Embers

by Carina Alyce

  First, she'd confirmed Noah was in New York. Second, all she had to do was get there and enter the city. On her side, she had the gas masks, Cleveland FD T-shirts, and a letter of introduction from the firehouse.

  And now she sounded like one of Noah's old Magic the Gathering role-playing games. She could roll the twenty-sided dice and chose if she would get murdered by a troll or a wizard or a terrorist attack.

  RPGs were not her forte. Neither were construction or crafts or art or music. Organizing and fixing things were her skills. And some occasional yoga counted as a hobby.

  Third, there was the distraction of a too sexy man with a solid amount of sexy heft.

  No reason to deny the stare-fest she'd indulged in. That was a man's man. Her brain couldn't decide which part of him to devour first. His massive chest and back—those muscles went on for days, defined by more masculine hair. Or his chiseled jaw, revealed by his shaving off his dark whiskers. The loss of that facial hair made him look twenty-five instead of the thirty he claimed. Or the ass and thighs that were perfect to lift support beams or horny women. A perfect spot to lay them on top of him and use the steel rod between his legs.

  Way too many thoughts on that one. Hammer for pounding? Drilling deep?

  Serious heft.

  Heft she needed to avoid at all costs. They could find him a hotel once his laundry was done, or he could crash on Noah's couch. She could ignore those muscles and the calloused hands. And the scars and scrapes up his arms. He certainly looked rough, tough, and ready to ride. All he needed was a tattoo or ten, which he remarkably lacked.

  Stop thinking about sex with him. Nothing was going to happen.

  While picking up a hitchhiker and platonically spending the night with him was insane on paper, Abby trusted her instincts. She'd honed them between years of bullshit and lies either in the guys she dated or behind the desk with kids who thought they could pull a fast one.

  She didn't get screwed; she screwed with people. It was generally for their own good, though.

  On the topic of things she shouldn't screw… only one person could be playing music in the main room.

  Stepping out in her pants, bra, and tank top, she found a not-murderer-knitting-construction worker playing what must have been Noah's guitar. This tough guy was playing One Sweet Day by Mariah Carey.

  "When I asked for you to convince me you were unthreatening, why didn’t you tell me you were a full guitar-playing metrosexual instead of waxing poetic about knitting?"

  Hank stopped mid-strum. "I said I played the guitar, but I stuck with knitting because you’d have thought I was a depraved wannabe rock star or worse. Your brother plays?"

  "I guess so." She flopped down on the opposite end of the couch. Exactly what the doctor ordered: reality, doom, gloom, and the end of the world party.

  He set the guitar to the side, instantly giving her his full attention. Wow, she did not deserve that with her efforts to deliberately irritate him and mess with him all day today. "You find anything out about your brother's vacation?"

  More than she wished she knew or suspected, but no need to go there. "Yes, I used my Colombo skills and figured out I should have given him a digital camera as a goodbye present. He didn't leave a single picture of himself or Wills, though he has been very interested in Anna Paquin, Halle Berry, and Kirsten Dunst."

  "Superheroes? X-Men and Spiderman."

  "Yes, mostly tasteful bikini photoshoots. He hadn't even gone to porn sites." Without a recent photo of Noah, she wouldn't recognize her own brother. Judging by the clothes in the dressers, he'd put on height. When he graduated high school, he’d worn a size smaller than her. Now, she skipped trying on one of his FD T-shirts because she would be swimming in it.

  Another problem. I'm looking for a White guy with my eyes but taller than me and smaller than Hank.' That would narrow it down.

  "He deleted his browsing history," Hank said.

  "I doubt it. He was still signed on to AOL instant messenger as ChEngineerN0@h from over a week ago and didn't have any dirty chats open either. Just messages to some guy name WillieJaybird. What an awful name."

  Hank started coughing.

  "What's your screen name?" She narrowed her eyes. "Animal, mineral, or vegetable?"

  "Hammerman with all ‘at’ signs."

  "That's embarrassing. I'd expect a guy who's compensating for a small tool and can't get a lady."

