Smoke and Fire

by Julie Cannon

  The first two accomplished, Brady lifted the sheet separating her cot from the others, lay down, and fell instantly asleep.

  *

  Nicole’s phone rang on her desk and she glanced at her watch. She hoped it was Operations, reporting on Brady’s well. They had called earlier in the day, letting her know that the fire was out and they were making final preparations to cap the well. Normally she didn’t worry and hadn’t when Flick’s crew was out on previous jobs. But that was before she’d met Brady. She wondered if she’d feel this way every time Flick’s crew was out on a site.

  “Nicole McMillan.”

  “Hey, Boss.” The voice she’d been waiting all day to hear came through loud and clear over the speaker.

  “She’s out. Everyone’s safe and secure. No problems.”

  Nicole didn’t try to stifle her sigh of relief. These last two stages of killing a fire were dangerous and always concerned her when any of her crew was at that stage. But Brady was on the crew of this fire. Even though Nicole didn’t know what role she played in these steps, from Brady’s reputation and the performance information in her personnel file, Nicole wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d singlehandedly snuffed the fire and replaced the head.

  She flashed back to the last well she’d capped. It was scorching hot, the intense heat from the Kuwaiti sun adding to the challenge. She’d been on site for over two weeks, and twice they’d tried and failed to secure the wellhead. Both times they couldn’t get the bolts aligned, the pressure of the shooting oil too high.

  Nicole was on point this time and signaled the crane operator to swing the head a little to her right. A little turned out to be a lot and the two pieces of metal sparked. She saw it coming but couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. The well reignited in a thunderous roar. She didn’t remember anything, but, according to the reports she read well after the fact, the force of the ignition threw her more than thirty feet, where she landed unconscious in a pool of burning oil. By the time the other members of her crew were able to get her out of the fire she had burns over sixty-five percent of her body.

  The room spun, and Nicole couldn’t breathe. Her heart raced. She trembled. She had to get out. She practically ran by Ann, ignoring her calls of concern. Sprinting down the hall she took the stairs two at a time, slamming the exit door against the outside wall in her haste to escape. She was in a full-blown panic attack. Couldn’t stop it. The faster she ran, the closer it got to catching her, and she didn’t know if she could deal with that again.

  Nicole felt like she was crawling out of her skin. She ran until she couldn’t run any more, then fell to her knees, heaving in great gasps of air. Her heart was still beating faster than normal, but now it was due to the exertion and not the fight-or-flight endorphins that had kicked in at the onset of this attack.

  This was one of the worst attacks she’d had in years. She hadn’t seen it coming. Other than when she woke from her nightmares already in a panic, she had learned to recognize the symptoms and, by using the tricks and techniques her shrink had taught her, was able to keep most of them at bay. But this one had snuck up on her like cotton balls in the wind.

  She didn’t want to think about it. She wanted to put it away, get it out of her mind, out of her life. But she needed to know what had caused it so it would never happen again. She always felt the need to run, to get away, even though she knew she wasn’t running away from anything. The attacks were in her brain and in her body, and it didn’t matter how fast or how far she ran; she could never escape them.

  Her breathing slowly returned to normal. Looking around she saw nothing familiar. Where in the hell am I, she thought. The street signs weren’t familiar, nor were the buildings, the quickie mart on the corner or the gas station to her left.

  “Fuck.” Now what was she going to do? She rummaged around in her pockets and found a couple of bills and loose change from lunch. She had left her cell phone on her desk. Now all she needed to do was find a phone booth. But nowadays, finding a pay phone would be like finding one on the moon.

  Rising from her knees, she looked around again, this time a little calmer. She glanced to her left, then right and didn’t see a phone anywhere. The grocery store a block away was probably her best bet. Straightening her clothes and wiping the sweat from her forehead, she began walking, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

  As Nicole walked she backtracked in her mind to what might have caused this attack. She’d had a good, productive day, even if it was accompanied by the nagging at the back of her mind about Brady’s crew capping their well. When the phone call came from Operations with the news that Brady was safe it was like the cork popping off a champagne bottle. She must have exploded from the pent-up pressure she’d been under all day waiting for the news.

