Yellowstone Memories

by Spinola, Jennifer Rogers

  Alicia avoided her eyes, trying to swallow the grit that lodged in her throat. “It’s not that I’m thinking about him exactly. But he’s … I don’t know. Different.” She coughed into her bandanna, and then softened her tone. “He seems to really care how I am, you know? And he keeps his eyes above my neckline, unlike half the guys on this crew.”

  “Whew. Yeah.” Carlita laughed as she raised her fire rake and scooped deep into fresh brown soil.

  Through the charred trees Alicia saw a faraway quiver of bright flame, and a swell of heat made sweat prickle on her neck. Distant trees roared and snapped.

  The blaze was big all right—maybe even bigger than they were saying. And if the wind picked up from the wrong angle and caught them at the flank, they were toast. Literally.

  Carlita groaned with effort as she tore out a clump of earth and stones with her fire rake, and Alicia raised hers with ash-dusty gloves.

  “In all the years I’ve known Thomas, he’s never once tried to sleep with me—or even ask me out.” Alicia let out a grunt as she heaved her fire rake into the hard soil, making a soft thud as she tore open the earth. “I don’t know what to make of him.”

  She dug the heavy blade out of the ground, turning over a fresh section of fragrant earth. Wishing she could turn her own life inside out and start over—or if it would even be worth the effort to try.

  Carlita put her head down, red-faced, and mopped sweat from her forehead with the edge of her bandanna. “I don’t want to ask this the wrong way,” she said in hesitant tones, raising her eyes to Alicia. “But Thomas isn’t … you know. Gay. Is he?”

  “What? No.” Alicia bristled, whirling around. “Why would you even ask something like that?”

  “Dunno. Just wondering. You said he never asked you out or flirted with you, and with that new disease going around, you can’t be too careful.” Carlita shrugged. “I’ve never seen him hang out with the chicks.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything!” Alicia snapped. “He’s been engaged twice, for your information. To women. One dumped him for some good-looking banker, and the other married her childhood sweetheart instead.” She shook her head in disgust. “Stupid girls.”

  “He tell you all this?”

  “No. Some of the other guys on the crew.”

  “Oh.” Carlita smoothed her hair back into a ponytail and coughed into her bandanna. “Well, what’s wrong with him? Why doesn’t he ask you out?” She reached over and nudged Alicia with her elbow. “Or better, why don’t you ask him out? This is the ‘80s, you know. You don’t always have to be so old-fashioned.”

  “I’m not old-fashioned.” Alicia pulled away. “But I can’t ask him out. I just … can’t.” She stepped forward with the other crew members, feeling like one in a line of trained monkeys. “He’s one of those Bible freaks. You know. Went to Bible college. Reading the scriptures and praying for people.”

  She kept her eyes on the line of firefighters. “I just can’t get into it myself. I sure admire people who believe something as much as he does. But …” She messed with the grip tape on the end of her fire rake. “I’m not going to ask him out.”

  “Hmph. What is he, some kind of freaky cult leader?”

  “Nah. One of those regular old ‘born-again’ people, whatever that’s supposed to mean.” She squinted over at Carlita. “Do you believe in God? Or Jesus, as Thomas always talks about?”

  “Sure I do.” Carlita’s eyes turned sober. “With all my heart. I used to go to Mass only at Christmas and Easter, but the older I get, the more I feel like there’s gotta be more than that.” She pressed dry lips together. “I’m … actually thinking of joining a Bible study.”

  “A Bible study? You?”

  “Why not? I might as well learn about what I’m supposed to believe, right?”

  “Wow.” Alicia blew out her breath. “I didn’t know you were so thick with religion.”

  “How about you?” Carlita kept her eyes on the row of firefighters, gripping her fire rake with both hands as they plunged and dug.

  “What about me?”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  Alicia scrunched her eyebrows. “God? I don’t know, Carlita. Probably not.”

  “Shouldn’t you decide?”

  Alicia waited for Carlita to swing then hacked her fire rake into the soil. “If I believe in God or not? No.” She strained her back and shoulders with effort, digging her fire rake in deep and scooping up soil and rocks. “Why should I? If He exists, He certainly hasn’t done a good job of taking care of me. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “You’re saying a lot more than that, muchacha.”

