The Fireman Who Loved Me

by Jennifer Bernard

  Immediately Melissa brought Nelly’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. Her granddaughter’s kisses felt like gentle feathers floating onto her hand. “No, Grans, I don’t mind. Get carried away all you want. Order me around all you want.”

  Nelly opened one eye. “Does that mean you’ll think about it?”

  Melissa laughed, and held Nelly’s hand to her cheek. “Think about marrying Brody? I think about it all the time, all on my own. I’m not entirely hopeless, you know.”

  “Good.” Hazily, Nelly remembered another important thing she had to tell Melissa. It had to do with that other woman. “She’s gone, did you know that?”

  “Who’s gone?”

  “Alice May,” said Nelly. “He doesn’t care about her.”

  Melissa looked puzzled.

  “He told me he sent her away.” Nelly continued, trying to make her understand. “I knew he’d do the right thing. I could tell from the beginning that he was crazy for you. Now just take care you don’t mess it up.”

  “Okay, Grans,” said Melissa patiently. “I won’t mess it up.”

  Nelly didn’t like the sound of that answer. Was Melissa patronizing her? Her granddaughter put a glass of water to her lips. She pushed it away. “You gotta fight, remember that. Did I ever tell you what I did to Alice May?”

  “Yes, you spiked her punch, you broke off the heel of her shoe. I remember.”

  But Melissa still didn’t seem to be getting the message. She smoothed out the bedsheet Nelly had rumpled. Who cared about bedsheets at a time like this? Nelly grabbed her arm to make her stop.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said, girl?” she said, sharply. “The other one is gone.”

  “I know, Grans, I know. Alice May is gone.”

  “No! Not her. The other one!” But Nelly, for the life of her, couldn’t remember the name of Brody’s ex-wife. She hadn’t thought it important at the time. Now it seemed like the most important thing in the world. Her mouth working, she struggled to come up with the name. Melissa grabbed the water glass and held it to her mouth.

  “Shhh, Grans. Lie back now. Take a sip of water. Please. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Nelly gulped the water, her throat closing convulsively around the cool wetness. “Promise me . . . promise me . . .” she whispered, clutching at Melissa’s hand.

  “You don’t have to worry anymore, Grans. I promise.” Melissa’s eyes were so beautiful, like secret pools of green deep inside a forest. They had such a look of love in them. Nelly suddenly knew everything would be okay.

  She sighed, and her entire body seemed to surrender. As she closed her eyes, Melissa knelt down next to her. A soft cheek rested on Nelly’s hand. Gentle hands smoothed her arm.

  When Nelly opened her eyes, after a long argument with Leon about the curtains in their new home, she saw her son, Haskell, gazing down at her. How solid he looked. How . . . fleshy. She felt a shiver of distaste for this world, which held such heavily breathing, thick-bodied, vigorous creatures. Leon wasn’t like that, was he? No, not anymore. Her Leon awaited her without the burden of all that flesh. And soon she would fly to him, soaring freely and joyfully.

  But for another brief moment, this world still tugged at her, with all its problems and attachments. “Haskell,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  “Ma.”

  “You’re a good boy. I don’t know where you got it from.”

  Haskell smiled broadly. “I don’t know about good. But I’ll keep trying. One day at a time.”

  “Good boy,” she repeated. This was how she’d wanted it. Quick and happy. Did she have anything more to say? She couldn’t think of anything. All those problems, all the worries that had preoccupied her for years—her son’s alcoholism, her granddaughter’s pain, her anxiety about Melissa’s future happiness—now seemed supremely unimportant. It was all going to be fine.

  A giggle escaped her. What a joke! What a grand joke the world was. You spend years fretting and plotting, only to find, in the end, that everything was going to be just fine, with or without you. If only she had known this earlier.

  I told you so, she heard Leon say with his caustic laugh.

  He was talking back to her. For the first time in so many years, she heard his voice.

  Oh, get over yourself, she told him crossly. You always think you know everything.

