Bearly Together

by Chant, Zoe

  “Meeeeeeee!” Aaron hollered.

  “Yes, please!” Shelley said with a smile. “I’ll get the movie set up.”

  Aaron, still chewing on his apple, directed her, showing her which remote was which. Shelley reminded herself that his sticky fingers wouldn’t do any lasting damage.

  As they settled onto the couch with plates of grilled cheese and carrot sticks, Shelley found herself wondering if being there really was all that she needed to do.

  Because she was sure there wasn’t anywhere else she would rather be.

  She fed Bingo her carrots.

  Chapter 18

  Dean hadn’t known that he could miss someone after knowing them such a short, precious time.

  The days without Shelley felt endless.

  They talked together every night on the phone like teenagers, about every subject under the sun except the ones that mattered, and neither of them wanted to be the first to hang up.

  He texted her a photo of Aaron’s first lost tooth before he thought to text it to Deirdre, then wondered if he should done it as a group text, then despaired at the complexities of the situation.

  Shelley texted him back a photo of her Inbox, piled high with contracts, and despaired of ever making it back. “Thursday, I hope.”

  Sexting turned out as awkward as their second date, without the kiss to take it from weird to wonderful.

  He did a brake pad replacement on Mrs. Fredrickson’s beater... and gapped the spark plugs and topped off the oil while he had it in, neither telling her, nor charging her. He sold a new outdoor spigot to Old George, and a basket of plumbing parts to a rather frigid Gillian. Stanley spent an hour in his store telling him about all the ways that things used to be constructed better, then bought one thirty-three cent carpenter’s pencil with exact change.

  Dean got a call-out halfway through the week and got into full turnout gear for the report of a fire.

  When he and Turner arrived, it turned out to be a backyard brush pile fire being carefully watched by a man who could produce a county burn license and had a garden hose coiled nearby.

  The neighbor who had called it in was not remorseful. “Could have burned down the whole town!” she said with a sniff. “And it took you long enough to get here. Your new girlfriend keeping you too busy to be a hero anymore?”

  News of his weekend with Shelley had spread like the fire the neighbor predicted.

  When Dean walked into Gran’s Grits that night, the waitress smirked at him.

  “Over here!”

  Andrea was sitting with Shaun and Trevor at the big curved booth in the corner. Aaron bolted to sit next to Trevor and argue over the best crayons.

  Their most recent feud seemed to be over, at least.

  Aaron had been telling all his friends at school, rather prematurely perhaps, that Trevor’s aunt was going to come live with them and that made them basically cousins. They then made Clara cry by pointing out that she didn’t have any cousins, felt bad about her tears, and got in a fight with each other.

  Andrea had orchestrated this dinner with the pretense of making sure the boys mended fences.

  But she was clearly not there for a long-forgotten argument and her smile was predatory.

  “Sorry,” Shaun said with a shrug as Dean took his seat beside Aaron. “She’s been grilling me all week and I told her that if she wanted to know anything else, she’d have to ask you.”

  “Thanks,” Dean said wryly. He gave a resigned sigh. “What do you want to know, Andrea?”

  Andrea, apparently, wanted to know everything. When was Shelley returning? Were they going to be living together? Looking for a new house? Getting married? Had she met Deirdre? Did she get along with Bingo?

  Dean only realized halfway through that he was grinning helplessly during her entire interrogation.

  Shaun seemed mostly mystified by the new development, if grudgingly accepting.

  “I dunno,” he said skeptically. “I’m suspecting body-snatchers, because nothing you have said even resembles my sister. My sister does not like dogs. My sister does not like kids. My sister likes clothes and make-up and making grown men cry over clauses and terms. Do you know they call her Shelley the Shark in some circles?”

  Trevor found that hilarious and repeated ‘Aunt Shelley the Shark!’ several times until Andrea shook her head at him disapprovingly.

  Aaron looked suspiciously at Shaun and didn’t say anything.

