Four Weddings and a Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  After he left, she stared at her bedroom door for a good five minutes before she remembered what she was doing with her phone in her hand.

  The next day brought nothing but tension and waiting. Cherie called in sick for all her jobs. The hours ticked by, but Mackintosh made no appearance. Cherie wasn’t sure if this was good or bad. Not that she wanted to see him, but if she did, at least she’d know what he was up to.

  The waiting was agonizing for all of them. Ginny wrote a month’s worth of blog posts. Trixie spent a lot of time on the computer, looking up information about Las Vegas. Or something to do with Las Vegas, anyway. And the lawyer finally called Cherie back.

  The conversation brought Cherie bittersweet relief. The woman told her she had no need to worry, that the “marriage” wasn’t remotely legal. The flip side was that if Prophesize knew that, it wouldn’t keep Mackintosh from going after one of her sisters. As for filing charges against him, the lawyer said she would discreetly check with someone in the Arkansas legal system before deciding what step to take next.

  “Say hi to that big bear Vader, would you?” the lawyer said wistfully, just before they hung up. “Tell him if he wants to cover this session with more work around the house, I’m open to that.”

  “That’s okay,” said Cherie quickly. “It’s my problem, my responsibility.” She didn’t add, my man, but she thought it.

  It took her long hours to fall asleep that night. For six years she’d lived with the aftermath of that crazy night in Arkansas. Why hadn’t she talked to a lawyer earlier? She could have fought back through the legal system instead of hiding out, afraid to make waves. It was probably too late to file charges by now. In a stupid effort to shield her sisters, she’d turned down Vader’s proposals. She’d allowed Mackintosh to steal her chance at happiness.

  It’s not stolen, she told herself, as drowsiness finally crept through her. The next time I see Vader, I’m going to tell him how much I love him. Have loved him, all along. Maybe he’ll try that proposal again. This time I know exactly what to say. “Hell, yes!”

  On that thought, she fell asleep.

  Barely an hour later, Trixie was shaking her awake. “We have to go. Now.”

  “What?” Cherie rubbed her eyes, struggling from the nest of sheets twined around her body. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s Jacob. We have to go.”

  Nothing was guaranteed to make Cherie move faster. She leaped out of bed, staggering from her tangle of sheets. “What about Jacob?”

  Trixie thrust a bundle of clothes at her. “I was thinking about Mr. Mackintosh and remembering everything he said when he was here. First he said, ‘Where is he?’ I said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He just stared at me with this mean look. Then I said, ‘If you mean Jacob, he doesn’t live here anymore.’ He said, in a horrible voice, ‘That spawn of Satan will pay.’ After that Mrs. Brown was about to press her alert button, so he left. Please, Cherie, get dressed, we have to go!”

  Cherie tried to make sense of Trixie’s jumble of words. “He hates Jacob. He hates everyone gay.” She pulled on a skirt, with no idea if it was right side around or not.

  “That’s the thing. When he first came in here and said, ‘Where is he,’ what if he didn’t mean Jacob? What if he meant Robbie?”

  “Robbie? His son Robbie?”

  “Yes. What if he thinks Robbie is with Jacob?”

  Cherie fumbled with the top Trixie had given her. “Why would Robbie be with Jacob?”

  “Weren’t they friends back in Arkansas?”

  Cherie didn’t remember any particular friendship, but that didn’t mean anything. The implications were rocketing through her brain, spreading panic in their wake. “If Mackintosh thinks Jacob’s helping Robbie, he’ll kill him.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I woke you up. I tried to call Jacob but he didn’t answer and I’m really, really scared.”

  Cherie examined her sister’s face. Was she really scared? Or was this a ploy of some kind? “Are you up to something, Trixie?”

  “No! What do you mean? I’m worried about Jacob, that’s all!” The worry on her young face seemed completely genuine, and Cherie suddenly felt bad for doubting her.

  By now adequately clothed, though she had no idea which clothes they were, she grabbed a random pair of shoes from her closet and headed for the door. Trixie followed.