  I know enough, you old busybody. If you’d minded your own business, you’d have spared yourself a heap of trouble.

  Maybe, she agreed. But I wouldn’t have had nearly so much fun.

  Fun, you want fun? You want some sugar? She could hear the cheeky wink in Leon’s voice, see the grin on his dear face. Come on up here, love, and I’ll give you a big old heapful.

  She laughed and laughed. She couldn’t wait to see Leon again. And then it came to her that the time for waiting was over.

  Nelly McGuire gave the beloved faces around her a wide smile and pressed Melissa’s hand. Releasing one final, grateful breath, she floated away from her body and jumped eagerly into Leon’s waiting lap.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  In the days after Nelly’s death, Melissa went a little crazy. For some reason, she found herself in long, one-sided conversations with her ornery deceased grandmother.

  “You sure know how to make an exit, Grans. Set the house on fire. Call out the whole darn fire department. I bet everyone up in heaven is quaking in their shoes, wondering what kind of trouble you’re going to make next. Did you really have to resort to arson to try to fix things up for me? And I thought the bachelor auction was bad enough. I’ll tell you right now, if you’re up there plotting your next move, you’d better take a big step back and, I don’t know, consult with an angel or something. And when they tell you to leave well enough alone, you should pay attention for once in your life. Or your afterlife.”

  The problem was, she was so used to her grandmother’s bossy ways that she didn’t know what to do with herself now. The house felt so empty without Nelly. And she had nowhere to go—no job to take up her time. Rodrigo’s story sat in her computer, forgotten once again. Other than attending to the details of Nelly’s memorial service, she spent her time drifting around the house in her rattiest sweatpants. The monologues, which had the same badgering tone as their real-life conversations, helped fend off the sadness.

  Haskell had turned into a pest since Nelly had gone. He called Melissa every day, sometimes several times a day, just to check on her. They both knew Melissa had been much closer to Nelly than he had. Haskell mourned his mother, but mostly he seemed to worry about Melissa. That was a first.

  “Dad, I’m fine,” she said, during his third phone call of the day. “We knew she was sick.”

  “Not as sick as she was.”

  “And that’s the way she wanted it. She didn’t want us making a fuss over her.”

  “First time Nelly McGuire minded being the center of attention.”

  “You know what I mean. I would have made her stay in bed, or go to the doctor every time she had a pain.”

  “Did you eat breakfast?”

  Heavy sigh. “Yes, Dad.”

  “I was thinking about making that lasagna you like tonight. With eggplant.”

  “I don’t know, I should get some work done . . .”

  “I’ll bring it over. Around seven.”

  “Okay.” Resigned, she forced herself to change out of her sweatpants so her father wouldn’t become even more worried about her. Haskell served her lasagna, sat with her in comfortable silence as they ate, then took himself off. And strangely, she did find his presence comforting.

  Several of her former coworkers at Channel Six also called to leave their condolences, but she let the answering machine handle those calls. There was no one she wanted to talk to. Well, there was one person, but Brody seemed to have gone back to his regular life. The life wit
h the ex-ex-wife and the baby on the way.

  Three days after Nelly’s death, the sound of hammering woke Melissa up. Indignant, she stalked to the source of the noise at the back of the house. She squinted at the sight of Brody, Ryan, Vader, and her father.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  “Fixing the damage,” called her father, carrying a load of shingles up the back stairs.

  “No! It’s fine. It doesn’t need to be fixed.”

  Brody swung down from the roof. He wore his tool belt and looked so sexy Melissa wanted to hit him. How dare he come to her house, all gorgeous and unattainable? “Melissa, your roof has a large hole in it. You can’t just leave it like that.”

  “Says who? This is Southern California. It never rains.”

  “It does in January.”

  “It’s still December.” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.

  “Which is the month before January.”

  “There’s thirty days in a month.”

  “But only twenty days left in this one.” Brody was now scowling right back at her.

  “Sometimes it rains in December,” Ryan said reasonably, poking his head over the gutter. Brody shot him a look, and he disappeared from view.

