next. I think about riding the Ferris wheel, but the memory of doing that with my mom for the first time when I was four years old springs into my mind.
Needing a change of scenery before I turn into a weeping mess in front of all of these people, I down my beer and head back into the river of people flowing between the aisles.
I spend the next hour meandering through the arts and crafts booths and by the time I’m finished, I’ve bought three pairs of beaded earrings, a pair of sunglasse
s shaped like stars and a pair of goblets made out of blue and purple iridescent blown glass.
It’s when I’m walking back towards the concession stand, my mind contemplating a sugar-powdered elephant ear, that I see him.
I stop short, staring, the crowd streaming around me as I’m frozen in place.
Standing behind a recruiting booth with a group of other firefighters, I see the same face I’ve been thinking about for weeks.
I’d felt terrible about my behavior once I woke up in the hospital. I’d wanted to thank him, but I hadn’t made it to the fire station just yet. To be honest, I was embarrassed.
I’d hit him. Repeatedly!
I was appalled with my behavior, and the gratitude I felt towards him for saving the box was immense. I kept telling myself I’d get over to the station once the sting had worn off, but that hadn’t happened yet.
But there he was standing thirty feet away from me now and if I don’t go over and thank him — and apologize profusely — then that would make me incredibly rude.
I take a moment to drink him in, his tall frame easily visible over the crowd between us. He has short black hair and piercing blue eyes that I can see from over here, but I also remember them from the night of the fire. Somewhere in the middle of my yelling at him and him lifting up his mask, I’d noticed how blue his eyes were and they’d haunted my nights since then.
He smiles now, laughing at something the man standing next to him said and his entire face lights up, causing me to gasp. The night of the fire, he’d been serious and calm, lending him a mysterious and intriguing flair, but seeing him now laughing and smiling, draws me to him like a moth to a flame.
My feet start moving before I’m aware of it, and then within seconds, I’m standing in front of him, a sheepish smile on my face. He turns our way and his eyes widen.
