Four Weddings and a Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  Trixie grabbed a handful of buttery kernels with her usual blithe obliviousness. “Well, of course I have, silly. Not much else to do when you’re at work. Since you haven’t let me go out at all, I’m taking advantage of my time at home. I’m learning so much.”

  Cherie dropped her head onto her arms. Mercy above, what had she unleashed when she’d given Trixie access to her computer?

  “Besides, how else would I study for my driver’s permit?” Trixie asked cheerfully.

  “With the manual I brought you, that’s how. You don’t need to be online for that.”

  “But online they have all these cool reenactments of car crashes and stuff.” She eagerly stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “Totally rad.”

  “That’s not how we talk. We’re not Valley girls.” It was as if Trixie had learned a new language while surfing the Web.

  “Listen to you, Cherie. You’re not my mother. ‘That’s not how we talk.’ We can talk however we want to talk! We’re free! Or at least I thought we were. If we’re not, then what’s the point of all this? What’s the point of this gorgeous house and all your pretty clothes if you’re going to put yourself right back into prison, like you never left home?”

  Cherie gawked at her little sister. Surprise, surprise, Trixie had a good point. She’d never thought of it like that. “I don’t mean to put you in prison. I just don’t want you to get mixed up with the wrong sort of men. You keep saying ‘boys’ but you need to think of them as men. Men with needs. Desires. Impulses.”

  Trixie stopped chewing popcorn and leaned forward with breathless anticipation. “Like what sort of impulses?”

  “I’m not going into that right now.”

  “What about Vader? Does he have impulses?”

  “I don’t want to talk about Vader.”

  Trixie planted both elbows on the table and leaned forward. “If you don’t want Vader, you should say something right now. Because if anyone’s crush-worthy, it’s that big hunk of fireman love.”

  Before she could stop herself, Cherie reached over and grabbed her wrist. “Put Vader right out of your mind. You hear me?”

  “Aha!” Trixie bounced up and down in her chair. “You do like him. I knew you did.”

  Cherie tried to wrench the conversation back to its original topic. “Promise me you aren’t talking to any ‘boys’ online. Because they’re probably not boys, they’re fifty-year-old perverts looking for young girls.”

  “Like Mackintosh?”

  Cherie shuddered as a chill shot through her, the same chill she got every time that name was mentioned. “Pretty much.”

  “I wonder if he figures I’m with you.”

  “Let’s pray not.”

  United for once, they both cast their eyes to the heavens above. “The thing is,” said Trixie, settling back down to her popcorn, “it’s fun to flirt on the computer. It’s not like they’re ever going to see me. You can say anything you want. Act like you’re super-glamorous and sophisticated. You can even pretend you’re, like, thirty.” The way she said it, “thirty” was the next best thing to heaven.

  Cherie realized she had some serious work to do. Trixie was even more naïve than Cherie had been at that age, and that was saying something.

  “Trixie, listen to me. That stuff might be fun, but it’s not going to make you happy.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, you know how Prophesize always wanted us to get married and start birthing babies. After I left home, I started seeing that there might be other things I could do too. When you’re online, maybe you should think about that instead of boys.”

  “That’s a rad idea.” Trixie’s face lit up. “Does that mean I can go online whenever I want?”

  Oops. Cherie had the sneaking suspicion she’d fallen into a trap. She forged ahead anyway. “And you’re going to have to get a job at some point. I’m going to need help with the rent and so forth. What interests do you have? What did you like doing back home?”

  Trixie sorted through her handful of kernels, looking thoughtful. “I liked walking in the woods. I liked messing with Prophesize’s traps so he couldn’t catch rabbits.”

  “There you go!” Cherie gestured triumphantly. “Maybe you’d like to be a vet. You could start by volunteering at a pet shelter.”

  “Nah. I was thinking more like an engineer. I really liked figuring out those traps and how to wreck them so he wouldn’t notice. Can girls be engineers?”

  Progress! “Sure. But you’ll need to go back to school for that.”