  Walking home together after dinner, Aaron was unexpectedly clingy, and wanted to hold Dean’s hand. It seemed tiny and fragile in his.

  Aaron didn’t say much during the usual slow progression through the chores of going to bed, but after Dean had tucked him in, read a chapter of their current book, and turned off the light, a small voice called him back.

  “Dad?”

  Dean paused in the hallway and looked back through the doorway. “Yeah?”

  “Does Shelley like me?”

  Dean froze, then quickly lied, “Yeah, of course.” Was it a lie? Was Aaron something she had to endure on his behalf, or was she actually warming up to him?

  “Trevor’s dad said she doesn’t like kids.”

  “She’s just... not used to kids. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you.”

  Aaron digested that in silence.

  “Will I have to go away and live with Mom and Juan all the time?” he asked plaintively.

  Dean was back in the room in a flash, kneeling by the bed. “Never,” he promised. “I would never do that.”

  Aaron sat up, face serious in the light of multicolored nightlights. “But if she doesn’t like me...”

  “Do you remember when we got Bingo?” Dean asked.

  “Yeaaaahhhh?” Aaron said in tones that didn’t indicate he actually did.

  “You were afraid that because I had Bingo to love that I wouldn’t love you anymore.”

  “Yeeeeaaaaaahhhh.”

  “Did that happen?”

  “Nooooooo.”

  “No matter who else there is, no matter what else happens, you and me, we’re a team. That doesn’t mean that you and I won’t be in other teams, like your mom and Juan are a team, and you and Trevor are a team, and maybe me and Shelley will be a team. But you and me... you and me will always be a team, too.”

  That seemed to satisfy Aaron. He snuggled back into his pile of blankets and seventy stuffed animals and Dean tucked a few more around him. By morning they would be scattered on the floor and Aaron would be sleeping soundly, sideways in the bed.

  The second call-out that week was the next day: an old farmer who’d taken a fall and undoubtedly broken his ankle. It was faster to send Turner with the fire truck to take him to the first care in the next town over for x-rays and a brace than it was to wait for an ambulance, so Dean walked back to the shop in half his turnout gear.

  Someone had made a purchase and left cash on the counter. He had no idea what had been bought or who had bought it. Hopefully it would come out even at inventory time.

  It was the third call-out that upended his life.

  Chapter 19

  Shelley half-heartedly scrolled through her Instagram feed as she waited for the elevator, liking occasional random posts, then went through the messages she’d been ignoring.

  “What are you wearing, girlfriend? Missing your photos on IG! <3”

  “Let’s do lunch and snark about the Sallies fashion show!”

  “Shell! I need you to alter a dress for a date TONIGHT. Drinks on me!” (It was from nearly a week ago)

  “Check out my new boots! OMG! They cost $500 but my feet deserve it!”

  Had she never recognized how shallow and substanceless her life really was? In trying to pack, she realized she had a wardrobe of clothing she’d only worn once, and nothing was practical. It was a sea of silk and fine Egyptian cotton and the best Shetland wool, the finest vegan leather, all name brands or handcrafted.

  But she had nothing the slightest bit suitable to wear for walking a dog
in the woods, or playing ball with a seven-year-old.

  Did moms even play ball? Was that just a dad thing? Were gender roles still in place like that?

  Pinterest assured her that moms and their sons did precious crafts together with old buttons and lace scraps, and baked healthy cookies, while wearing cute pastel plaid shirts and jeans.

  “Are you really quitting? Didn’t we just lose your father?”

  Shelley looked up to find that Jack, co-owner of the company, had joined her in the wait for the elevator.

  She hadn’t intended to quit, only to extend her leave of absence for a week or two, go back and make sure this thing with Dean was really a thing... and then convince him to come live with her here.

