To my dismay, he was nowhere near Denver, Colorado.
Chapter Six
I sat on the chair on the other side of the fire chief’s desk, staring at him in disbelief.
“He’s not here,” said Chief Dennis Vogel, who looked more like a football quarterback than a fireman. “Dawson resigned from the department a week ago.”
“Resigned?” The word felt like a punch in the gut.
After arriving in Denver, I’d spent hours walking from the bus station to the nearest fire station. No one there knew who Neil Dawson was, but the young man at the front desk made a few calls, leading me to Chief Vogel. It took me another three hours to get there, and all this time, my father had moved on. If I’d completed the call that first day at the truck stop diner, I would have reached him before he left.
The chief nodded. “There was an opening in a small town in Arizona for a new fire chief, and he jumped at the chance.” He reached for his phone. “I could call the station there and see if he’s around.”
“No,” I said immediately, and the fire chief gave me a questioning look.
“What is this about, anyway?” he asked.
“It’s personal. I really need to see him face-to-face. It’s not something I can talk to him about over the telephone.”
He shrugged and set the receiver down. “Have it your way.” Leaning forward on his elbows, he asked, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Where in Arizona?” I asked.
“Middleton.” He looked me in the eye. “It’s almost a thousand miles from here. That’s a long way to go just to talk to someone.”
“I’ve already come a long way,” I said, mindful of how little money I had left.
“He’ll probably come back at some point to finalize the paperwork, move out of his place, that kind of thing. If you leave me your name and how to get hold of you, I can make sure he gets it.”
“That’s all right.” I stood up. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Good luck,” he said, already digging into the paperwork at his desk as I left his office.
* * *
One idea I had was to find out where he’d been living and camp out there on the off chance that he did come back to Denver. As soon as I had the thought, I pushed it out of my mind. There was no telling when he’d come back, if he ever did, and I couldn’t wait around forever.
I spent the rest of the day walking back to the bus station, and found out how much a ticket to Middleton was. I was short, so I stood outside the building and panhandled until a security guard came by and shooed me away. Still, I made more than enough money to get the ticket.
Determined to chase my father all over the States, if I had to, I waited patiently for the bus that would take me to him.
* * *
Middleton, Arizona was unremarkable. The bus dropped me off at the edge of the town, near a charred and blackened building that looked like it had once been a motel. There were several clean-up crews going through the wreckage. A front-end loader and a dump truck were nearby.
A service truck with a fire department sign on the door was parked beside them. The driver’s side door was open, and a man who looked too old to still be wearing a uniform sat half in and half out of the seat.
He was talking on his radio and didn’t notice me until I was standing right beside him. The badge on his shirt read: Chief Hrzinski.
“Whoa,” he said, jerking back when he finally realized I was there. He recovered quickly. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m looking for Neil Dawson.”
He squinted at me. “Neil? What for?”
“It’s personal.”
“I’m not sure where he is right now, but he’s supposed to come by the station later this morning. You could try him there.”
“Where?” I asked.
Pointing, he said, “Follow the highway for a mile, and you’ll cross Main. It’s two blocks on the right.”
* * *
After thousands of miles and so many days, I was finally at the end of the journey. Only a few steps to go.
As I neared the fire hall, my breath came in a quick gasps, even though I was walking slowly.
I’d rehearsed what I was going to say in my mind a hundred times, but as I stood in front of the main doors to the station, I blanked.
All my life, I’d never had any idea who my father was, whether he knew who I was, or if I existed. Even if my mother had come up with a lie, saying he was dead, at least that would’ve been something. Instead, I’d been left to use my own imagination. Sometimes I’d built him up to be someone larger than life; other times, I’d rationalized his absence through tragic ends.
The realization that he was a normal person with a normal job in a normal town was almost a letdown. At the same time, I was feeling more intimidated than I’d ever been in my life, even when confronted by the girls in juvie, or my stepfather.
