by Rachel Lee
He turned away, reaching for bowls to distract himself.
“You need a shower, son,” Elijah said. “Feel free.”
“I’ll go home and do it.”
“Have it your way.”
Yes, he would have it his way, because he didn’t want to go into the bathroom and see the shaving mug and brush his dad probably still used. Or discover that the same lavender towels, however worn, were still on the towel rack. It didn’t matter how different the house was. He was used to seeing all these things in different settings. During his childhood, his family had averaged a move every two years.
No, there was no house he thought of as home. Just the items in it. And the occupants.
He filled the bowls and brought them to the table, along with spoons. The same spoons and bowls he’d used all his childhood. They were dime-store blue willow dishes, cracked and stained from thirty years of use. And boy, did they bring back memories. As a child he’d always studied the picture on his plate, imagining stories about the woman on the footbridge and the tall house behind her. It had seemed so exotic, unlike his own life.
They ate in silence for a while, but finally Sam made himself offer the apology he owed. “Dad, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I shouldn’t have said those things.”
Elijah looked up, his blue eyes bloodshot with fatigue. “We all say things we don’t really mean at times. I hope you didn’t mean them.”
“I was just trying to hurt you.”
“I know. And you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
Elijah ate a few more spoonfuls of soup before he spoke again. “You always did seem to be able to get my goat. Well, what’s past is past.”
With that the shutters fell and the conversation ended. And Sam felt the old anger rising in him again. Didn’t he deserve an apology, too?
Instead Elijah was treating him as he would have treated any stranger. Unfortunately the past wasn’t past. It was very much alive between them, a writhing mass of pain that was as impenetrable as any brick wall.
Sam couldn’t take anymore. It was as if the careful barricades he’d built to protect himself were bursting wide-open and all the old pain was eating him alive. He had to get out of here now.
He shoved his chair back from the table, leaving his soup uneaten. “I’m going home. I’m tired.”
“You do that,” Elijah said without looking up.
He didn’t give a damn, Sam thought as he went out onto the street. Elijah no more gave a damn about him than he gave a damn about some stranger on the street. He’d opened the door to a conversation with his apology, and all he’d received was a mild rebuke.
Damn him anyway!
Sam stood out on the curb in the gentle rain, looking up the valley toward the orange glow of the fire, and he wanted to swear or kick something. Hell, he’d left his car up there, he had no way to get back up there, and his house was across town, a good half hour walk that he didn’t feel much like taking right now. His mind might be alive with fury, but his body was ready to wilt right on the sidewalk. Hell, he should have asked if he could take Elijah’s truck.
But right now he would rather walk to the ends of the earth than go back in there and ask that man for anything. Hell’s bells.
Mary’s lights were still on. They drew his attention inexorably. She was up. Right across the street. He supposed he had some fences to mend there, too. He swore again, thinking that he was too damn tired for any of this, and stomped his way across the street. The night air was getting chilly, and the steady drizzle wasn’t helping.
He knocked on her door, trying not to rouse the whole neighborhood. It took a while, but eventually she opened the door. She looked as if she’d been sleeping, and was wrapped in a white terry-cloth robe.
“Sam!”
“You told me to come by when I came down from the fire.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. Come in.”
But the invitation held little warmth. Not that he could really blame her, after the way he’d acted today. She must be feeling very wary of him now. His own fault.
He stepped inside, aware of how dirty and grungy he was, and without even a change of clothes.
“I wanted to ask if you could drive me home,” he said. “But I guess not. You were sleeping.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ve been sleeping for hours. Do you need to eat?”
He thought of the bowl of soup he’d abandoned at his father’s house and shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I just need to shower and clean up and get a few hours of sleep before I go back.”
“Well, come sit in the kitchen while I go get dressed.” She paused, looking adorably confused. “Uh…did something happen to your car?”
“I brought Elijah home in his. I left mine up there so they could use it to pull timber.”
“Oh. Elijah couldn’t take you home?”
“He’s too tired, and I didn’t ask.”
Her lips pursed a little, and he saw the disapproval in them. But all she said, coolly, was, “Go have a seat in the kitchen. I’ll be dressed in a jiff.”
“Thanks.”
He sat at her kitchen table and put his head down in his arms. All the warmth was gone, he realized almost stupidly. All the good feeling he’d had with Mary was gone. He’d killed it today by turning on his father.
It seemed like only an instant later that Mary was shaking his shoulder. It was longer, though. He knew it when he moved and realized his arms were numb.
“Sam,” she said, “you can’t sleep all night like that. I spread an old sheet on the couch. Just go lie down. You can clean up in the morning.”
It was almost like a dream. Maybe it was a dream. But somehow he shuffled to her couch and sprawled on it. An instant later, the dream was gone, replaced by another.
In it, he was trying to reach something just out of his grasp.
Mary woke at 4:00 a.m., slept out. Rising, she tiptoed in the dark past Sam and closed the kitchen door behind her so she wouldn’t disturb him. She made a pot of coffee and peeked out the window to see if it was still raining. It didn’t look like it, unfortunately.