  She’d obviously relived her accident vicariously through Brady. She needed to get back on the medication her shrink had prescribed. He had told her more than a few times that taking the anti-anxiety drug wasn’t a sign of weakness. “On the contrary,” he’d said, “panic attacks are a chemical reaction in the brain.” Treating them with medication was no different than treating any other imbalance in the body. He likened it to someone with diabetes. In some cases it could be controlled with diet and exercise, in others only controlled with daily doses of insulin.

  Nicole understood what he’d said but didn’t like it. She didn’t want to take anything to control her brain. Goddamnit, she was strong enough to control her own actions, the things she thought about, for God’s sake. She was determined that she would conquer this weakness with mind over drugs. Seeing a pay phone in front of the store she increased her pace.

  “Fuck,” she said, standing in front of the phone. The cord from the receiver had been cut.

  She walked inside, up to the service desk, and asked if there was a phone she could use, informing the clerk behind the counter that the one outside was out of order. She knew she looked a mess, and he looked at her as if she’d just come off the street, which she had. Her clothes were rumpled, the knees of her pants were dirty, and she was sweating. If she wasn’t so fucked up it might have been funny.

  The clerk finally relented and pulled a phone from behind the counter and set it on the ledge in front of her. Whether he was a nice guy or just wanted to get her out of her store, it didn’t matter. She picked up the receiver and dialed.

  *

  Nicole had to say something. She couldn’t sit in Charlotte’s car while she drove back to her office and not say anything. She was ashamed at her weakness, embarrassed, and felt like a failure. She was also exhausted from the adrenaline that had raced through her during her panic.

  Charlotte Sonnier was sixty-eight years old and had been her father’s assistant for over thirty years. Charlotte had seen Nicole grow up in her daddy’s office. Charlotte had babysat and later kept her busy when he was in a meeting or had to get something done and the constant questions from her were preventing him. As a result Nicole had confided in Charlotte instead of her mother.

  Nicole’s mother Theresa had always wanted her to be something she wasn’t, whereas Charlotte accepted her as she was. Theresa wanted her to dress a certain way; Charlotte just made sure her face and hands were clean. Theresa never made it a secret that she thought it was appalling for Nicole to follow in her father’s footsteps; Charlotte supported her completely. Even to this day as the president of McMillan, leading a global company with millions of dollars of revenue and hundreds of employees, Nicole was still not what her mother would approve of.

  Other than asking their destination, Charlotte hadn’t said a word, just pulled up in front of the store in her pickup and waited patiently for Nicole to climb in.

  “Thank you, Charlotte,” Nicole said, looking at her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  “No need,” Charlotte said simply, brushing a strand of her still-red hair from her face.

  “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

  “N
othing more important than helping a friend.”

  “I had another attack.” Nicole said it so quietly she wasn’t sure Charlotte heard her.

  “I know.”

  Even though Nicole hadn’t lifted her gaze from her lap, she could see out of the corner of her eye that Charlotte had yet to take her eyes off the road. This wasn’t the first time Charlotte had heard about her panic attacks. When Nicole had stopped seeing the shrink, she’d turned to Charlotte in a moment of weakness.

  She had been out to dinner with Charlotte, catching up on the latest in their lives, exchanging light gossip and talking about people they both knew. It had been ages since Nicole had gone out and she was enjoying herself, laughing and generally having a great time, when a waiter carrying a tray of sizzling fajitas passed their table.

  Nicole had jumped from her chair and practically run into the ladies’ room. Charlotte had followed her and waited quietly for her to explain. Nicole didn’t want to explain then anymore than she wanted to now. But she’d forced herself to talk in quick succinct sentences, and it was never mentioned again.

