The Fireman's Wife

by Jack Riggs

  “I'm fine, boy,” he says. “Now you go on. Come by when you can.”

  Kelly's hand slips into mine. “Let's go,” she says, her voice a soft whisper.

  I wanted Kelly to see him today on the way out, wanted her to have a moment with her grandpops. She's never seen him that much anyway. She was too young to bring over here when he first moved in, and by the time she was old enough, Pops was getting sick. At one time, early on, Cassie wanted him to come live with us out on the creeks. That seemed a bit too much, and then time just got away, everybody too busy with living life. I'm glad we came here today. There won't be many more times, I'm afraid.

  Outside, we climb into the truck. Kelly smiles. “He called you boy,” she says, then goes digging for the penny she has in her shoe.

  “Yeah, he's always called me that,” I say. “I don't think he ever knew my name.”

  “Daddy,” Kelly says. She rolls down the window, asks if we can stop for ice cream on the way out of town.

  At Barker's Servicenter I fill up with gas, think about Goose Hetzel and Collie Walker's arm, figure it's all about over by now. They either saved it or Collie will work his boat with one arm for the rest of his life. Either way, the man better be thankful he's got a life to live.

  I pay for the gas, let a boy I don't know check under the hood, top off my water and oil. I look inside where my daughter is paying for her ice cream, the poise she has, the way she holds herself at fifteen. She counts out her change, uses Pops's penny to make it exact, smiles when she's coming out the door having caught me staring at her.

  She needs to be in Cullowhee, to let people see her talent. I'm getting her back up there for that camp no matter how much work I might miss. I'll get her through college whether it's with a soft-ball in her hand or not. She's going. She'll be first generation, but by God, she's going.

  “You used Pops's penny for the ice cream,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Kelly says. “I was a penny short.”

  “Then it worked,” I tell her.

  “What?”

  “The penny,” I say. “It brought you good luck.”

  Kelly shrugs at Pops's superstition, her feet on top of the dashboard while she eats the ice cream cone. When we pull out of Barker's, she looks at me for a moment. I can feel her eyes. It's like Cassie's on me when she says, “I'm sorry that I did this. I know it wasn't right.”

  “I know that,” I say. “You're not the first teenager to do something stupid, won't be the last.”

  She sits up in her seat, the white cream melting faster than she can lick at the cone. “I love you, Daddy.”

  The sun is moving too fast for us to have any chance of getting into the mountains before dark, but I'll push it as fast as I can. I watch Kelly for a moment, melting ice cream running down her fingers. “I love you too, baby” I say, “but you do this again, and you'll be dead meat on a bone. Do you understand?”

  The girl doesn't look at me. She just licks her fingers, tosses the rest of the cone out the window before leaning back on the seat, her legs against the dash, eyes closed. And then just like her mother, she smiles.

  WE ARE DEEP into the mountains after dark. Kelly has withdrawn, all balled up in her seat watching the road before us, the dashboard lights washing her face pale. I ask her to keep an eye out for the turnoff to Meemaw's house. But by the time we see it, it's too late. I'm going too fast, the fog hiding the road until I pass it by. We drive on into the white dark looking for a turnaround. I can sense the truck is out near the edge of something deep and dangerous, but I can't see a thing. “Hold on now,” I say when I find a shoulder wide enough to pull off.

  A creepy feeling rises in my body, headlights reflecting off the white air. I pull across the road and drive slower now heading what feels like up, but it's hard to tell with fog covering the road like a pillow.

  “Don't miss it again,” Kelly orders.

  “Then you see it quicker this time,” I say, trying not to let her see I'm nervous about all this too.

  Finally, Kelly sits up straight and points out into the swirling light. “There,” she says, “there it is, slow down.”

  “All right,” I say, “I got it this time.” We make the left onto Meemaw's road. The headlamps fight the fog, passing houses and then oddly into open space, the land torn up, trees cut and stacked along the roadside. “They're doing something out here, aren't they?” I say, but Kelly's not listening. She knows what's coming at the end of this road, her legs drawn back up into the seat, arms holding her tight again.