  He raised his eyebrows. "I keep my tools in great condition. And being single has nothing to do with the condition of my tools. Why are you single?"

  "What a personal question!" She faked outrage. "Maybe I'm single because I went full Golden-eye, but instead of crushing people to death with my thighs, I stabbed them with my bony chest. Actually, I was busy."

  "Too busy that you didn't keep up with the brother you raised?"

  "My parents aren't… well," Abby said, wishing reality didn't keep intruding. "I moved in with them last year. Noah doesn't know."

  "Why didn't you tell him? You said you wanted him to stay close."

  It wasn't the first time Abby had asked the same question and found her own answer lacking. "I don't know. He left because he wanted to spread his wings. I left for college and came back when Mom had a hard time."

  "I get it. My grandma raised me, and it must be the same for him."

  "Is that why you know how to knit?" Abby asked. Obviously, the man hadn't sprung fully grown from nothing.

  "It's her favorite evening activity, knitting with Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune," Hank said.

  "Noah never complained, but I think it was hard that Dad had his AARP card before Noah turned three," Abby said. "Last year, Dad started getting lost, and it was easier to move in to help him."

  "Who's with your parents now? Is your mom…"

  Abby didn't want to think about it. "I'll check in soon. I have a nurse who stops by three times a day and a few neighbors will take turns checking on them at night."

  "You kept this to yourself, never told Noah?"

  "Should I have guilted him to stay? If I couldn't guilt him into becoming a lawyer or a doctor instead of a firefighter… should I have blackmailed him with our parents?"

  "You wanted to protect him."

  "Someone had to. There wasn't anyone else. Firefighting is dangerous. There's nothing wrong with a nice safe job close by where I can keep an eye on him," Abby said.

  "If you find him, you going to take him back to Wisconsin?"

  "Hell yes."

  "He's an adult."

  "He's my missing brother in the middle of a terrorist attack. I have to check in." Abby didn't want an argument. It was her decision, not his.

  "I see."

  She dialed her parents’ number on her cell phone. It rang twice when her dad picked up.

  "Hey, Dad.”

  "Noah, is that you?"

  "No, it's Abby. Mom there?"

  Her father said. "I can get her. You want to talk to Noah too since he's home?"

  "No, Dad, I don't need to talk to Noah. Can I talk to Mom?" Hank shifted on the couch at Abby's question.

  "Yes, hang on."

  The phone was sent down, and there was silence. Abby waited and checked the clock. Hopefully, a neighbor would be at the house at this hour.

  "Hmm, why is the phone off the hook?" Her dad wandered back to the phone. "Hello, who's there?"

  "Dad. It's Abby."

  "How's college? You know, I haven't seen Noah today. Do you think he went to see one of those Star Wars movies again?"

  "Noah is fine. Can I talk to Mom or anyone?"

  "Hang on, there's this woman here. Do you want to talk to her?"

  "Yes, please hand her the phone," Abby said, hoping her father would follow through.

  "Hello, this is Jennifer."

  Abby sagged in relief that someone coherent answered. Jennifer was one of their neighbors. "Hey, Jen. It's Abby."

  "How you're doing?"

  "I'm good. How are my parents?"

&
nbsp; “About as expected. Your mom's sleeping, and your dad's stuck again."

  "I can tell. It gets worse as he gets more tired at night. Can you make sure the door alarms are on and he's wearing his tag?"

  "Will do. Any luck with your brother?"

  "I'm at his place right now. Nothing to worry about." Now Abby was really lying through her teeth. "I'll probably be out for a couple more days. Do you think that you and Vicky can keep an eye on them?" Vicky lived across the street.

  "I don't see why not."

  "Good. You are a lifesaver. Thank you so much. I've got to go, but I'll talk to you later."

  She hung up, and Hank asked the much-deserved question, "Is Noah in Wisconsin?"

  "My dad thinks he is. He also thinks I'm in college and Noah is six."

  "He doesn't have any idea?"

  "None. Tuesday, he asked about the airshow in New York. After Noah left, he became untethered."