  Haskell put down the shingles and stood next to Brody. “Roof’s gotta be fixed. Wouldn’t be able to sleep if it ain’t.”

  “Fine. Fix the roof. Do what you want. But leave . . . the porch . . . alone. And don’t touch the glider.” With a glare blurred by tears, she surveyed the group, and marched back into the house.

  Brody slammed a fist into the charred porch railing. What had he done wrong? He was trying to help her, be there for her. A phone call hadn’t seemed enough, so he’d come up with the idea to fix the roof, which was apparently the last thing she wanted.

  Haskell put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s not herself. Give her some time.”

  Brody would have disagreed with the “not herself” part—that argument was vintage Melissa. But giving her some time, that made sense, even though it went against all his protective instincts.

  He took a deep breath, adjusted his tool belt, and climbed up on the roof. He’d wait until Melissa wasn’t crazed with grief, then break it to her that she belonged with him. As long as that Everett Malcolm wasn’t in the picture, he could wait.

  Even though it was just about killing him.

  After a while the hammering stopped, and when Melissa ventured back outside, Brody and the others had left. As agreed, the porch hadn’t been touched, but the roof was patched and water-tight. The glider, charred but intact, swayed in the evening breeze.

  What was wrong with her? Some very kind men had shown up to fix her house, and she’d sent them away in a ridiculously rude manner.

  “I know you think I’m a fool, Grans. I just didn’t want them to fix everything up. I mean, you burned that porch down for me. How dare they try to fix it? I know, I know, I sound like an idiot. I ought to call the fire station and thank them. Or send a card.”

  Instead, she went back to bed. That night it rained.

  In the morning, Melissa couldn’t believe how rude she’d been to Brody. He was thoughtful and helpful and so sexy it hurt, and how had she thanked him? By yelling at him. Now he probably hated her. Who could blame him? She was one hundred percent sure she’d never see the man again.

  She was wrong. Brody came to the memorial service. Along with every other member of San Gabriel Fire Station 1 who had been granted the time off. Ryan came, and Vader, and Double D, and Fred, and Two. They wore their uniforms, which made them look splendid and solemn, none more so than Brody, tall and powerful, his captain’s hat under his arm. Standing in a cluster in the small chapel, they attracted quite a bit of attention from the other guests—members of Nelly’s Scrabble Club, the few old friends who’d managed to outlive her, a few Channel Six employees. She spotted Bill Loudon, her cameraman Greg, and Ella Joy in a tight black dress.

  How Nelly would have loved all this attention, thought Melissa. As she and Haskell settled into their seats in the front pew, she squeezed her father’s hand.

  “She woulda been crowing like a rooster,” he said with a wry smile.

  “Did you invite the firefighters?” It hadn’t occurred to her to send a notice to the fire station.

  “The captain called and asked. Said his crew wouldn’t miss it.”

  Melissa couldn’t speak through the sudden lump in her throat. Of course Brody would think of asking. Even after the way she’d treated him, he did the classy thing. She looked at the line of firefighters, her gaze flying to meet Brody’s. He inclined his head toward her with a hint of a smile. Maybe he didn’t hate her after all, she thought hopefully. He drew someone else forward. A small boy with a bandaged head.

  Rodrigo! Melissa smiled her first real smile since that night in the hospital. She gave Rodrigo an eager wave, which he returned. He looked so much better, still bruised, but without that beaten look in his eyes. No thanks to her. Since Nelly had died, she hadn’t done anything about Rodrigo’s story. To tell the truth, she’d forgotten him until this moment. How terrible.

  But then the sweet lilting sound of a Les Barrett tune, played by a blue-haired lady on the organ, filled the room, and again her gaze met Brody’s. They’d danced to this tune on that hilarious first “date.” He winked at her, at the memory, and she suddenly felt like laughing.