Stepping out her back door, trying to keep the springs on the screen door from squeaking, she went out to look up at the sky. It was clear and full of stars. And to the northwest, she could still see the angry glow of the fire.
Shaking her head she went back inside and wondered how long she should let Sam sleep. He wouldn’t be happy if she didn’t wake him at a reasonable time.
But why should she care? He was only one man. It wasn’t as if he could singlehandedly save the church and the valley. And what was more, after yesterday, she wasn’t sure he was a man she could trust. The way he had struck out at his father… Her chest tightened at the memory. She hated to think how he would react if she ever told him the truth about herself.
No, it was best to just pull away now. Keep a safe distance. She couldn’t let him get close enough to rip her heart out.
But maybe, she thought miserably, it was already too late. It seemed her heart was going to be in agony no matter what she did. But at least if she distanced herself, she wouldn’t have to go through life with a memory of him saying horrible cutting things to her.
The kitchen door hinges creaked, and she turned to see Sam coming into the room. “I smell coffee,” he said with a tired smile.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He looked rumpled and filthy, and not a whole lot better than when he’d fallen asleep last night. It was evident that five hours of sleep wasn’t going to make up for all he’d missed over the last couple of days. But he was moving, albeit stiffly.
“I needed to get up anyway. Did you see how big that fire’s grown? And it’s getting close to the church.”
“It’s terrifying,” she said simply.
“Yeah.” He looked at her almost hesitantly. “Listen, about yesterday…what I said…”
“Forget it,” she said, turning her back swiftly.
Suddenly embarrassed, she turned swiftly to get a mug from the cupboard for each of them and poured them full. Sam thanked her and sat at her little table, sighing.
“Damn, I think I strained muscles I didn’t know I had.”
“How long has it been since you climbed a tree?”
“Twenty-five years, maybe.”
She managed a smile. “That might have something to do with it.”
“Ya think?” But he was smiling a little, too. Just a little. She didn’t think she’d seen him look quite as haunted as he did now.
“About yesterday,” he said again. “We need to talk.”
“Not really, Sam,” she said, trying to pull away mentally and emotionally. “What happens between you and your father is none of my business.”
“It’s your business when it happens right in front of you. Look, it’s no excuse, but I was exhausted and in pain from the burn, and my fuse was way too damn short. And it was like years of stuff just all came bubbling out. Worst of all, I didn’t even mean what I said.”
“You didn’t?” She felt herself pulling away even more.
“No, I didn’t. And I’ve never in my life said anything so savage and vicious. I’m downright ashamed of myself.”
But he was capable of saying such things, and she would be wise never to forget that, she told herself. Even so, a little voice reminded her that upset, angry, hurting people were all capable of saying terrible things. Her gaze drifted to the back of his hand; it was easier than looking at his face right now. And what she saw made her gasp.
“Oh, Sam, your hand! It’s getting infected.”
He looked down at it with a shrug. The huge blister had broken sometime yesterday, and the burn was looking angry, as was the skin around it. “I’ll get it looked at after we save the church.”
“You’re not going to wait that long. You might get blood poisoning.” Jumping up from the table, she headed for her bathroom. “Pigheaded men,” she said, loudly enough for him to hear. “And you’re the most pigheaded of all, Sam Canfield.”
She returned with hydrogen peroxide and a gauze bandage. “You should at least try to keep it clean.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He sipped coffee while she washed the wound over a bowl, pouring the hydrogen peroxide on it and dabbing it gently with a gauze pad to clean away any dirt. Then she rinsed it again with more peroxide and wrapped his hand with a length of gauze. He managed to get through the experience with only a few winces to betray how much it hurt.
“There,” she said with satisfaction. “You can still work, and it ought to stay cleaner.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
She drew back as quickly as she could from the physical contact and saw from the flicker of expression on his face that he had noticed.
Afraid he might say something, she quickly changed the subject. “I’ll go get dressed. Do you want some cereal before I take you home?”
“You’ve been feeding me on a regular basis. My cereal is as good as yours, so why don’t we have some at my place?”
So—finally—she was going to see his place. Too bad it was too late.
Sam’s house wasn’t much bigger than hers, although it did have a second bedroom. It was also as neat as a pin, which surprised her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she must have been expecting a stereotypical bachelor mess. She had a feeling this house would stand up to a white glove inspection. His kitchen was a little bigger than hers, too, and dominated by a round oak pedestal table that showed the scars of many years of use. She wondered if it was some kind of heirloom.
He brought out a jug of milk, a couple of bowls and spoons, and three varieties of cereal. “Help yourself,” he said. “I’m going to shower and change before I die from my own stench.”
While he was showering, she made herself at home, finding the coffee and starting a fresh pot. She might have had enough sleep, but it was still early enough that her biological clock was making her feel cold. Maybe he had a thermos somewhere so they could take some coffee with them.
When Sam returned, the coffee was ready. And his bandage was gone. Mary looked at his hand and giggled.
“What?” he said.
“I put the bandage on before you showered. Duh.”
