Spark (The Hometown Heroes Series)

by Nicole Blanchard

  “Yes,” is all Avery says.

  At her answer, I collapse into the chair at the table next to her, my thoughts racing. I have a daughter. The words repeat over and over until they have no real meaning. I have a daughter.

  I’d never given much thought to children. I never had much time. If I wasn’t training or fighting fires, I was traveling back and forth to Battleboro to make sure what was left of my family didn’t splinter off and fall to ruin. There was never any room for starting a family.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand.

  Her hand fiddles with the baby’s blanket and a little chubby arm breaks free of its restraints and a pudgy hand finds her fingers and holds on tight. I can’t say why the image makes my chest tighten, but it does.

  “You were already gone. I tried to find you, but I barely knew you. I only found out your last name today because you told Mary and Tom.”

  “You knew I was from Battleboro. It’s not a small town, but you could have asked around if you wanted to and someone would have pointed you in the right direction.”

  She bites her lip and I notice how red it is, nearly raw to the touch, from her constant gnawing. “I could have tried harder,” she admits, faltering. “I take full blame for that. I was scared.”

  It’s her breathless vulnerability that stops me from berating her further. Striving for calm, I say, “I’ve had a daughter for damn near a year and you couldn’t tell me because you were scared? Do I seem like that much of a jerk to you?”

  Her eyes widen. “No!” Her raised voice jolts a cry out of the baby. As Avery tries to soothe her, she says, “No, of course not. I just—I could hear how much you loved what you do. I could never take that from you. I knew you’d be back eventually and each day I didn’t tell you I rationalized that maybe it was better this way if you didn’t know.”

  “That wasn’t your decision to make. I had a right to know.”

  Who knows what the hell I would have done with the knowledge, but now I’ll never get the chance to find out.

  “You did. I know you did. It was wrong of me and I’m sorry. I was scared.”

  “Of what? Of me?”

  “No, of course not. Of a lot of things. She means everything to me. I thought I was doing what was best for her.” The words sound torn from her very soul and I have to fight not to reach for her, bite back the words of consolation.

  My first instinct is to soothe, but anger overrides it. “Do you have a police scanner?”

  She glances up, confusion written on her face. “A—what?”

  “A police scanner. Do you have one?”

  “Um, I think so. My grandpa used to volunteer at the fire department. He liked to listen to it sometimes and I kept it around because listening to it reminds me of him.” Her expression turns wary. “Why do you ask?”

  I get to my feet, suddenly needing some space. “Because that’s how we’re communicating. You can listen to them for the most up to date information and to find out when they’re organizing distribution of resources or whatever. Where’s your phone?”

  She blows out a breath, her brows still knitted with confusion. Pulling the phone out of her pocket, she says, “It doesn’t really work.”

  I program my number into hers, then send myself a text from her phone so I have it stored in mine. “Texts do, but they take a little longer. If you three run into an emergency, you can shoot me a text and I’ll be here as soon as I can. Do you have access to a generator? It’s gonna get hot soon and that baby and your grandma will need cool air.”

  “No, not yet, but I—”

  “If you don’t have one by tomorrow, I’ll have one delivered here. Is there anything else you need?”

  “No, I think we’re okay. But you don’t have to go to the trouble. I planned to get one as soon as I could.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Keep your phone and the police scanner nearby. I put in the numbers for the station if you need to get ahold of me and can’t get to me with my cell.”

  “You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”

  I shoulder my kit and head back through the house without answering. I’m not sure I can without spewing a ton of nasty thoughts and I’m not the sort to pop off without considering my words. Her footsteps follow close behind and I can feel the anxious waves of energy emanating off of her at my back.

  “I’m sorry,” she says when I reach the door.

  I jerk my head in answer. I have nothing else left in me to say. Nothing nice anyway.

  Chapter 8

  Avery

  True to his word, a generator magically appears on my porch the following day. The only note with it are instructions on how to set it up safely. Apparently several people have already been killed by having the exhaust blow into their homes and causing them to slowly asphyxiate. The generator also runs on gas so there were an additional five cans of gas lined up like neat little soldiers.

  I didn’t plan to run the generator constantly, mostly through the hottest part of the afternoon because there was no telling how long the electricity would be down. From what reports I’d heard over the police scanner and the spotty connections I’d made on my phone I’d gleaned power lines were down from Mexico Beach to Tallahassee. It would take months of repairs and thousands of linemen from all over the country to repair the catastrophic damage.

  You know your shit has gone sideways when the aftermath of a hurricane is easier to deal with than the wreck of your personal life.

  In the long days that follow, I spend most of my time trying to get the front yard in some semblance of order. I learn through the patchwork communication grapevine that there will be debris pickups on certain days of the week if the community puts the debris on the side of the road. When I’m not taking care of Grandma Rosie or tending to the baby, I’m hauling limbs and logs to the ever-growing pile by the road. I borrow a spare chainsaw from Tom and after a quick lesson, get to work cutting down some of the more manageable felled limbs. There are a few monsters I don’t know what I’ll do with, probably pay someone to remove at some point, but that’ll have to be put off until later.

