The captain rubbed his chin. “Get cleaned up and meet me in my office.” He headed down the hallway.
Ralph jammed his cigar into the red clay ashtray. “I knew you’d screw up. A man died while you were rescuing a fucking cat.”
The others said nothing. Mitch took a quick shower and trudged to the captain’s office with his badge.
The captain motioned for Mitch to sit. “Took guts to admit that.”
Mitch laid the badge on the desk.
“Kenny should have kept in voice contact. But, and this is a big but, you should not have left him. Things turn to shit in a flash. Learn from this.”
The captain examined Mitch’s badge. “I’ll keep this until next shift. You give this some serious thought. None of us can say we never screwed up.
God knows I’ve had my share of fuck-ups. We all have. It’s the nature of our job. We’re forced to make split-second, life and death decisions. Can’t exactly call a meeting to discuss options. Sometimes bad things come from those decisions and we have to live with it. You’ll have to decide whether you can live with yourself after a bad one. Some can’t.”
Chapter 19
The pungent sweet-sour aroma of manure blew in through the open window of Mitch’s truck on the way to the farm. He forgot how good it felt to breathe the fresh stew of the farmland, the sweet smell of home.
The fields should have been bursting with tall green stalks of corn ripening in the late August sun. Instead, shriveled yellow spears swayed in the sweltering afternoon wind. Even farms with irrigation systems had stunted corn. Mitch never imagined the drought had been this bad.
He idled up the long drive to their farmhouse, scanning the fields for signs of Sid or Chris. Billy watched from the porch. When Mitch jumped down from the truck, the chunky black lab bolted at him, knocked him over, and lathered Mitch’s face with saliva. Mitch wrestled with his old friend, then headed to the house.
The house was quiet. Not much had changed since he left. Dirty pots and pans lined the counter, and the cavernous kitchen still smelled funky. He stared at his mom’s chair, overcome with the emotion of being home, but not being home.
The porch boards creaked. Chris bounded into the kitchen. “Thought I heard your truck.” Chris pulled Mitch into a bear hug. “Damn, it’s good to see your ugly face.”
Mitch choked.
“Whoa. What’s wrong?” Chris asked.
“Dad around?”
“What am I, Swiss cheese?”
Mitch forced a weak smile. “How’s Pulvermacher working out?”
“You saw the corn. Total loss. We didn’t get much hay either. After the fire, we didn’t have money for crop insurance.” Chris paused. “Even with the money you send us, we’re falling behind. Had to let Pulvermacher go. Dad’s at the bank right now, begging for extensions on our loans.”
“Damn, he must hate me.”
“Enough of our troubles. What about you? Save any lives?”
“You see Jen around?”
“Once in a while at the Hideaway. She’s bartending Saturday nights.”
“She seeing anyone?”
Chris clenched his lips.
“Who?”
“Some guy nursing student. I don’t know. Ain’t from around here.”
“Crap.” Mitch headed to the door.
“Sorry, brother.”
Mitch took a long walk around the farm. Instead of grazing on green fertile pastures, the cows were feeding on dry bales of hay. The woods was still blackened from the fire. Many of the trees were barren, but the massive oak had sprouted leaves on its upper branches. Mitch sat at the base of the old oak for hours convincing himself he was ready to come back.
* * *
Sid’s rusted, gray pick-up rattled into the drive. Mitch traipsed to the house fantasizing about Sid telling him how much he missed him, pleading with him to come back to the farm.
Sid was hunched over a folder of papers at the kitchen table.
“Hi, Dad,” Mitch said, lowering himself into his old spot at the table.
“Why you here?” Sid said while shuffling papers.
“Wanted to stop by for a visit. See how things are going.”
“Things are fine.”
“Chris said the farm might be in trouble.”
“Things are fine.”
“I was thinking, maybe I’d quit the fire department and come back.”
“Said things are fine. Don’t need your help.”
“But, Chris said…”
“I don’t give a shit what Chris said.” Sid looked up from the papers, his face reddening. “Go help those black bastards in Milwaukee that were more important than your own family.”