  Quickly turning away so she wouldn’t embarrass herself, she fixed her eyes on the big photo of Nelly mounted near the lectern. In the photo, Nelly’s hair was in tight curls that seemed to jump off her head, and she wore a blouse that Melissa happened to know she’d worn only once. Melissa had wondered what Nelly was up to that day, but Nelly had refused to say.

  Her grandmother sure had a pile of tricks up her sleeve. She fought another wave of laughter, knowing it would lead to tears. For Nelly’s sake, she refused to cry. When she got home, back under the covers, she could cry all she wanted.

  Was that a frown she saw on the photo of Nelly’s absurdly perky face? I won’t cry, Grans, she reassured the photo, and thought she saw the frown disappear. I’m losing it, she thought hysterically. I’m talking to a photo. She dragged her eyes away from Nelly and focused on the minister behind the lectern.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to remember our dear friend, mother, and grandmother, Eleanor Danielle Erskine McGuire. Please be seated.” A shuffling of feet followed as the assembled group obeyed. While the minister continued, Melissa’s gaze returned to the photo. She tuned out the eulogy, and instead heard the voice of her grandmother.

  Didn’t I tell you he’s the best man I ever met? Look at him, sitting there so handsome and strong. If I were younger, I’d give you a run for your money.

  “Grans, you’re dead. It would be no contest.”

  I don’t know about that. You might as well be dead, for all the good you’re doing.

  “I’m allowed a grieving period.”

  Pshaw. Grieving shmieving. I’m happy as a tick. You’re the one who looks like death warmed over.

  “Oh, so you have a whole new set of puns now.”

  Listen to that man, boring the whole room to death.

  “And another one. You can’t stop, can you?”

  Don’t change the subject. What are you going to do about Brody?

  “Do about him?”

  I insist you talk to him. You have to thank him for coming. It’s only polite.

  “Of course I’m going to thank him! What do you think I am?”

  Let’s not get into that. No need to quarrel.

  “Right, this isn’t the time or the place.”

  You did well with the memorial, I’ll give you that. It’s just how I wanted it.

  “You’re welcome. I worked hard on it.”

  Well, you worked on it, anyway. I’ve
seen you work a lot harder.

  “Grans!”

  I tell it like I see it. That’s okay, I had this mostly planned ahead of time anyway.

  “Yeah, I know. There’s a word for bossy people like you.”

  I’m not going to quarrel. When this is over, you go back to work, and you do it right.

  “Sure, Grans.”

  You aren’t patronizing me just because I’m dead?

  “Hell, no.”

  Language, Melissa! But she thought she heard her grandmother laugh. There goes your father. Listen up!

  Sure enough, her father stood at the lectern, about to speak. She knew what was coming. She’d given him Nelly’s favorite Emily Dickinson poem to read. But to her surprise, he ignored his assignment and addressed the crowded pews in his own words.

  “It’s no secret that I gave my ma a heap of trouble growing up. But she never gave up on me. And that’s the way she was. She just kept on going and going, until time ran out on her. She left a couple things unfinished down here. But I’m not going to let the ball drop. Ma, I want you to know I’m not giving up neither. Love you.”

  As Melissa stared in amazement, Haskell made his way back to the pew. “What about the poem I gave you?”

  “Had something to say.” He shrugged. “Besides, you might need it.”

  “No, I’ve got a whole thing that I wrote.”

  As she rose to take her turn at the lectern, he pressed the poem into her hands. “Take it.”

  When Melissa reached the lectern and gazed out at the sympathetic crowd, all the words she had written, memorized, and rehearsed flew out of her head. She went completely, totally blank. How had her father known? The chapel fell silent.

  Silent as the grave, she heard Nelly say.

  “Stop that! I’m trying to speak here.”

  Well, get on with it then.

  But still nothing came out of her mouth. She looked around, desperate, and caught Brody’s eye. He was scowling at her. Scowling. How dare he scowl at a moment like this.

  Furious, she opened her mouth. Finally, something actually came out.

  But instead of her speech, Emily Dickinson’s words filled the chapel. “ ‘Hope is the thing with feathers . . .’ ” Melissa recited.