  “Like I said, maybe later.” Trixie squinted, misty-eyed, as if looking into the future and witnessing exactly what she’d asked for. “In a couple of years. After I take care of a few things. But you don’t have to worry about me being a burden. I won’t be.”

  Cherie eyed her suspiciously. It sounded as if her willful little sister had some kind of master plan. What wasn’t Trixie telling her?

  Trixie swept the stray kernels of popcorn into a little pile on the table. “Thanks for the chitchat, sis. It’s good to know I can turn to you for guidance and advice during my vulnerable teenage years.”

  “Uh-huh.” Cherie watched as Trixie fetched the wastebasket and tidied up the pile. She shouldn’t be so hard on her sister. Unlike many teenagers, Trixie was helpful around the house and never left a mess. And she was mostly cheerful, certainly better company than Soren and Nick. Trixie had already fixed more meals than the boys ever had. “You really can turn to me, you know. If there’s something you want to tell me, I promise I’ll listen. I won’t freak out on you. Oh Lord have mercy.”

  She put her hand over her mouth as a terrifying thought struck her. Did she need to discuss birth control with her sister? What if she met someone as irresistible as Vader and got carried away? “Just so you know, I keep a stash of condoms in the medicine cabinet.”

  Trixie turned pink as a rhododendron and burst out laughing. “I wish I could see our stepmama’s face if she heard you say that!” She dropped the wastebasket and skipped to Cherie’s side. Like a kitten, she snuggled her cheek against Cherie’s. “Not to worry, big sister. I’m a virgin and I intend to stay that way. For now.” A funny look crossed her face, making warning bells chime in Cherie’s brain. “But just so you know, you’re my role model. Someday I hope to be just like you.”

  “But . . .”

  Since Trixie was already halfway out the door and she was addressing her back, Cherie didn’t bother to complete her thought, which was that Trixie could find a much better role model. Someone who could actually manage a healthy, honest relationship, for example. With a long sigh, she dropped her chin into her hand. That talk had definitely not gone the way she’d hoped. Instead of setting up clear guidelines and rules, somehow she’d offered Trixie Internet access and all the condoms she needed.

  I’m handling it.

  Vader would probably laugh his head off.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “She’s going to ruin your chances of making captain, just you see.” Ginny sat by the kitchen table slicing tomatoes while Vader grilled hamburgers at the stove. He was already regretting telling his mother about Trixie’s arrival. He’d thought Trixie’s escapades would entertain her, but they were having the opposite effect.

  “How is one little teenage drama queen going to change anything?”

  “How much have you studied since she got here?”

  Vader made a show of creasing his forehead and counting on the fingers of one hand. “At least sixty.”

  “Hours or minutes?”

  “Seconds.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Seriously, she’s not anything to worry about. I’ve got my committees going on, I’ve been working on my new image.” He ran one hand across his haircut, then made a “sizzling” sound. “Hottttt.”

  “The haircut’s not bad, I admit. Vinnie changed things up this time.”

  “Vinnie nothing. This one was all Cherie.”

  His mother’s hand slipped
off the tomato, and her knife clattered onto the cutting board. Vader shot her a quick look to make sure she hadn’t nicked herself. “Cherie cut your hair? I thought you dumped her.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You said you weren’t going to play her game anymore.”

  Vader snorted. Cherie’s game. If Cherie had a game, it would be Twister, where you got turned into a pretzel, then fell flat on your face. “I’m trying to switch us over to a new game, that’s all. One we both enjoy.”

  Of course, there was a game they both enjoyed, and right about now, he was missing it more than he would have believed possible. How many nights had it been since they’d had sex? A couple of weeks. And for some unfathomable reason, he hadn’t even been able to look at any other woman. All he wanted was to get back to Cherie’s luxuriously soft bed, where everything smelled like flowers, and Cherie let all her worries and barricades fall away. Where they came together in sweet, hot, abandoned bliss. Where they—

  “Vader,” Ginny said sharply, waving the knife to grab his attention. “I want to paint you a picture.”