Sid’s fierce scowl burned away any thought of coming back to the farm. Billy followed Mitch outside. “Sorry, Boy. You can’t come.” The dog whimpered as Mitch climbed into his truck.
He didn’t know where else to go, so he drove to the Milroy Firehouse. The place was deserted. He went inside and lay down on a cot. After working most of the night at the tavern fire, driving to Milroy, and then getting run off the farm, he was spent. He had to get some rest before heading out to the Rock River Hideaway to see Jennie. If he could get her back, everything else would work out. They were only taking a break, after all.
He awoke to thunder and pounding rain. Sure. Now it rains. Must be God’s twisted sense of humor.
* * *
Saturday nights the Rock River Hideaway was the place to be. It was the only bar for miles around, located three miles from Milroy. Mounted deer heads with wide racks adorned the wood-paneled walls. A giant shoulder mount of a moose watched over the pool table. A loud chorus of the song Where I Come From rang out as Mitch made his way to the bar. Some in the raucous crowd waved cans of beer in the air while singing along to Alan Jackson on the jukebox. A cloud of cigarette smoke hung over the rowdy group of young people. The cigarettes, stale beer, sweating bodies, and too much cologne blended into a heady mixture.
Mitch gazed around the bar. It all felt different, strange somehow. Jennie was at the far end with her back to Mitch, talking to a neatly dressed young man wearing a light gray blazer. The sight of her disheveled auburn hair, loose-fitting T-shirt, and denim shorts filled him with a familiar yearning.
He swung a leg over a round wooden bar stool. Mitch’s old friend, Danny Mueller, ambled over. “About time you showed your ugly face.”
Jennie marched toward them, her cowboy boots clacking on the concrete floor.
Danny clapped Mitch on the back. “Talk later. Jennie looks pissed.”
“Jen, I need to tell you…”
She slid a can of Miller Light at him. “Not now.” And then she was gone, working her way around the bar, taking orders and filling drinks.
She paused when she got to the neatly dressed young man. The man laughed and grinned with his face close to hers. She patted his arm. Before turning back to the bar, she rubbed his cheek.
Mitch ground his teeth together.
Every time Jennie made her way to Mitch, he wanted to jump over the bar and take her in his arms. When he tried to say something, she raised her hand, slid another beer at him, and walked away.
A steady stream of old friends came by, asking him about Milwaukee. He tried to listen to what they were saying, but he was locked onto Jennie. He answered their questions with, “It’s a tough job. Things are going good. I’m fine.” The friends drifted away as the night wore on. By closing time he was alone at the end of the bar nursing his beer.
“Mitch, c’mon. I’ll take you home,” Jennie said from behind him. “You shouldn’t drive.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Well, you look like hell.”
“I can’t go back to the farm.”
“No, I mean my place.”
“Your fancy friend okay with that?”
“Shut up before I change my mind.”
When they got into her truck, Mitch said, “Jen, I have to tell you something.�
�
“Not now.”
* * *
Mitch followed her into the apartment. Lemon Pledge never smelled so good. Jennie led him into her cozy living room, stopped, and pressed her lips to his. She leaned back. Her warm brown eyes glistened. “You gonna kiss me or just stand there?”
He pulled her close. Her hair smelled like the smoky bar with a hint of lavender shampoo. They kissed and groaned, tongues probing. They tugged each other’s clothes off, tossing them to the floor. Her warm, smooth skin against his sent a luxurious rush through him. As soon as they hit the carpet he pushed inside her. It was over fast. He collapsed on top of her. She held him until he faded and their breathing slowed. Why had he waited so long to come back?
She led him back to the bedroom. “Like the view?”
“Nicest ass in Milroy.”
“And Milwaukee?”
“Nothing even close.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Right.”
They rediscovered each other with their hands and tongues and settled into the slow rhythm of lovers trying to make it last as long as possible. This is where Mitch belonged. Everything would be fine.