  She had had other attacks when she was with Charlotte, but they were mild and she was able to work through them with Charlotte none the wiser. The severity of this one and the fact she’d run what she now estimated to be five or six miles frightened her.

  “I owe you an explanation.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, sweetheart.”

  The endearment meant more to Nicole than anything else Charlotte could have said. Her mother never called her that or anything other than her name. Her mother would have peppered her with questions from the minute Nicole called and asked her if she could pick her up until the minute she was finally able to flee her car. Her mother loved her but for Nicole’s entire life had made it very clear that Nicole was not the daughter she’d signed up for, and this was one more way she would drill it into her head.

  Nicole knew she looked a fright and must have looked ridiculous running down the street in her work clothes and loafers. At least she didn’t have heels on, which would have added to her humiliation and probably caused a broken ankle.

  Charlotte stopped in front of her office building and put the truck into park. It was a subtle invitation for her to talk, and Nicole knew Charlotte wouldn’t be hurt if she chose not to. Too afraid to face the former, she took the easy way out and chose the latter. She reached for the door handle.

  “I hope I didn’t inconvenience you too much. Thanks for the ride.” Before she had a chance to open the door Charlotte touched her thigh. Nicole still couldn’t look at her.

  “I love you, Nicole. Take care of yourself.”

  “You too,” Nicole replied. She opened the door and walked faster than she wanted to back to the office.

  Chapter Twelve

  The stiff collar scratched Brady’s neck. It had been rubbing since she buttoned it this morning. By now it probably looked like a fresh hickey. That wouldn’t be a bad thing because it meant she was getting some, but Dig’s wedding wasn’t the place for that. The rented tuxedo shirt wasn’t too small; she just wasn’t used to having something wrapped around her neck, and Sara, Dig’s girl, had insisted on formal tuxedos for the men and Brady.

  Months ago when Dig had asked her to be his best man at his wedding, Brady was flattered, then tried to convince him he really should have a guy, like his brother.

  “My brother’s an asshole. He’s not even invited, but with my luck he’ll show up,” Dig said, his accent thick.

  “But, dude,” Brady said, “your best man is supposed to be just that—a man—and usually your best friend. And you’re Catholic.” Brady added that as if it trumped everything else.

  “Come on, Bond, you are my best friend, and do I look like I follow convention?” The silver cap on Dig’s front tooth glinted under the fluorescent light. They were in the crew trailer, winding down after a long shift. The last remaining dregs in the coffee pot were burned, the smell permeating the small space. Brady was too keyed up to go to sleep, even though she was bone tired.

  “I’ve known you for three years, Bond, and I don’t trust anybody more than you. I spend more time with you than I do with anyone else. Hell, even Sara likes you. And you know she don’t like hardly any of my friends.”

  “She likes me because I’m a lesbian. I’m not a threat to her or a temptation to you.”

  “I don’t care. I’m making the biggest step in my life, and I have to tell you, I’m scared shitless. I need you there beside me.”

  “So I can do what, hold your hand? Say ‘I do’ for you? Keep you from running out of the church? Now if you want me to stand in for you on the wedding night…” Brady loved to tease him.

  So here she was in Sara’s hometown of Lafayette standing at the altar of a little country church beside the tall, skinny kid from some podunk town in southern Alabama watching the first of five bridesmaids walk down the aisle. She let her eyes drift around the church, noticing the bride’s side was packed, whereas Dig’s had plenty of elbow room.

  A woman wearing a large blue hat shifted and Brady’s heart skipped a beat. She glanced at bridesmaid number two and back at the woman seated in the last row. What was Nicole McMillan doing here? Surely she didn’t attend all of her employees’ weddings. How weird would that be?