  “Look.” Alicia stood up straight and banged her fire rake into the ground to shake off the dirt. “If you’re so all-fired about God, why don’t you ask Thomas out?” she flared. “You’d be a perfect match.”

  “I’m old enough to be his mother,” Carlita growled. “And besides that, I’m married. Remember?” She pulled off her glove, revealing a carved wooden ring that didn’t heat against the skin like metal. “Or did you think I’d ditched Simón already?”

  “Oh yeah,” Alicia said meekly, cringing in embarrassment. “I forgot. Six months, right?”

  “Ten.” Carlita’s face twisted with anger. “Seems like you forget a lot of things, Alicia Sanchez. Maybe God’s been looking out for you a lot longer than you realize. That Mrs. Coffman woman you’ve mentioned before. Wasn’t she some sort of Christian?”

  “Nope. An atheist.” Alicia faced Carlita with a triumphant smile, her sweaty hair hanging out of her ponytail and around her ears. “Gotcha.”

  “You got me on nothing. It’s even more amazing.” Carlita raised a hand toward the ash-choked sky. “God used a woman that didn’t even believe in Him to carry out His will of cradling your heart and giving you your dearest childhood memories. Ever think of that?” She stuck her face closer, almost bumping noses with Alicia. “God,” she began, her voice fierce, “is far more concerned about you than you give Him credit for.” She straightened up. “That’s what I think. And it would do you good to consider that before you throw your life away.”

  Alicia jumped, so startled she dropped her fire rake. “What are you talking about? Who said I’m throwing my life away?” She groped for the rake on the leaf-strewn ground.

  “You don’t fool me.” Carlita shot her a severe look. “I don’t know where that empty look in your eyes came from, but I don’t like it.” She glared. “And if it takes God to fix your problems, so be it. I should have brought you to Mass a long time ago.”

  “Right. In Latin,” Alicia mumbled.

  “So get a Bible in English or Spanish,” Carlita snapped back. “Simón used to be a sorry druggie, you know that? I divorced him ten years ago. But since he’s got all this religion, he’s changed.” Her eyes softened as she traced her wooden ring with her gloved hand. “I wouldn’t trade him for anybody now. He’s not perfect, but he’s trying. He’s a good man. Maybe some religion would do you good, too.”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t.” Alicia lifted her chin.

  “Well, what you’re doing now sure isn’t helping. You got a better idea?”

  Alicia turned her fire-scorched face away, not sure what to say.

  Chapter 4

  Well, wonders never cease. I think I’ve fixed something for a change.” Alicia dropped the hood down on the ancient Forest Service fire truck, its engine chugging weakly. Chris and Duncan, two firefighters from one of the Wyoming crews, recoiled the hoses on the other side of the truck after yet another breakdown. The reason this time? A radiator leak, compounded by a devilishly stubborn hood prop and too slippery gears. “Methuselah,” they called the fire truck—after years of breakdowns, repairs, and long-distance runs that had racked up more than two hundred thousand miles in ugly wear and tear.

  In fact, Methuselah had been headed for the scrap bin when the head engine captain got an urgent call from Yellowstone begging for trucks.

  Alicia to
ssed the toolbox behind the truck seat and shut the door, her mind an exhausted muddle of flames, shouts, acrid smoke, and cold showers before a few hours of shallow sleep. Then up again at dawn, and the whole thing all over again. Those beautiful fields blackened, trees splintered and fallen like brittle Pick Up Sticks. Dead deer and elk stranded in Yellowstone River.

  “So you believe in Jesus, huh?” Alicia wiped her grease-stained palms on her grimy, ash-blackened pants. Even her nails, clipped short as they were, had taken on a grayish sheen under her bubblegum-pink nail polish.

  Thomas, who was squatting on the ground over an empty radiator fluid canister, looked up at her with a wrinkled brow. If he grew his hair out longer and maybe stuck a feather in it, Alicia could picture him sitting next to a fire in buckskins, roasting a deer over a spit.

  “Me? Of course I believe in Jesus.” Thomas raised his voice over the rattling drone of the engine, and the image fled. “You know I do.” He cocked his head. “But where in the world did that come from?”