  “That’s nice, Mom.” He barely heard her.

  “A verbal one. One in which you have a wife who thinks you’re the center of her universe.”

  “Mom, get off my back.”

  But Ginny wielded her knife in the air, daring him to stop her. “One in which the woman you love loves you back just as much. One in which she knows all your favorite dishes and loves to make them for you.”

  “Cherie makes me peanut butter brownies all the time. You know how I am about peanut butter brownies.”

  “One in which she doesn’t end things every other week.”

  Well, she certainly had him there.

  “One in which you feel like a king instead of a beggar.”

  “A beggar?” Vader plopped a hamburger onto the bun he already had waiting. “I am a beggar. I’m begging you to stop.” He placed the plate in front of her. “Eat up, Mom. While it’s hot. I beg you.”

  She didn’t even look at the hamburger, even though he’d added her favorite Worcestershire sauce to it.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know what it feels like to be with someone who thinks you’re the moon and the stars put together, who treats you like a king and makes you chicken soup when you’re sick, and leaves you little love notes on your pillow and—”

  “No more Lifetime for you, Mom.”

  His mother rolled over that comment as if it were a speed bump. “Don’t be cute. I want the best for you, Vader. That’s all. You’ve been taking care of me since you were fourteen. You were a scrawny thing back then, remember?” She backed the wheelchair away from the table and cruised toward him.

  “I was on the skinny side.” None of his firehouse buddies would believe it, but it was a fact.

  “And you started lifting weights so you could be strong enough to help me.”

  “Nah. I wanted the chicks to notice me.” He hated when she started to reminisce. If he thought too much about that time, he got upset.

  “You don’t fool me. You started lifting after Ron left.”

  “So? What’s gotten into you, Mom?”

  “I haven’t even gotten to the most important part, hon. Don’t you want someone who wants to have your babies?”

  Vader stared at her, blinking incredulously. “What?”

  “You heard me, hon. You’re thirty-one years old. Don’t you think it’s time you put your swimmers to work?”

  Swimmers? “Is your grandmother clock ticking?”

  “This isn’t about me. It’s about you.” She was close enough now to jab him in the chest with her finger. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want children? You don’t want a little boy you can show off at the firehouse? A little girl you can carry around on your shoulders?”

  “Stop it, Mom. I don’t want to talk about this.” Feeling trapped, hounded, he wheeled her around and steered her chair back to the table. How the hell was he supposed to start a family, when he was either taking care of her, hauling hose at a fire, or letting off steam from those two activities?

  Vader headed back to the stove, where he randomly clattered pots and pans around. This was why he didn’t like reminiscing. Because it made him think of fathers who left and mothers who were suddenly helpless.

  “I’m sorry, hon,” Ginny said, though she didn’t sound at all sorry. “My point is that you’re a treasure, Vader. A bona fide, one hundred percent certified treasure. I know how lucky I am to have you. The woman you love ought to know it too.”

  Vader deliberately kept his back to her so she couldn’t see the effect her words had. She meant well. Of course she did. She wanted the best for him. Completely understandable. But the picture she painted, of some perfect love in some ideal universe, a woman waiting on him hand and foot . . . damn, but he just couldn’t see Cherie in that role. And if it wasn’t going to be Cherie . . .

  “See, that’s the thing, Mom,” he said, scraping hamburger grease off the frying pan. “You keep mentioning ‘the woman I love.’ But that’s Cherie. Has been from the first moment. And it’s not going away. I think I’m stuck.”

  Strained silence came from the table. On the off chance that she was filling her mouth with hamburger instead of pondering his statement, he risked a glance over his shoulder at her. She was chewing ferociously, frowning as if trying to work out the answer to a puzzle. Finally her face cleared. “Then we get you unstuck. We’ll think of it like surgery. Speaking of surgery, that new nurse at the hospital—”

  “No. No setups. If you try, I’ll get myself snipped.”

  His mother straightened her spine. “What a thing to say!”