  But this wasn’t a life for him, and it certainly wasn’t a life for Aaron. She’d never noticed how distant people here were, compared to Green Valley. She knew the names of the pets at her condo, but not their human owners. She locked and dead bolted her condo door and remembered that Dean never even locked his shop.

  And she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she didn’t belong here without him.

  “I’m trying to get the Connor contract finished before I go,” she promised. “And you can always call me if you have questions.”

  “This isn’t two weeks’ notice,” Jack said, frowning.

  “I’m spending two weeks’ vacation time,” Shelley said icily. “Would you like to argue about the details of my employment contract?”

  Jack laughed. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said peacefully. “I’m sorry to hear you’re going, and I hope you will be available for consulting work in the future.”

  Shelley nodded. “You have my contact information; I’m very amenable to helping you in the future. As my schedule allows.”

  Jack looked at her with curiosity that he was doing a poor job of hiding. “What is it you’re going to be doing in Green Valley...?”

  Shelley stared back at him.

  She was going to be a mom.

  Because her mate was a package deal, and she already couldn’t imagine her life without him.

  It was ridiculous, and she’d known this guy a few days, and kids terrified her, and here she was, quitting her job and weeding through her impractical shoes and wondering where she could buy hiking boots that didn’t make her look like an elephant.

  Shelley realized she was still staring at Jack without answering, with her very best blank expression plastered over her face, and he was starting to squirm like he was being interrogated. “Sorry to pry,” he said sheepishly as the elevator reached their floor.

  Shelley blinked. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s... just... an unexpected life change.”

  “Not a bad one, I hope,” Jack said sincerely. “You and your dad are okay?”

  Shelley walked into the elevator next to him and smiled at her own reflection as Jack pressed the lobby button. “Yeah,” she said in wonder. “More than okay. It’s really good.” I got this.

  We got this, her lioness reminded her.

  She left Jack utterly mystified behind her as she walked swiftly to the parking garage, her heels clicking across the concrete.

  Chapter 20

  Dean was just biting into a sandwich at his dining room table when the call came. He put it down reluctantly and shoved his phone in his pocket.

  His house was only a block and a half from the station, so he planned to simply jog there, but what he saw when he got to the sidewalk and had a view down the street froze his feet to the ground.

  Oily black smoke was pouring from his shop down the street, dark and ominous against the sunny day.

  Dean made his feet move at last, bolting down the block.

  A small, alarmed crowd was starting to gather, pointing and talking.

  Black, acrid smoke pouring from around the garage door, turning the familiar lines of his shop and the store next door into wavery alien shapes. It was eerie, and so quiet that Dean could hear the crackle of flames from within, even though he couldn’t see any yet.

  Dean had to make the split-second decision: sprint two buildings down to the station and get into turnout gear, or battle the blaze now in the clothes he was wearing.

  Seconds mattered in structure fires. Dean did a conscious check for loose clothing, tucked his pants awkwardly into his boots (he was, at least, wearing fireboots), pulled a handkerchief from a pocket to tie around his face, and waded in to assess.

  The office door handle wasn’t hot, but the office was thick with dark smoke that burned at Dean’s throat. This wasn’t friendly campfire smoke, to make eyes water and send people scrambling for new seats when the wind shifted; this was its demon cousin, sending harsh fingers of pain instantly to protesting lungs.

  There was no fire here, yet, but the smoke was coming in all around the door to the shop. Dean ducked impulsively into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and then broke off the faucet so that the water was squirting directly into the air, soaking the entire bathroom. He didn’t have a sprinkler system, but he could improvise, and the bathroom was nestled between the shop and the store. If he couldn’t save one, maybe he could save the other. He wet his handkerchief, and for good measure, got as much of himself wet as he could.

  The fuse box was between the bathroom and the door to the store, and Dean wrenched the door to it open and shut off every fuse in succession. Something sparked, there was a crash from the garage, and the dim light on the coffee maker went out. It would be better to kill the main breaker, but that was around back, and at least another few minutes of detour. This would at least keep outlets from being active and prevent live wires.