  Alicia didn’t answer, scrubbing a clump of charred soil from the bottom of her boot. Smoke rose up from the distant hillside like spilled ink, boiling into the already hazy sky.

  “Why do you ask?” Thomas dumped the empty canister in the back of the truck.

  “No reason.” Alicia crossed her arms stiffly. “I just wonder sometimes … why. You seem to be a rational guy. Why do you let religion hold you back?”

  Thomas froze there in mid-bend, reaching down to tie his bootlace. He blinked then stood up slowly, coming up to face her with a tender look in his eyes.

  “What?” She put her hands on her hips in irritation.

  “Nothing.” Thomas looked away meekly. “You just seem so … angry.”

  “Angry?” Alicia waved a hand in front of her face as the rickety engine belched exhaust. “Why wouldn’t I be angry? God’s never been there for me, if He does exist.” She kicked the side of Methuselah’s back tire, which was appropriately leaking air.

  “Of course He exists. He’s always been with you.” Thomas bit his lips. “You might not have seen it, but He was. I don’t know all you’ve been through, but I just wish …” He broke off with a sigh.

  “Wish what?”

  Thomas studied her a moment, holding her gaze. “I just wish I could show you somehow—in a way you could understand.”

  “Ha.” Alicia spat out a bitter laugh. “Good luck with that. I don’t buy any religious sob stories about a God who loves me.” She shook a finger at him. “And you of all people. Shouldn’t you be following whatever your ancestors worshipped rather than some imported white man’s god?”

  “Whoa, Nelly.” Thomas took a step back and raised his palms as if afraid she’d belt him. “Don’t call out the firing squad just yet.”

  “Sorry.” Alicia managed a smile. “But you know I’m right. Why won’t you just admit it?”

  “Right?” Thomas chuckled, and his eyes glinted like black water. “I’m afraid that depends on who you ask. For starters, almost nobody’s pure-blooded Apache anymore. My grandmother was white. My mom had blue eyes.” He shrugged. “So whose ancestors am I supposed to follow? My white grandmother’s or my Apache grandfather’s? Or my French-Seminole stepfather’s?” He scratched his fingers through thick hair. “It’s not as easy as you think, Alicia.”

  “At any rate, I’d choose one of those fire-breathing gods rather than hear people harp about how much the God of the Bible loves me.” Alicia turned quickly. “No offense, Thomas. I just don’t believe it.”

  “But He does.” Thomas touched her arm lightly. “He died for you. The Bible compares Him to a shepherd who left ninety-nine so-called righteous people to seek the one lost sheep—and then He gave His life for you. Can’t you even try to picture it?”

  Alicia slapped a mosquito on her shirtsleeve and rubbed her arm in disgust. “Gave up His life for me?” She looked up with a scowl. “Please. I know several people who’d like to see me dead. But there isn’t a soul alive who’d give their life for me.” She held a finger up to his face in defiance. “Not one. When push comes to shove, everybody looks out for number one. Every single time.”

  Thomas shook his head sorrowfully and opened his mouth as if to speak, but the sudden and unexpected backward lurch of the truck startled them both.

  As if in slow motion, Alicia watched Methuselah roll right over the triangular chock against the back tire and reverse toward a cliff of thick Ponderosa pines, the engine bleating pitifully like a sick goat.

  “Get out of the way!” Alicia screamed, lunging for the truck door. “She popped out of gear again!”

  Thomas nearly tackled Duncan, shoving him to the side as Methuselah sped past in a cloud of gray dust.

  “Oh my word.” Chris jumped out of the truck’s path. “That thing’s gonna go over the cliff!”

  “Watch out!” Thomas sprinted after the truck with Alicia on his heels, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Get everybody out of the way!”

  Duncan and Chris fanned out over the hillside, stumbling over pine limbs and shouting out warnings while Thomas tried unsuccessfully to grab the door handle. The truck picked up speed on the decline, bumping over a boulder and shooting between two pines on a downhill slant toward the cliff.

  Down below the steep drop-off lay a rolling green valley of deserted hills, the thick patches of pine forest interspersed with smooth green meadow.

  “It’s too late.” Thomas grabbed Alicia’s arm as she dove for the side of the truck—Methuselah careening toward the ravine, kicking up stones and soil.