  “Just showing how serious I am.” He brought his burger to the table and sat down.

  “Fine. I have another idea.” At his menacing eyebrow lift, she threw up her hands. “You don’t have to worry. It’s a behind-the-scenes idea. More of a spiritual approach.”

  “Spiritual? Like prayer?”

  “Yes. More or less.”

  No matter how much he pestered her, she wouldn’t explain further. But since the whole scheme, whatever it was, had made her brighten, made the deep brackets around her mouth soften, he let it go. If she wanted to pray for him to get unstuck on Cherie, more power to her.

  He called an early meeting of the Community Relations Handbook Committee before the next shift. The six firefighters on the committee, who came from stations all over town, gathered in a trailer behind Station 1. The trailer was set up to be an emergency headquarters for a disaster situation. Crammed with electronics, with a powerful generator out back, it also held a long table where the crisis managers would make their decisions.

  Vader took a seat halfway down the table and passed around copies of a five-page list he’d made.

  “I got ahold of all the old handbooks going back fifty years. I read them all and marked the areas that need updating. Some of the stuff is the same as it always was. But in some cases the demographic makeup of the community is different, so we have to adjust to that. We didn’t always have so many Hmong in San Gabriel, for instance. The Hmong don’t like to call in outsiders. So we have to figure out a way to win their trust.”

  Mulligan stared at the list, then stared at Vader. “You did this?”

  Vader narrowed his eyes at him. He’d been worried when he saw Mulligan’s name on the volunteer list. The guy had just moved to San Gabriel. What did he care about the community? “That’s what I said.”

  “You studying for captain?”

  Vader clenched his jaw. “Back to the list. Look through it and if you see an area you want to work on, shout it out. I broke it down into fire prevention, Emergency Ops, and general community relations like charity events, ride-alongs, station tours, and so on. Whatever doesn’t get chosen I’ll assign when we’re done.”

  Mulligan kept shooting him curious looks while he flipped through the pages. “Not bad. Quite comprehensive. You sure no one helped you with
this?”

  “If you’re looking for some kind of reaction, keep walking, dude. Doesn’t matter what you say, I’m sticking to business.”

  Mulligan shrugged, and said nothing more until they’d finished doling out the various assignments. Then he raised his hand. “I got just one question.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t mention the Bachelor Firemen once in here. Kind of a big omission, don’t you think? Considering the station’s on the news all the time?”

  Vader looked at his list in shock, as if it had just turned into a viper. No Bachelor Firemen. How could he have forgotten that little detail? “It’s a legend. It doesn’t belong in a manual like this. It’s a mythical curse. Who cares?”

  Vader had always claimed he didn’t believe in the curse, but then again . . . he thought of Cherie, and how he could never get anywhere with her. Maybe he was cursed.

  “People magazine cares about the curse,” said Mulligan. “The Today show cares. Channel Six cares. Ella Joy cares.” Mulligan rattled off the many news outlets that had covered the Bachelor Firemen story.

  “Watch a lot of TV, do you?”

  Mulligan shrugged. “I like to educate myself. I figure if there is a curse, this is the place for me.”

  “That’s fucked up,” said Vader. “But if you’re so interested, you can work on that part. But keep your personal reasons to yourself. No one gives a shit.”

  “Ten-four, Cap’n.” Mulligan gave a mocking salute. Vader was quickly growing to detest the guy.

  “But I still think it’s a waste of time,” he grumbled. “We’re a fire department, not a freaking reality show.”

  “If you say so, Cap’n.”

  Vader ended the meeting, setting the next one for a week later. The other firefighters left to hurry to their own stations. Hands in his pockets, Mulligan ambled across the backyard toward the training room, where the crew was gathering for lineup. Vader followed a short distance behind. The guy got on his nerves almost as much as Soren and Nick did, and that was saying something. Of all the firefighters at the station, Mulligan was the one who looked at him with the least amount of respect. Maybe they hadn’t fought enough fires together. They hadn’t yet formed that bond that came with facing death head-on.