  There was an industrial-sized fire extinguisher behind the counter, and Dean could only find it by feel, grasping around and coughing. It was a comfortable heft in his hands, and he drew in a breath that hurt to the bottom of his stomach, knowing it would be the best breath he would have until this was over.

  Then he kicked in the door to the shop, not even bothering to try the handle, and the heat and smoke doubled in intensity.

  He couldn’t see flames—the oily smoke was too thick—but he could see dirty flickering light, and hear the roar of the fire. It must be towards the back of the shop, to his right, against the wall to the bathroom. There was another extinguisher inside the door, so Dean wasn’t frugal with the one he was holding, knocking off the safety and spraying everything in the direction of worst heat.

  He held a map of the shop in his head, trying to figure out what was on fire, what hazards he wouldn’t be able to see; it would be deadly to trip over the lift, or knock over an oil can. The welding setup was fortunately on the other side of the garage near the overhead door; the oxy-acetylene tanks were as far from the inferno as possible.

  His eyes watered uncontrollably; even if the shop had not been filled with impenetrable smoke, he would have been blind.

  I can smell, his bear told him helpfully. The fire is there.

  Dean forged forward, hopeful he wasn’t letting any fire get behind him, and he could hear when he managed to hit open flame by the angry hiss of dying fire. He unloaded the extinguisher in that area, completely blind by now, choking for air, and trusting his bear’s direction.

  It grew gradually lighter in his hands, and Dean finally threw away the empty cylinder. Another extinguisher. He had another. It was back by the door to the office, an agonizing distance behind him, now. Somewhere, glass shattered.

  Dean turned, and had no idea which direction to go.

  He could hear the fire, which had begun to gutter under his assault, gain new strength.

  Behind him.

  Never let the fire get behind you.

  Dean was down on his knees now, pressing the handkerchief to his mouth and dragging air through it. Should he shift? Would it do any good, or just confuse a coroner later?

  Then he heard the wail of a siren, an uncommon sound in the sleepy little town of Green Valley, and there was a sudden rush of fresh air to his lungs as the overhead door was wrenched open
with a grinding squeal.

  “Dean, you moron!”

  “Get the water on!”

  “Do you see him?”

  “Don’t hit him with the spray!”

  Then Dean heard the grumbling motor of the water cannon pump, and the roar of water.

  “Let’s go, you idiot.” Someone in turnout gear, voice muffled by their SBCA, had an arm under him, helping him back up. Carter, Dean realized.

  Turner must be on the water cannon, which was blasting into the garage to one side of him, creating waves of thick steam that mixed with the smoke, hot and thick.

  Dean tried to get his feet under him, failed, and when he tried to breathe there was only fire and darkness.

  Chapter 21

  Shelley didn’t realize exactly how many people lived in Green Valley until she drove in that afternoon and found the entire population gathered downtown. For a moment, she thought there was some kind of celebration going on—then she recognized the flashing lights as a police car, and an ambulance—and they were right in front of Dean’s shop.

  But it wasn’t Dean’s shop, it was a ruin of Dean’s shop, blackened and burnt, and the side of the store was coated in soot.

  There were too many people for Shelley to pull directly up to the action, so she parked the car at the nearest curb and jumped out.

  “Dean, Dean?”

  Shelley pushed her way carelessly through the crowd and found him at last, sitting on the sidewalk with his head in his hands. He was almost black with soot, and his shoulders were slumped in exhaustion and defeat. He was flapping a hand at an EMT who was trying to put a blood pressure cuff on him.

  Seeing him did a whole host of things to Shelley’s insides. She was terrified and joyful and relieved and she wanted him even though he was as dirty as she’d ever seen anyone in her life. She hardly even noticed the people who were staring and whispering and standing around gossiping about the fire.

  “Dean,” Shelley said in soft sympathy as she sat down beside him. “Dean, your shop, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”