  "Untethered?"

  "He thinks every phone call this year is Noah. He spends his day checking the house for Noah and planning on picking him up from Tee Ball or the movies or chess club. It could be worse. At least he still recognizes me." Abby tossed her cell phone toward the bed.

  "I'm sorry," Hank said and carefully patted her arm. It wasn't a come-on. It was genuine sympathy.

  "Why? It's one of those things."

  "I told you, Grandma raised me. She got Alzheimer's; she didn't know me toward the end. It was difficult." Correction, it wasn't sympathy; it was empathy.

  They shared a moment of understanding over the feeling of watching a person they loved slip away, one memory at a time.

  Abby dropped her eyes. "Maybe Dad's why I pushed Noah too hard to stay. It's my fault he went to Cleveland."

  “I can help.” Hank offered, one hand next to hers.

  “How? I got myself in this mess. I'll handle it.” She got up, not wanting to think on everything she was losing.

  “I don't think this is your mess. It's way bigger.” Hank stood a few feet from her.

  Abby sniffled. "A hug would be good right about now. If you're not going to kill me with your hook hand or we have a phone call coming from inside the apartment."

  "You want to hug?" He reached out an arm and carefully wheeled her into his chest. They stood there for a solid thirty seconds as Abby relaxed degree by degree. She didn't cry or sob. All she did was revel in being held by someone bigger and stronger than herself.

  Later, if asked, she couldn't explain her next action. Freeing one hand, she curled it around his face, brushing his smooth skin now that he'd shaved.

  Hank turned his head downward, opening his mouth probably to ask what she was doing, but Abby answered by bringing her lips to his.

  There was a brief second of hesitation, which Abby took advantage of by sweeping her tongue into his mouth. Heat poured through her as Hank responded once he figured out what was going on. Their platonic hug of comfort switched to hungry, greedy, boiling kisses.

  This was not the way she was supposed to deal with her emotions, but why the hell not? There was nothing wrong with needing human contact in the midst of the unimaginable. He was handsome, nice, and, more importantly, here.

  Without thinking, she shoved her hands under his T-shirt, colliding with the wall of muscle she’d admired in the bathroom. His skin was slightly damp and smooth, and he smelled like shampoo and soap. She could tell because she fastened her lips to his pulse point, loving the way his heartrate sped.

  Hank wasn't idle. He skimmed his hands through her hair, tugging on it to pull her lips back to his. His calloused hands slid under her tank top, up her back, and unclasped her bra.

  They stopped when both of them came to the realization that they were about ten seconds from having sex.

  Stepping back, Abby sat on the couch and pushed her shirt down. “Sorry about that. Might not have been my best idea. For all I know, Noah doesn't even have condoms.”

  Hank snorted.

  “What am I saying? He's a nineteen-year-old with his own apartment and his overprotective older sister five hundred miles way. Must have a massive box of Trojans somewhere. Probably had orgies too.”

  “Orgies?”

  “Maybe not orgies. I don't think there's enough room in here for an orgy. The couch, the bed… there's not really a kitchen. I guess Fatal Attraction style sex on the sink is possible. Why not have an orgy? I don’t know anything about him, so why not?”

  “What are you talking about?” Hank asked, unable to follow her sudden obsession with orgies and continued horror movie references.

  “I'm breaking the ‘did we think about having sex with a stranger’ tension vibe we have going now. It must be broken to return to equilibrium. Sex is a for couples. It has emotion and knowing each other for more than a week.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, undeterred by her attempts to deflect her real problems of her parents and Noah. “Shouldn’t we talk about Noah and your plan to go to New York?”

  “What plan? Besides, I can’t be sure what Noah looks like. He might have ten tattoos or something now. Do you have an opinion on that?”

  “On tattoos?”

  “Why don’t you have any? No prison tats? No giant bulldozer on your back? I figured someone like you would have like a sleeve or something.”

  “Do you think I don’t know when a subject is being avoided? Are you driving to New York tomorrow?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then let me come with you.”

  “Why? You don’t have a brother cleaning up Ground Zero in NYC.”