  Past the last house, we drive into pitch black, the land filling in around us again. The truck's headlights shine down onto the damp earth following worn tracks that lead us around a curve and then a right onto gravel, Meemaw's house in front of us, finally. The light from the windows draws us in, soft halos muted by the fog. I see Cassie's car in the yard, pull in beside her, and kill the engine. Meemaw is standing on the porch, her silhouette small against the lighted opening. “Go on,” I tell Kelly. “I'll get our bags.” She sits in the truck still tucked in her ball, head laid over to the side looking out her window. “You go on now,” I say. “You might as well get it behind you.” Then like a firecracker, she releases her grip, pushes open the door, running barefooted up to the porch, Meemaw waiting with a hug.

  I work on the bags, taking my time, letting everybody have a minute together inside. From the porch I hear Cassie and Kelly talking, finding some kind of truce they can live with. I stay put, light up and smoke my first cigarette of the day. I've been so preoccupied by the drive, I haven't even thought about a cigarette. It feels good to draw smoke into my lungs, to taste tobacco on my tongue again.

  The air is black, filled tonight with sounds of tree frogs and crickets. If I was to walk out ten yards past my truck I would be unable to see a hand in front of my face. It's dark and cold here, my body not expecting such a change in climate. In Garden City Beach, the heat makes you want to take off all your clothes and sit in a tub of ice. I saw reports right before I left that warned fire departments along the beaches to be aware of rogue brush fires, not only those started by an act of God, but ones started by careless tourists, cigarettes thrown out of windows, or pop bottles that catch the light just right to magnify it into a spark.

  Up here it seems like a different world, the land so wet and full that nothing could burn, no matter how hard it tried. A chill pulls at my body making me dig into my pack for a sweatshirt. I'm not used to this weather, not ready for such change. It all makes me feel just that much more like an unwanted guest, a stranger here among what is supposedly my family.

  I don't know what to say to Cassie. Don't know what to expect. It's too late to take Kelly on to Cullowhee tonight, too dangerous to be on unfamiliar roads. If I could, I'd take her back to that college and then drive straight home, because I don't believe I should be up here, not with the way everything's falling out. I want to give Cassie room because I want her to come back home. All I ever wanted to do was love that girl, provide as best I could, but maybe all that will turn out not to be enough. When your own soul's lost, nobody else can find it for you. Cassie's looking for hers, and I feel like my being up here intrudes, makes her job all that much harder.

  Before I can finish my cigarette, she's there at the screened door. “Hey” Cassie says. “You made it.”

  “Yeah, guess so,” I say. “But if Kelly hadn't been there, I'd probably be in Tennessee by now.”

  She smiles at that, pushes the door out, joins me on the porch, her arms wrapping a sweater around her body. “Well, I'm glad you're both here, and safe,” she says. “The fog really set in fast.”

  “Yeah, well, we made it,” I say, and then we fall quiet for a moment until the space between us grows too uncomfortable. “Did Kelly apologize to you?”

  “She did,” Cassie says. “She's in there with Meemaw now. I apologized too. It's not fair what I did to her.”

  “What did you do?” I say.

  Cassie reaches over and t
akes my cigarette, pauses while she pulls a long draw. “I made her come up here for that camp,” she says, exhaling the smoke. “Maybe she should have stayed down there with you. If I'd known all this was going to happen …”

  “Naw, she needs that camp,” I say. “That's a good thing. What she doesn't need to do is what she did. I don't care how much she hates where she is. She needs to stay put.”

  “Well, I found out she can go back, finish out next week. The coach wants her there tomorrow.”

  “Bright and early,” I say. “I'll get her there, just point the way.”

  She takes another drag off my cigarette, holds the smoke deep before letting it go, the fine line disappearing into the black air above us. “I thought we'd both take her back up, if that's all right with you?”

  I look at her when she says this, the night hiding anything from her face that might give meaning to her words. “That's fine with me,” I say. “I just don't want to be in the way up here.” I take the cigarette back, touching her hand for the first time in a while. “I don't want to be crowding your space. You seem to need it.”