  It’s a lot of work, but it keeps my mind off of Walker and gives me something to do since most roads are still closed unless you’re getting food from the various distribution locations or getting gas for your generator. There’s even a curfew for our town to discourage looters. Someone had tried to open our front door a few days after the storm, but our automatic porch flood lights scared them away. It’s the only time I’ve ever wished I had a gun in the house, but thankfully I haven’t had to resort to that.

  All in all, it could be so much worse. The only tree that fell on the house was an immature magnolia and it didn’t cause any structural damage. I was able to get it cut down for the most part. There’s still the base of it sticking out at an angle across the yard, but at least it’s not on the roof. The others that were blown down were in the back yard and out of the way. Most of the damage to the house was the window that was broken and some of the tin that was pulled up by the wind. Truthfully, we got lucky.

  So, so lucky.

  I’ve seen pictures of homes in our area that were completely wiped away. Roofs ripped completely off. Trees spearing through living rooms, through cars. That’s not to mention the homes on the coast where the hurricane made landfall. The whole community of Mexico Beach…there aren’t words to describe the devastation. My family and I have spent many summers swimming at Mexico and Panama City Beach. To many Floridians in the Panhandle, they’re as ingrained in your blood as choosing a side in the Florida / Florida State rivalry. Seeing the pictures of entire tracts of homes simply wiped away…there’s no way to explain the hole it leaves. I can’t imagine how that would feel to the people who live there. Lived there.

  It’s hard enough seeing images from my own town. Entire forests wiped out. Whole landscapes marred for the foreseeable future. The world I grew up in has forever been changed. My daughter will never know the Florida I grew u
p in and there’s a bracing somberness to accepting that.

  About two weeks after the storm, when I’m certain Walker has completely written me off, I wake up to the sound of a chainsaw close by. It’s not an uncommon occurrence at this point—the chorus of chainsaws is almost comforting now—but this one sounds like it’s right outside my door. It wakes the baby, too, so I nurse her back to a contented state and entertain her with a few toys clipped to a bouncer. She’s more awake these days, so I try to tire her out a bit before I put her back to sleep.

  While she’s distracted, I take care of Grandma Rosie, getting her fed and making sure she takes all of her medication. Once that’s done, I can finally investigate the source of the sound, which has now moved to the backyard. Hesitantly, I open the door and find a shirtless, sweaty Walker cutting down the fallen trees crisscrossing the property.

  Stunned, a little confused, and a whole lot turned on, all I can do is watch as he works. The strong patchwork of muscles covering his back flex and contract with every movement. The sheen of sweat emphasizes each curve and bulge. He pauses to drink from a water bottle and uses the remnants to spray over his body, making him look like a real-life Chippendale’s commercial. The sight of the water makes me realize my throat has gone dry and if it weren’t for that, I’d be drooling.

  Turning, he spots me standing on the back porch ogling him. The chainsaw cuts off, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. I swallow back my apprehension and put a damper on the raging hormones that had roared to life the moment they saw him.

  “What are you doing?” I ask in a neutral tone, my voice raised to cover the distance.

  He lifts the chainsaw in a gesture toward the tree. “Cutting down this tree for you.”

  I lift a brow. “I can see that. I guess the more appropriate question would be why are you cutting it down?”

  “Because I had the time and the ability. Are you complaining about it?” There’s a hard twist to his mouth I haven’t seen before. So he hasn’t forgiven me yet, not that I thought he would. He has a right to be bitter, mad, disappointed or maybe all of the above.

  “No, I’m just wondering why. You don’t have to do these things for us.”

  “What things?”

  I wave a hand to our surroundings. “You don’t have to get us a generator and gas or clear out my backyard. Those things aren’t your responsibility.”

  “Like you didn’t think a baby was my responsibility.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I think in this circumstance, I’ll get to decide what’s fair.” He props the chainsaw on the tree stump and moves closer to me. “I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past few weeks and I think what pisses me off the most is that you made the decision for me about one of the most important things that can happen in a man’s life. That wasn’t fair. You don’t get to make that choice for someone else.”

  I don’t know if it’s the hormones, the heat, or the sting of righteous condemnation in his eyes, but I find my own temper rising. “That’s what being a parent is all about. You think I didn’t agonize about not trying harder to find you and let you know? It’s all I thought about since I found out I was pregnant. But it wasn’t about me and it wasn’t about you. I had to do what I thought was best for my daughter. I’ve been through the loss of a parent. I didn’t want to do that to her.”

  His eyes flash. “And what makes you think she’d have to lose me?”

  “Look at your job! You jump into fires for a living, Walker. You’re gone most of the time and there could be a day when you don’t come back. What kind of life is that for a child? Would you want that for her?” When he doesn’t answer, I push on. “It was that indecision that kept me from trying harder. That and we didn’t know each other! We only spent one night together. How was I supposed to know the right thing to do? I made a mistake. I’m human. I promise I’m going to make more of them. Becoming a parent will surely teach you that.” Striving for calm, I continue, “But I want to make things right. I want you to meet her. To figure out what you want your place in her life to be. Whatever that is, we’ll deal with it and I promise as long as you’re in our lives, I won’t ever keep anything from you again.”