  “You need my help. According to the news, they want construction workers for volunteers. I’m a construction worker.”

  He did have a point. “I don’t see why… crap. Fine. You can come. But don’t be confused. You are sleeping on the couch. And if you murder me in my sleep, I’m gonna be pissed.”

  Thursday September 13, 2001

  Right outside New Jersey

  The Diary of the Chaplain at MetroGen

  Thursday September 13, 2001

  It’s hard to write this. Where was I Tuesday morning? At the Saint Mary’s Seminary giving a class on merging prayer with meditation for the priests and students. It was total quiet until the rector came in with a radio. “I have terrible news. Two planes have crashed into both World Trade Centers.” We were so shocked we just listened like it was a World War II radio war update. The voice of Lee Harris from New York radio narrated the end of the world.

  We were so shocked that we sat through till the end. I still can’t believe it. New York. Washington D.C. Pennsylvania.

  Eventually, we realized we had to actually do something. Many went their own churches, but I don’t have a church. I don’t have a congregation, so instead I sent an email to MetroGen taking leave and started driving east.

  I’d say more, but I can’t. I just can’t. Not today.

  Chapter 6

  "Why are we here again?" Abby asked when Hank insisted they stop at Ames. They used Noah's computer to MapQuest an Ames outside of New Jersey.

  "Have you ever been inside a construction site?" he asked.

  "No. Once, we had a bathroom remodel."

  "Yeah, about what I expected." He led her to the shoe section. "You need work boots. Thick leather, water resistant, and steel-toed."

  She assumed he wasn't joking when he pointed her down the men's aisle. "Why aren't we over in the women's?"

  "Nobody makes women's gear worth a buck. My two female roofers always struggle with it. Your ballet flats will last five seconds on site," he said. "Since you're a tall glass of water, you'll be able to wear men's gear."

  "You have women on your crew?" She'd always imagined construction to be a stronghold of tattooed masculinity. No chicks allowed.

  "Not full time. They sub in on occasion when I need more help."

  Abby reexamined him with a critical eye. She knew zilch about construction, but it was more complex than she'd ever considered, and he was higher
up in the totem pole in the construction world than she realized. Then again, it wasn't like he was an eighteen-year-old kid; this was a man.

  A hot, burly man with muscles and calluses and… better not to go there. He hadn't said or done anything since their encounter yesterday, despite seven hours in the car. No need to add complications to this by having sex.

  "Bring on the work boots."

  He handed her three different sizes, and she fit into the smallest possible pair—a size six. He dumped three sets for her and three sets for him into their cart. "It's a start."

  "Now what?"

  "Clothes." Hank pushed the cart toward the women's clothing department.

  "I have clothes."

  "Yeah, I saw what's in your bag. Those'll get torn up faster than your shoes. Time for practical stuff. Jeans, flannels, better bra."

  Now she protested. "There's nothing wrong with my bra."

  "Nothing wrong with it, but yours was more decorative than functional." Hank was a gentleman apparently and didn't need to comment on how up close and personal he'd gotten with it.

  Never stopped Abby. “It’s because a fabulous bra covers my less than fabulous boobs. But okay, sports bras?”

  “And more,” Hank said. “Remember, if you are going to be part of my construction crew, you follow my orders. So, we buy gear now, change, pack it up, and try to get to the Towers.”

  With no other options, Abby obeyed, even if it wasn’t in her nature. Once they’d bought their clothing, she put one of her new pink flannel shirts over her borrowed Cleveland FD T-shirt.

  When they exited, something game changing was parked next to her car.

  "That is a fire truck," Abby said with awe in her voice. The yellow firetruck was parked only feet from Abby’s Escort in the back of the Ames parking lot.

  He didn't trust the look in her eyes. "Yes, it is."

  "Think they're inside getting food or something?" Abby wandered closer, noting the lack of people in the cab. The firetruck was yellow and labeled 'North Dakota.'

  "Most likely after they got gas," Hank said suspiciously. "Are you going to steal a firetruck?"