Mitch woke to the smell of cinnamon buns and brewing coffee. The thought of spending the day with Jennie, lounging and talking, gave him a warm glow. She was at the plastic folding card table in the kitchen, wearing his dark blue MFD T-shirt and nothing else. The shirt barely covered her slim hips. He couldn’t help but stare at her long legs.
Jennie frowned. “Jesus, didn’t you get enough last night?”
“Didn’t hear any complaints.”
She pointed to a platter of golden-brown buns slathered with white frosting. “Stuff a bun in it, dickwad,” she said, smiling.
He wolfed down a cinnamon bun in three bites, savoring the rich cream-cheese frosting.
“Hey, what’s going o n w ith t hat g uy you were h anging a ll over last night?”
“Last night you couldn’t wait to talk. Now talk.”
Jennie’s smile disappeared. Mitch froze. The apartment was still, except for the click clack, click clack of the pendulum clock in the living room.
“Mitch.” She cupped her hands over his. “If you’re not going to tell me what’s going on you can leave. I’ve been through this before. I can’t do it again.”
He took a breath and began. The words came slowly. He told her about the treatment he was getting from Ralph, about leaving Kenny in the fire and the guy dying, and his miserable failure of tutoring the neighbor kids. He choked up telling her about the young man’s suicide and how the crew joked about it.
“That’s sick,” Jennie said.
“I can’t go back.”
“What would you do if you quit?”
“All I know is I want to be with you.”
Mitch studied her face for a sign. She chewed her lower lip while wringing her hands. “You hurt me bad, Mitch.”
“What about last night. What was that all about?”
“If you quit and came back, why would anything be different? What’s changed?” She shook her head frantically. “If you think by being with me, you’ll be fine again, that somehow I have the power to keep you from getting depressed, from thinking about…”
“What if I stay on the department and you come live with me?” Desperate, he said, “Marry me.”
She went to him. He held her until she pulled away.
“I can’t do this, Mitch. I have exams tomorrow. I have to finish nursing school. You need to finish what you started in Milwaukee. You were so full of hope and pride at your graduation. You need to get that back.” She pressed her lips to his so very gently. “Bye, Mitch.”
Chapter 20
The drive back from Milroy was a blur. He’d been on autopilot, replaying the last twenty-four hours over and over again. Every time he heard Jennie say, “Bye, Mitch,” his chest ached.
Both sides of Hawkins Street were lined with cars. Mitch had to park a block away from the flat. A crowd milled around Miss Bernie’s yard. Two police cars were parked across the street from her house. Getting closer, he saw people arm in arm, staring at the ground.
He sprinted toward the house where a group of older women had gathered on the porch. The top of Miss Bernie’s head was barely visible through the gathering. He blew out a sigh of relief and shuffled up the steps. The older women stepped aside. Miss Bernie looked up, her eyes dark and watery, her chin quivering. “They kilt him, Mitch. Shot him in the street like a stray dog.”
“Who?”
“My boy gone.” She looked to the blue sky. “Ohh, Lord, Lord, Lord. Why?”
She couldn’t be talking about Jamal. No.
“They took my baby boy.” Her body shook.
Mitch choked as the words sunk in.
The heavy woman behind Miss Bernie rubbed her back. “Bernice, c’mon and set yourself down.”
Miss Bernie reached for Mitch. They hugged. “Jamal love you like a brother,” she whispered, then followed the heavy woman to the porch swing, sobbing.
Mitch wandered around the yard, numb.
LaMont edged up to him. “This the shits, man.”
“Who did this?”
LaMont glanced back at a group of young black men. “Nobody knows nothin’.”
“Who did this?”
LaMont shifted on his feet. “Don’t know, man. Bad shit happens around here.”
Mitch shook him by the shoulders. “Who did this? He was your friend, for Christ’s sake.”
“Let it go or you’ll end up…” LaMont lowered his head.