He looked at his hand and grinned. “Guess so.”
“But you have to keep it clean and dry.”
“I’ve probably got some gauze around here I can wrap it with. But let’s eat first. All of a sudden I’m feeling like a starving horse.”
Thirty minutes later, with Sam’s hand freshly wrapped in gauze and an insulated bottle of coffee on the seat between them, Mary drove them up to the church.
It was still dark, and the closer they came to the church, the angrier the orange glow of the fire seemed. “It’s almost there,” Mary said, her voice tight.
“Looks that way. But you know what? It’s not covering as big an area as it was when I left last night. They must be having some luck holding it back from the subdivisions.”
“I hope so. All those poor people and their homes… It makes me want to cry when I think about it.”
As she spoke, a plane flew low overhead. One of the fire-fighting planes, Mary thought. It was too dark to see much except its navigation lights until it got closer to the fire. Then it became a black shape against the orange, and as they watched, it dumped its load of fire-fighting chemicals.
“Well,” Sam remarked, “that’s one good thing to come out of the storm’s passing.”
“Yes.” But Mary shrunk in on herself again, realizing she was letting Sam charm her into relaxing in the comfort of his presence.
“Mary?” Sam asked.
“Yes?”
“Are you pissed at me?”
“Why?”
“I keep getting this feeling of…I don’t know. It’s like you keep closing me out.”
Mary bit her lower lip, not knowing how to answer that without revealing too much. “I’m just tired,” she finally said lamely.
“No, it’s something more. I see it in your eyes. It’s about my dad, isn’t it?”
At least he was looking in the wrong direction for answers. Sort of. But she still didn’t know how to answer. If she explained how his explosion had frightened her, she would have to explain why. And she didn’t know if she could bring herself to do that.
Finally she said the only thing she could think of to avoid the subject. “This isn’t a good time, Sam. Let’s just focus on saving the church. We can talk later.” And by the time later came around, maybe he would be ready to move on.
The thought hurt so badly that it was as if her heart was being squeezed by a vicious fist. All she could do was cling to the thought that, whether now or later, Sam was going to leave her.
But Sam wasn’t going to let her off so easily. “Pull over, Mary. There’s a turnout up ahead.”
She wanted to ignore him but couldn’t think of any reason that didn’t sound unforgivably rude. Okay, she told herself. Let’s have it out now. Now.
But her hands were shaking and her knees felt weak, and her heart was hammering so hard she could hear it. She hadn’t told anyone, anyone, what had happened since Chet had dumped her over it. She couldn’t even bear to let it cross her mind except in the most indirect way. She had grown so good at diverting her own thoughts that her own mind spoke of what happened the way a kind stranger would. “That incident.” “That terrible event.” “That awful day.”
She managed to brake in the turnout. Sam reached over and switched off the ignition. Then he set the hand-brake.
“Okay,” he said. “I have a right to know what’s going on. We’ve been getting pretty close, and if you’re going to freeze me out of your life, I think I deserve to know why.”
Maybe he did. She stared out the window at the inkiness of the night, then remembered to switch off her headlights. O
nly the faint, hellish glow from the distant fire illuminated them now. So appropriate, she thought almost wildly, as panic filled her.
“Mary,” Sam said kindly. “You can trust me. I promise not to get mad.”
The word trust grabbed her, stilling her panic, filling her with an anger that was born more of fright than rage.
“Trust?” she said bitterly. “I haven’t trusted any man in six years. What makes you think I’m going to start now?”
“Your husband?”
“Oh, not just him, Sam. How am I supposed to trust you? After all those things you said to your father yesterday? Terrible, terrible things. You’re just like him, Sam!”
He sat in silence for a minute or so, staring out the window. “I guess I can see your point. Would it make any difference if I told you I’d apologized? That what I said yesterday was the most unforgivable thing I’ve ever said in my life?”
Mary was gripping the wheel so tightly that her fingers ached. “I don’t know.”
“I lost it, Mary. But it took a lot of years for that kind of anger to build up in me. And I still wouldn’t have said those things if I hadn’t been so tired and in so much pain. Something inside me snapped. It happens, Mary. To everyone. But that’s the first time since I was a kid that it happened to me.”
She wanted to believe him, but she didn’t dare. He was talking in generalities, and she had a great big specific to deal with. “I don’t know, Sam. I’ll have to think about it.”
“Okay.” His voice was suddenly harsh. “Let’s get up to the church.”
She realized he thought she was being unforgiving, that she was refusing to understand that he was only human. The problem was, he was human. And so was she. And she was very, very frightened.
19
The swath around the church looked as desolate as a moonscape. It still wasn’t eighty feet wide—it was about sixty—but the clearing process had become a race against time, mind-numbing fatigue and the advancing inferno. Relatively simple tasks now took longer than ever, because the men performing those tasks were exhausted. Joe and Louis had reorganized the crews, with one man in each crew as the “safety,” whose sole job was to make sure the others hadn’t overlooked some essential precaution. The men rotated the role of safety, and the crews were rotated from task to task to help prevent the workers from being numbed by routine.