  “Oh no it’s not.” Alicia pulled herself free and snatched at the door handle, jerked it open. One of her boots dragged along the ground, banging against roots and boulders as she tried twice to pull herself up into the cab.

  As the truck roared through a patch of clearing, Alicia gave a final hefty push against the door frame and shoved her head inside then hauled herself up and into the cab. Ducking just as a cottonwood limb raked across the window, snapping off the side-view mirror like a pesky fly.

  Alicia’s cheek banged against the door glass, knocking her teeth together as the truck bumped over a boulder and cracked her forehead against the windshield. The rearview mirror flap fell open and whacked her in the face as she fumbled for the gearshift. Windshield wipers scraped the glass, swishing against thick pine boughs.

  She heard Duncan shout, saw Chris through a spot of clearing cupping his hands around his mouth.

  Alicia found the wobbly gearshift and tried to shove it into DRIVE—just as she felt the back tire give. Dropping down with a sickening thunk. She let go of the steering wheel and smashed the jammed gearshift with both hands, shouting as it popped into gear, and poked her heavy boot around on the floorboard in search of the gas pedal. The engine revved, and she heard the wheels spin—screaming against the crumbly forest soil and the weight of a truck already on its downhill slide over the cliff.

  The landscape lurched upward with a bump as the rear right tire gave way, slamming her against the door and giving her an eerie glimpse of tufted tree tops against smoke-gray clouds.

  “C’mon, Methuselah, you old horse! Drive!” Alicia punched the gas pedal to the floor, pinning it with all her weight and spinning the wheel.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Alicia saw a blurred Thomas racing toward her at an unnatural angle, his face ashen—screaming. His black hair disheveled. “Are you crazy?” he was shouting before the scrape of boulders and limbs under the truck roared in her ears.

  Alicia felt the truck turn, saw tree branches pass across the windshield. Spaces of sky glimmered through the pine needles like sparkling gray stars, oddly still and silent amid the crunch of grinding earth against the undercarriage.

  A bang, and the truck seemed to settle. She felt her hand reaching for the gearshift.

  Something warm trickled down her forehead. Alicia blinked, letting her foot off the gas as her vision seemed to cloud over. Hazy and smokelike, until she could no l
onger see the steering wheel.

  Chapter 5

  Alicia Sanchez. For goodness’ sake.” Thomas’s voice came out somewhere between a growl and a whisper of relief. “You sprained your wrist, you know that? And you’re all banged up. A badly bruised rib and two stitches on that cut on your cheek.”

  “Thomas?” Alicia opened one eye, but the other one felt stuck together. She reached up to touch it, but her wrist had been wrapped in something stiff. An IV bag dripped into a tube taped to the crook of her elbow.

  Her eyelid fluttered as she tried to see, taking in the tiny hospital room and small window. A fly buzzed against the dull fluorescent light, and Alicia tried to follow it with her gaze. Everything looked grainy, weak.

  “And that eye.” Thomas looked furious as he crossed his arms, his expression darker than Alicia had ever seen him. Jaw clenching. “That thing’s gonna swell up royally.”

  “Is the truck okay?” Alicia patted gingerly at a patch over her eye. Her cheekbone throbbed, and her rib cage hurt when she breathed.

  “The truck? Yeah, sure. Methuselah’s fine—the old rattler.” The corner of his mouth tipped up as if trying to smile, but his face looked too pale and stiff for mirth. “I don’t know how you did it, Alicia, but you hung on to that cliff like a mountain goat.” His mouth wobbled, dry-lipped. “Another inch or two and …”

  Thomas rubbed his forehead as if in bewilderment. A smear of engine grease still blackened the side of his stubbly chin.

  Alicia pushed herself up on one elbow. “But I saved her, right?”

  “Saved her?” Thomas’s eyes popped open, and he began to pace angrily. “You could have killed yourself! I told you to let it go. It’s Methuselah, Alicia! A rusty old bolt box on her last legs. So long as nobody was in the way, she wasn’t worth risking your life over.”

  “But I saved the truck. Right?”

  “Yes, but …” Thomas sputtered, stretching his arms out. “Why? What on earth got into you?”