  “I'm just glad Kelly went home and didn't run off somewhere else,” she says. “You know how kids are today. What if she had just taken off?”

  “Yeah, well, Kelly's pretty stupid for what she did,” I say, “but she's not dumb. She's too much like her mother in that regard.”

  Cassie smiles at this, leans against the porch rail to look at me. “You put credit in the wrong place, Peck. I'd expect her to be long gone, if she was like me.”

  “Well, I don't know about that,” I say. I want to go to her, stand in front of this woman and tell her she can come back too, if she wants, but I don't. There's more going on here than I can begin to understand, not sure I even have a say in it, so I let it go. “Do I need to go find a motel around here or what?”

  “No, of course not,” she says. “Bring your bags in. Have you two eaten?”

  “No, not since lunch,” I say, “and I don't even remember where that was.”

  “Momma's got some fried okra and sweet potatoes. She cooked a ham so there's plenty of food.”

  “So what's Meemaw saying?” I ask, the intent of the question understood.

  Cassie waits for a minute, choosing her words carefully. “We've been talking, Peck. She knows that I'm going to be up here longer this time.”

  “How long?” I ask, unable to help myself.

  “Let's don't talk about this now,” she says. “I thought we could do that tomorrow, after we drop Kelly off. Maybe drive around or walk somewhere. Let's don't do it here, tonight. Okay?”

  Though I don't want to give her this, I do. I'm tired, need to rest after this all- day affair. Here I am in the mountains, hours away from home, looking at the woman who is my wife, the mother of my daughter, trying to understand what it is that I have done to chase her away. After all these years, all the work we put into living a good life, we are here in this cove unsure of which way to turn.

  I agree with Cassie about the night, let her take one last draw off the cigarette before I toss the dying ember out into the drive. I touch the small of her back as we turn to go inside, the shape familiar and soft. We walk into the light of Meemaw's small house where it is warm and dry good food waiting to comfort us all.

  ON SATURDAY MORNING I lie in bed listening to thunder and the sound of Cassie throwing up in the bathroom. I barely slept at all, thinking of her in the room next door, Kelly beside her instead of me. I tossed around, heard the crickets and tree frogs give way to wind and thunder, then rain drumming against the tin roof of Meemaw's house. I lay quietly until there was a dull light in the sky and then I heard Cassie, the door flung open on the way to the bathroom. Now she's in there, and I need to get up. I have a long day ahead of me.

  I stumble out of bed, throw on a pair of pants, then walk to the door frame of the bathroom. She's on her knees dry heaving. “You all right?” I ask.

  “I'm okay” she mumbles. “Something didn't set right.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, just close the door.”

  I do as I'm told, and then look in on Kelly. She's sound asleep, the covers over her head. I pull the bedroom door shut, then go to the kitchen looking for coffee. Mavis is out on the front porch, the rain coming off the roof slapping into puddles. It's been pouring for a good while now—rain like I haven't seen in months. I want to think it's going to roll off this mountain and have enough left to get to the coast. But I have my doubts.

  It's already seven o'clock, and I don't want Kelly missing another whole day of camp. I imagine with all this rain there's no real hurry. Nobody's playing games today. But I'd like to get Kelly back up to Cullowhee. I'm just antsy about being here, that's all. I'm anxious about how still this house is, like it's afraid to breathe, afraid of what might leak out at the seams. Cassie goes back into her room when she's finished being sick, and closes the door. I take that as a sign to stay away. Instead I go out on the porch with Meemaw, sit in a chair, shirtless, with hot coffee warming my hands. Meemaw is on tiptoes clipping flowers, trimming her ferns.

  “You must be exhausted from that drive up,” Meemaw says.

  “It's a haul,” I say, “especially when you're not expecting to do it like that.” I take a sip from my cup, hot coffee burning my tongue. “I forget how far back in here you live, Mavis. We about didn't find it last night with all the fog.”

  She stops and looks out into the distance like she's finding her words. She's surrounded by her plants, each basket fresh with color fighting against the drab morning light. “We've been here a long time,” she says. “You need to come up more often.”