  From where she stood, Brady couldn’t see anything more than Nicole’s immaculately styled hair and the top of a navy jacket over a pale-blue blouse. Nicole was watching bridesmaid number four, and Brady took the opportunity to watch her as she did. She had a small smile on her face, and Brady realized that, in the few hours they’d spent together two weeks ago, Nicole had rarely smiled. She was beautiful. The woman passed, blocking Brady’s view of Nicole, and Dig inhaled sharply. Sara had entered the room, and Brady turned her attention away from Nicole.

  Nicole slid into the pew a few minutes before the processional began. She’d been running late all day, and a flat tire on her truck didn’t help. She glanced at the program and still couldn’t believe that Sara, her best friend’s daughter, was getting married. Nicole had met Barbara in the rehab center, where she was recovering from a stroke in the room across the hall from Nicole. They had the same physical therapist and would commiserate together over the afternoon snack. Sado Mado, they called him. His real name was Jeff Madoplin, but Barbara gave him the label after one particularly tough session. “He must be a sadomasochist because I swear he gets some sort of perverse pleasure in hurting me,” she said in explanation.

  Nicole subtly looked around the church. It was old, with all the characteristics of a solid Catholic church. The center aisle was worn from thousands of pairs of feet entering and leaving the majestic building. A large woman concentrated on the sheet music propped up on the top of the pipe organ as she played a prelude to the big event.

  A door to the right of the altar opened and Sara’s fiancé Mark stepped through, followed by his four groomsmen. Nicole’s pulse fluttered when she recognized Brady standing beside Mark. Barbara had told Nicole that Mark’s best man was a buddy of his from work, but Brady wasn’t who she expected. Nicole knew Mark worked for McMillan, but had no idea he and Brady were friends. Then again, why would she? She didn’t keep track of the best friends of every one of her employees.

  Nicole’s mouth went dry when Brady faced the front of the church. In a black peak-lapel cutaway with charcoal-gray, striped, pleated trousers, Brady was absolutely stunning. Her hair was shorter, just touching the wing collar of the white shirt barely visible under a full vest and striped ascot tie. Brady stood almost as tall as Mark, and Nicole thought she was much more handsome than the groom. But then again she’d always had a thing for androgynous women.

  A bridesmaid crossed in front of her, cutting off her view of Brady, and Nicole stood with the rest of the guests when the organist began the first strains of the wedding processional. All eyes in the room except hers focused on Sara slowly walking down the aisle. She saw Brady again and couldn’t take her eyes of
f her. The longer she looked the more her insides churned. She hadn’t felt this pure raw desire for anyone since the fire, and her body’s reaction was disconcerting.

  Nicole thought that part of her body had died with most of her nerve endings. Sure, she felt arousal and climaxed under Katherine’s skillful hands, but that was business. She was relieved she wasn’t attracted to anyone, even if it meant she would spend the rest of her life alone. So what did her reaction to Brady mean?

  She didn’t pay attention to the ceremony or the priest’s words. She watched Brady’s every move and every breath. She looked at the broad expanse of her back, the perfect length of her trousers, and the way she had her hands clasped behind her back. From where she sat, the angle was perfect to see Brady smile and say something when she handed Mark the ring. Nicole’s stomach fluttered again, like it was full of butterflies.

  Nicole listened as Sara and Mark recited their vows. She tried not to be jaded. Everyone she knew was either divorced or their relationship was on the rocks. It was hard not to be cynical when two people recited the vows that had been said for hundreds of years and then several years later were at each other’s throats and calling each other every name imaginable. Maybe these two would be different. She hoped so. She would definitely give them the benefit of the doubt. She wouldn’t be saying those words ever again though. She had once, and look where that had gotten her.

  The priest’s words drew Nicole’s attention back to the ceremony. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Mark Phillips.” Sara and her new husband turned to face the guests, practically beaming with joy and the life they were going to share.

  Brady turned and her eyes immediately locked with Nicole’s, whose heart jumped under Brady’s penetrating stare. Brady was smiling, clearly happy for Mark and his bride, and Nicole thought she detected a slight nod acknowledging her presence.