  “If Jacob’s in trouble, we should call the police,” Cherie told Trixie over her shoulder.

  “I thought about that, but what are we going to say? We don’t even know if Mackintosh is in California or Nevada. We don’t even know what car he’s driving. Or what car Jacob’s driving, for that matter.”

  Cherie ran down the stairs in her bare feet, with Trixie right on her heels. When she reached the ground floor, she paused. “We have to tell Mrs. Brown what’s happening.”

  “Let’s leave her a note. She had a rough night, we shouldn’t wake her. She’ll be safe because the firefighters have been stopping by all night long.”

  “A note works. I just don’t want her to worry.” Cherie ran to the entryway, where she grabbed a pen from the jelly bean jar and scribbled a note that read, Dear Mrs. Brown, Jacob might be in trouble. Call us as soon as you wake up. Don’t worry about us, and keep the door locked. After a quick second of deliberation, she added, Warmest wishes, Cherie and Trixie Harper.

  Trixie came up behind her and gave her a little push. “Come on, I have your purse right here. Hurry!”

  Cherie ran for the door and burst outside. The night was cool and dark, with a sliver of a moon tangled in the tops of the eucalyptus tree. All she could think of was Mackintosh finding Jacob and beating him or shooting him or using one of his do-it-yourself bombs on him. The panic pounded through her like a deafening horn section.

  One thought managed to penetrate through her fear. “I should call Vader.”

  “He’s on shift tonight, remember? I already called him and asked if we could use his van. He told me where the keys were.” She jingled them in the palm of her hand.

  “His van? You mean the Suburban for his mother?”

  “Well, we can’t take your old rattletrap. We’d break down before we hit the highway.”

  They’d reached the sidewalk. Trixie hurried toward Vader’s dark-blue Chevy Suburban, which he’d modified to transport his mother to doctor’s appointments.

  Cherie stopped dead. “Highway? What’s your plan here, exactly?”

  Trixie rolled her eyes. “What is wrong with you? We’re doing the logical thing, of course.”

  The combination of Trixie and “logic” had to be trouble. “Which is . . . ?”

  “We’re going to Las Vegas.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Vader had never worked a longer shift. Even though he knew Cherie’s house was locked up tight, and that Joe the Toe and several of the B shift guys were planning to cruise by at regular intervals, he could barely sleep. Should they all have gone to a hotel, just to be safe? Just how wacko was this guy?

  As he lay on the narrow bed that never seemed quite big enough for his frame—at home, he went for the California-king size—he looked back over everything that had passed between him and Cherie and made an important decision. Mackintosh’s appearance had made her strange, ambiguous situation all too real. Cherie was going to have to deal with her past before things went any further. He couldn’t do it for her. If she didn’t know his heart by now, she never would. The ball was in her court.

  He’d still do everything he could to keep her safe, of course. He’d still be there for her and Trixie. But—even though it killed him to think this way—the next move belonged to her. He needed to give her space to sort out the situation with Mackintosh. Not easy for a macho, take-charge guy like himself to take the backseat and let someone else do the steering. But he’d just have to shut up and go with it.

  He checked his cell phone. Two in the morning. The last text from B shift Brett had come in at one
—All clear, Chippendale. Joe the Toe was going to drive by on his way to work, around six the next morning. That left five hours when no one would be stopping by. But he’d checked all possible entry points and made sure the house was secure. Besides, his mother never slept particularly well. If she heard anything strange, she’d text him right away.

  Rolling onto his side, he turned his back on his phone. If he had any brains, he’d get some sleep before another call came in. Maybe he should have joined the police force instead of the fire department. He could pull some strings, find out where Mackintosh was staying, hunt him down and pistol-whip him all the way back to Arkansas.

  “Down, boy,” he muttered to himself. His primitive side was never far from the surface, and this situation was definitely bringing it out. “Keep it real, Vader. Keep it real.”