  “I wish I could,” I tell her, “but it's hard to get away.”

  She sits down in the chaise lounge, her shears placed in her apron like a holstered pistol. “Well Peck, you should've tried,” she says.

  It doesn't get past me the way she says this, the past tense of her statement. “Cassie seems to like it up here just the way it is,” I say.

  “She's going to need some time now. I'm afraid it's come to that.”

  Inside, we hear Cassie heading for the bathroom again. Meemaw watches the door like she's afraid what might walk out.

  “Cassie's sick,” I say.

  “I can hear,” Mavis says.

  I wait then, watching the rain come down, a straight sheet of water. I want to see if Mavis will offer without me having to pry. “She just told me to shut the door,” I say. “That's as far as I got to finding out anything.”

  She ignores my words, points out at the graveled curve that bends toward the main road. “Did you notice what they were doing to the land down below?” she says.

  “I saw something going on,” I say, “bunch of earthmovers pulled off along the side of the road.”

  “Well, they're trying to get my land.”

  “Trying to buy you out?” I ask.

  “I don't know if it's buy out or take out,” Mavis says. “Cassie can tell you about that. I don't know what to think.” She looks at me then, her guard coming down for a minute. “You know John Boyd Carter.”

  She says this like a fact. It's a name I recall from years ago, someone mentioned in all the craziness when Cassie and I got married.

  “The name's familiar,” I say. “Is he a friend or foe in all this?” I ask.

  “Cassie tells me he's a foe, but I can't believe that,” she says. “The church gave us this land. John Boyd and Parker worked it all out before he died.”

  It's like she's trying to use her words to convince us both, but hell, I don't have an opinion about this. I have no idea what she's talking about. “Then you don't have anything to worry about,” I tell her. “Parker took care of you.” Mavis likes what I say, the idea that Parker is looking after her even from the grave. She smiles at me for reminding her of this, while inside, Cassie calls.

  “Well, I better go check on her then,” Mavis says. She gets up slowly from the chaise lounge, ben
t a little more now like a weight is holding her down. When she walks across to the door her arm touches on my shoulder. “Parker would ask you to put on a shirt,” she says. “He didn't believe a man should be naked like that in front of God and all.”

  I laugh a little under my breath. “Not naked, Mavis,” I say. “I just don't have on a shirt.”

  She squeezes my shoulder then. “Well, I'll bring you one when I come back out,” she says, and then disappears into the house.

  I fish around in my back pocket, find cigarettes crushed in a crush- proof box, light up, and let the smoke fill my lungs. Something is familiar about all this, sitting here with Cassie inside, Mavis warning me about Parker.

  Years ago, after Cassie called and said she was pregnant, I drove up overnight, came in during the morning when Parker was up at the mountain. I stood right here on this porch smoking a cigarette while Cassie stayed in the bedroom. It was pretty bad. Cassie was upset, Parker was livid with her, and Meemaw was just trying to find something in between to hold them all together. When Parker finally returned, he was shocked to see me, then angry, all fire and brimstone. He made me wait out on the porch until Cassie packed her things. There was more grief and pain in that afternoon than I ever thought this old house could stand up to.

  I wasn't a fireman yet, so I'm pretty sure I looked a sight to the old man. I was a lifeguard when we met with no big plans, especially concerning marriage and starting a family. Nobody ever plans to have to get married. But one thing Pops taught me was that consequences mattered. I was foolish when I was younger, but I learned quick that if I did something bad, Pops would box my ears good. He had a sixth sense for that sort of thing. It was hell growing up knowing that when he got home from Georgetown on Friday evening or Saturday morning, I was going to get beat like an old rug if Mom had any trouble to report.

  Even though I know the whole thing hurt Mom and Pops bad, they respected me for standing up and marrying Cassie. Lifeguards at Myrtle Beach were organized and run by the fire department at the time. Surfside was hiring a firefighter, and it just seemed the right place to go and stay after Cassie and I got married. There wasn't any training back then. They just put a hose in your hand and turned on the water. It was smack- upside- the- head on- the- job training.