Red flares flickered behind Mitch’s eyes. His ears rang. “Fuck that, LaMont. Fuck that. I’ll hunt the bastard down. Jamal deserves that. So fucking tell me who did this.”
LaMont pushed Mitch away. “Let it go. Things not like where you come from. Jamal gone. Nothin’ gonna fix that.” LaMont slinked over to the group of young black men.
“Fuck you, LaMont.” Heads jerked in Mitch’s direction.
* * *
Late-night news reports on television repeated the same information. “Milwaukee Firefighter Jamal Jackson was found dead in the seventeen hundred block of Wright Street with multiple gunshot wounds. Police have no leads at this point. Anyone with information is urged to contact the Milwaukee Police Department hotline.” Mitch stayed up, hoping to hear more, but the newscasts were playing footage from 9/11 with the first anniversary only two weeks away.
Mitch thought back to their first meeting when he was sure the big guy was going to kick his ass in the locker room of the academy. And how they became close friends. Saturdays, after studying for exams, Jamal would show Mitch around Milwaukee. They’d hit the popular bars on the fashionable East Side and enjoy the lakefront festivals. They’d wind down late in the evening with long talks, usually about women, sometimes sharing their excitement of what it would be like when they graduated and got assigned to a firehouse. Mitch stopped thinking of him as his black friend. He was Jamal’s little bro’.
Soft knocking pulled him from his thoughts. It was after midnight.
Miss Bernie stood in the open doorway. Her normally tidy hair hung in dark shreds.
“I can’t sleep either,” Mitch said.
They settled onto the couch. “Oh, Mitch, what we gonna do without our Jamal?” Her whispery voice was distant.
“Miss Bernie, you have any idea who did this?”
“Got nobody left.”
“No other family?”
“When Daddy move us up here they all turn their back on us. We the only ones come north. Daddy said he was the black sheep. Never told me why. And I never dared ask him again.” Miss Bernie rubbed her forehead. “Why bad things always gotta be black?”
Mitch lowered his head, not knowing what to say.
Miss Bernie continued. “Anyways, we never had nothing to do with relation down in Alabama, so I never did get to know them while Daddy was alive. He wouldn’t allow it. Just a shame he let his stubbornness pull us away from all that famil
y.”
This reminded Mitch of his own stubborn father. “You have any brothers or sisters?”
She blew out a weary breath. “After Daddy passed I got ahold of a cousin down there. She told me Momma died birthin’ me. Said Daddy refuse to take her to the doctor. Didn’t believe in them.” She paused. “Shame Momma’s family couldn’t find it in their hearts to forgive him. He was a good man.” She held her face in her hands. “Got nobody.”
Mitch rubbed her bony arm. “I’m here.”
“The devil’s got a hold down here an’ he ain’t giving it up. You go on back to the farm before he take you too.”
A siren ran through the night. On the farm, nights were filled with symphonies of nocturnal insects, the sounds of life. Here it was the sounds of violence, suffering, and death.
“I can’t leave,” Mitch whispered, not sure if she heard him.
Chapter 21
The department flag was at half-staff when Mitch pulled up to the firehouse to report for work the next morning. He started in on the daily routine by going over the masks.
Ralph came around the side of the rig. “Jackson in your class?”
“Yup.”
“Why didn’t he move out of this cesspool?”
“Don’t know.”
“Well, he should have been smarter.”
Mitch stepped into Ralph. “Shut the fuck up. Say whatever you want about me. Just shut the fuck up about Jamal. He was smart.”
Ralph took a step back. His eyes widened. “Didn’t say he wasn’t.” He reeled and left.
The captain called Mitch into the office. He came around the desk and handed Mitch his badge. “Glad you’re back.”
“I won’t let you down again.”
Captain Reemer waved his palm. “I understand Jackson was your classmate.”
“He was a good friend.”
“We’re family and Firefighter Jackson was part of that family. You’re not alone. We grieve together.” The captain stepped back. “You gonna be okay? I can get you some time off.”
“Rather keep working if that’s okay.”
The captain nodded.
* * *
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