  When he says, “Are you done?” I nearly impale him with the chainsaw.

  Instead, I gesture for him to speak before I commit a felony.

  “I don’t know where you and I go from here.” I can’t hide my wince at that, but it’s what I was expecting. “But I do know I want the chance to figure this out. I never planned on having a family, for the reasons you listed and more, but she’s here and she’s mine. I owe it to her and to me to see exactly what that means.”

  I know if I don’t say the words then I never will, so I blurt, “And us?”

  His gaze meets mine. The spark I felt when we first met blazes to life between us. Sensing it, he takes a step back and I can’t deny that hurts. “I don’t know about us. I think we should take this slow and focus on one thing at a time. The baby—what did you say her name was?”

  “Rosalynn, for my grandma. Rosalynn Grace. I mostly call her Gracie, though.”

  “Gracie,” he murmurs, his eyes a little misty. “Well, Gracie deserves our attention now.”

  I know this is progress, I know I should be happy, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve lost something that could have been amazing.

  Chapter 9

  Walker

  “I’m not sure if I ever really thanked you for the generator. It was really a lifesaver. I think Grandma Rosie would have melted without it.” Her shy little smile throws me back to the night we met. How I thought I’d do anything just to see her aim that smile in my direction. “So thank you, really. I appreciate it more than you know.”

  “You’re welcome, but I bet you’re happy to have electricity back on.” I pass Gracie from one arm to another. For a baby, she certainly has some chunk on her. She grins toothlessly at me and I find myself smiling back down at her. My family and I aren’t close anymore. I come back to Battleboro to check on them because I imagine it’s what my brother would want me to do so the feelings of love and connection I feel so quickly for this little girl simply astound me. “Aren’t you Gracie-girl?”

  “More than you know. Do they have power restored where you’re at?” Avery asks.

  “Last week. I have to tell you, it was nice taking a hot shower again.” I don’t say that I’m almost sad about it. Restoring utilities, getting most of the roads cleared for the most part, it means I won’t be as needed here. The fire department is already scaling back hours for the volunteers. I never thought I’d say it, but I almost like the small crew of down-to-earth guys there. A far cry from the egos I’m used to.

  “Agreed. Cold ones are fun when it’s ninety degrees outside, but I missed bubble baths. Now if only we could get internet back up and running.”

  I try not to think about Avery naked and covered in bubbles. I try and fail. “They still haven’t gotten yours fixed?”

  Avery smiles sadly. “No, and they said it could be months, but I guess that’s to be expected. Data is working faster on our phones and tablets, but they throttle it in the evenings, so everything runs as slow as a turtle.”

  “You know you can always come to my place. Mine is back up.” And maybe I like the thought of her, the baby and even Grandma Rosie with me doing things like the dishes and watching her grandma’s trash T.V.

  At this, she pauses gathering the dishes from lunch. “Thank you. That’s nice of you to offer.”

  “It’s no problem. I’m hardly ever there anyway.”

  “Is the fire department still going door to door?”

  That’s not the reason I’m never there. It’s because I can’t stand the quiet. It’s why I’m always here when I’m not working or training. “Not so much anymore.” Gracie coos and gnaws on a teether in my lap. Avery says I’m crazy, but I’m almost positive she’s going to be popping out some teeth soon. “We’re mostly working on a volunteer basis t
o get more roads cleared out. When do you go back to work?”

  “Monday, unfortunately. I’ve been enjoying the time off to spend with Gracie and Grandma Rosie, but with the restaurant opening back up—finally—I can’t put it off anymore. They won’t hold off on demanding payment on bills forever. I just hate that I have to send Gracie girl back to daycare.”

  Studying the baby in my arms, I find myself saying, “Why don’t you let me watch her?”

  Avery pauses in drying a plate. “Really? You want to do that?”

  “If you don’t mind. I think it’d probably be a good idea for us to spend some more time together. You work the evenings, right?” At her nod, I say, “That’s perfect. I can switch around for the day shift and watch Gracie at night when you work.”

  At her look, I say, “What?”

  “Are you sure? I can’t imagine you dealing with diapers and bottles all day.”

  “And you know me so well,” I say and she pauses for a minute before realizing I’m teasing.

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” she says and flings a handful of soap bubbles at me. “I mean you do know infant CPR, so that’s a plus.”

  “Then what is it?” I ask.

  “I guess I’m realizing that you were serious when you said you wanted to make this work. I figured you’d get bored after a while and need some action.” At my lifted brow, she says, “Not that kind of action. I mean like a burning building or a pileup or something.”

  “You make me out to be more of a daredevil than I am.”

  “Right so jumping out of planes isn’t because you like the adrenaline. Then why do you do it?”

  I lift a shoulder. “Why do people do anything? I guess it started with a morbid fascination after my brother was killed in a fire and grew from there. Fighting fires is something I can control, believe it or not. It’s the rest of the world that goes a little mad sometimes.”