  Nonetheless, the pleasant fantasy of knocking Mackintosh, who took the form of a heavyweight boxer in his head—someone who would put up a satisfying fight—into a bloody heap lulled Vader to sleep. Dream images took its place. In one of them, Mackintosh rode to town in a hay wagon that burst into flames. In another, Vader, as captain, called Mackintosh into his office and suspended him. Mackintosh fell to his knees, pleading for mercy, but Vader turned his back while Fred dragged him out of the office. In all of them, Cherie was crying and begging for help.

  The ringing of his phone woke him up in a cold sweat. On autopilot, he swung his feet over the side of the bed as if an incident call had come in. Then he realized the red light in the hall wasn’t flashing and no tone blared over the intercom.

  He snatched up his phone. “Yeah?”

  “Vader, I think Trixie and Cherie are gone.” It was his mother.

  “What?” He bolted to his feet.

  “I heard a noise—you know how lightly I sleep—and heard them whispering. Then I heard the door open and close. I came out into the hall and called up the stairs but no one answered. I’d go upstairs and check if I could. This darn wheelchair. I can’t be sure, but I don’t think they’re here, hon.”

  Vader rubbed his fist across his eyes, trying to clear his thoughts. “Did you hear a man’s voice too?”

  “No. Just them.”

  “Maybe they went out to run an errand or something.”

  “At four in the morning?”

  Vader grunted. He was trying to think of someone to call upon at four in the morning. If he skipped out on his shift, not only would he never make captain, but he’d face disciplinary action.

  “Have you tried calling their phones?”

  “Yes. Neither of them answered.”

  “F . . . udge.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you during your shift.” His mother sounded wretched. “I just didn’t know what else to do. If they’re upstairs sleeping, I’m going to feel just awful.”

  “No, you did the right thing, Mom. Give me a minute. I’ll see if I can rouse someone. Hang tight, I’ll call you right back.”

  In his shorts and t-shirt, he took his cell out to the parking lot so he wouldn’t disturb anyone. As he dialed Joe the Toe’s number, his mind raced. How could he leave his shift five hours early? If Truck 1 was called to a fire, they wouldn’t have a tillerman. He’d be potentially putting everyone on his crew in danger, not to mention the citizens who got less than a full crew fighting their fire. He couldn’t do that. It would betray all his principles as a proud San Gabriel firefighter.

  But how could he just stand by if something terrible had happened to Cherie and Trixie? Maybe he could quickly run home, check on things, then make it back before anyone noticed. Or maybe Joe would answer.

  But Joe didn’t answer. He must have turned his phone off for the night. Just for kicks, he tried both Cherie and Trixie. Neither answered. With a feeling of inevitability, Vader began dialing another number. Maybe he was making the wrong choice, but it was the only one he could make. Cherie was going to hate him for it.

  Cherie put the key into the ignition of Vader’s van while Trixie practically jitterbugged in the passenger seat. “You’re sure this is all right with Vader? What if his mother needs the van?” And wouldn’t he be worried about her and Trixie going off alone?

  “ ’Course I’m sure. He trusts us. Well, not me, but you.”

  That rang true. But still, she hesitated.

  “Just drive, would you? Do we have to just sit here like sitting ducks? Mercy above, look back there. I think that might be Mackintosh’s old Buick.”

  Cherie glanced in the rearview mirror. Everything seemed quiet, nothing but cars and bushes and streetlamps and telephone poles. She couldn’t spot a Buick. But just then, a movement caught her eye. Someone stood up from behind a car across the street. In the darkness, she could see only the outline of his body—wide, stocky chest, deerhunter cap.

  Mackintosh had always worn a cap just like that one, made of grease-stained tweed.

  Cherie started the van and slammed her foot on the accelerator. The man stalked after them. She floored it. The Suburban went screaming down the street, taking the corner so fast the van nearly tilted onto two wheels. Trixie bumped against the passenger side door.

  “Buckle your seat belt, you ditz,” yelled Cherie.

  As she buckled, Trixie twisted around to look behind her. “It’s not Mackintosh!” She gasped. “I got a good look at him when he stepped under the streetlight. That man’s much younger.”

  “That’s good, but let’s get the heck out of here anyway.” Cherie drove toward the closest main road, her heart racing from the scare about Mackintosh. She tried to collect her thoughts. “Okay, now that you’ve scared the life out of me, let’s talk this over. Do you know for sure that Jacob’s in some kind of danger?”

  “If he’s with Robbie, he is.”

  That much was true. “But we don’t even know exactly where Jacob is. What’s this brilliant plan of yours? And why do we have to leave in the middle of the night?”

  “The plan is this. We know Jacob was heading to Las Vegas, so we’ll head that way too. As soon as we know where he is, all three of us will be together so we can protect each other. Harpers stick together, right? It’s a good plan because it gets us out of San Gabriel and away from Mackintosh. Also we stop putting Mrs. Brown in the middle of our crazy family drama. The reason we have to leave tonight is in case Mackintosh comes back tomorrow.”

  Cherie shook her head as she veered around a slow-moving station wagon. “I don’t feel right leaving Mrs. Brown alone.”

  “She has all those firefighters watching out for her. Jacob doesn’t have anyone.”

  Cherie had a quick vision of her brother’s wry smile and teasing blue eyes. She and Jacob had always watched out for each other. She felt an overwhelming urge to be with him, to protect him.

  But leaving without Vader didn’t feel right. She thought about all the times Vader had given unstintingly of himself, his time, his heart. And all the times she’d pushed him away. Wouldn’t he want to be part of this trip?

  She handed Trixie her phone. “Do me a favor and ask Vader if he wants to come with us.”

  “Cherie! He’s on shift. He can’t come and he’s probably asleep. How about if I just text him? He’ll get it when he wakes up.” She was already tapping out the words.

  “Read it to me before you send it.”

  The whoosh of an outgoing text interrupted her. “I already sent it,” said Trixie. “I said, We’re on our way to Las Vegas to find Jacob, thanks for the van. If you want to come with us, call us as soon as you get off shift. Love you always.”

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s true, right? You love him.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want to tell him like that, with a text that I didn’t even write!”

  “Oh, pooh on you.” Trixie shrugged in her carefree way. “If it was up to you, you’d wait until he was dead in his grave. He’s a fireman, you know. Something could happen any time he gets called to a fire. He could be in trouble right now, trapped in a burning house, screaming . . .”


  “Trixie,” Cherie said sharply, unable to tolerate the images popping into her head. Not now, not when she had a dawn road trip to navigate. “I’m about to kick you right out of this car. Did Vader answer the text?”

  Trixie looked at her phone, which made the “dinging” sound of an incoming text. “He just answered. He said he’ll call first chance he gets.”

  Cherie relaxed a tiny fraction. Whatever else this crazy trip held, she wouldn’t be skipping out on Vader. She squinted at the road up ahead, on which green highway signs loomed next to a freeway entrance. “I have to think about the best way to get to Las Vegas.”

  “Highway 5,” said Trixie promptly. “The on-ramp’s right up there.”

  Cherie shook her head. She had to hand it to her sister; when she wanted something to happen, she did her homework. “See any cars behind us?”

  “Nope. No one followed us. We’re safe. And we’re going to Las Vegas!” Trixie bounced in her seat and hooted.

  Cherie thought “safe” was overstating the situation, but as she turned onto the entrance of the southbound 5, she realized it felt good to be taking some kind of action. Much better than sitting in the house waiting for Mackintosh to show up.

  Vader had dialed half of the San Gabriel Police Department’s number when he got Cherie’s text. He ended the call, since there was no point in reporting two girls deciding to drive to Las Vegas.

  “Vegas? In my van?” he said out loud, to the empty cars. “You’re fucking kidding me.” Right away he texted Cherie back. Call me right this second.

  When two minutes passed during which she didn’t call, he called her. No answer. Then he called his mother back. “Can you look out the window and see if the Suburban is gone?”

  After a pause, he got his answer. “Yes, how odd.”

  “Can you check to see if the keys are in my room? I left them on the dresser.”