What if he denied he was my father? What if he didn’t want anything to do with me? What if he didn’t like me?
“Uh, excuse me, miss,” someone behind me said. “Can I help you?”
I jumped at the sound and took a step to the side. “Oh, I was just…”
My words trailed off when I saw how strangely he was looking at me.
In his mid-thirties, the man was tall and broad-shouldered. With chiseled features, he could have been one of those calendar models.
“Do I know you?” he asked. “You look very familiar.”
I stammered, “Uh … I’m looking for someone.”
He gave me a friendly smile and extended his hand. “I’m Neil,” he said. “Neil Dawson. I just started last week. I’m sorry, I don’t know everyone’s name in town yet, but maybe I can help.”
“My name is Serena.” I was too numb to put my hand out.
He gave me a slight nod, letting his arm drop to his side.
I added, “Serena Rogers. I’m from Portland.”
His eyes widened with recognition. “Are you … related to Allison Rogers?” he asked.
The look of puzzlement on his face told me the one thing I’d wanted to know the most. He had no idea who I was. No one had told him about me.
“She was my mother.”
“Was?” he asked, and I could see his growing concern.
I nodded as I spoke through clenched teeth. “She died last week.”
“No,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “How?”
And then, with my breath coming in ragged gasps, I said, “I came all the way across the country to find you.”
“Find me?”
His reaction went from confusion to realization in the space of a heartbeat.
“You’re joking,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower tone.
I put my hands on my hips. “I’m your daughter.”
He took a step back. I knew it was a lot for him to absorb, and I felt my entire body tingling with dread over what he would say next.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, and then looked at me as if for the first time. “I never knew.”
“I only just found out who you were. My mother never told me.”
“You said she died. How?” he asked. “In a car accident or—?”
“Murdered.” I couldn’t keep my grief and anger contained any longer, and the tears flowed from my eyes. I clamped my mouth so tight I bit my tongue.
My father put his hands on my shoulders. “Serena, I’m here. I’ll take care of everything. Whatever you need.”
I was never a touchy-feely kind of person; my mother was always distant, and my stepfather was repulsive to me. Despite that, I found myself stepping into my real father’s embrace. He wrapped his arms around me and said something I couldn’t hear through the roaring in my ears. I just knew they were soothing words.
For the first time in my life, I felt safe and secure.
* * *
Keeping one arm around me, my father led me to his office inside the fire hall and closed the door behind us.
/> He sat me down on a guest chair, and then brought his office chair around the desk to sit near me.
“Tell me what happened.”
With a deep, shuddering breath, I spilled it all out. Listening patiently, my father did not interrupt my story at all. The few times I paused for a while, he gently urged me to go on.
I hadn’t wanted to tell him I was a juvenile delinquent, but once the words started to flow, there was no stopping me. After I gave him the background of life in the trailer park, and my time in detention, I described what happened the night Dwight killed my mother.
Once again, he pulled me close and hugged me. I wasn’t used to such raw contact, and for only the briefest moment did I freeze up. It was as if I’d been starving for that kind of honest affection all my life. I knew my mother loved me, but at the same time, she was afraid of me. She would always retreat when I got angry, and she would hesitate to touch me, even in the most casual way.
I buried myself in my father’s embrace. He’d accepted me, and he wasn’t afraid of me. I wanted to remain there, with him holding me and gently rocking me, forever.
Soon, he drew back and asked, “How did you find me?”
I told him my mother’s last words, finally identifying my grandparents, and explained what had happened when I tracked them down.
My father gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. It seems my mother has thawed some, but my father’s as obstinate as ever.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but if it was another word for ‘asshole’, then I had to agree.
“Then I took the bus here, washing dishes and taking handouts for the money.”
He gave me a long look. “It’s nothing short of amazing. You should have called me,” he said. “I would have come to get you.”
I laughed. “You don’t know how many times I picked up the phone to call but then chickened out. How stupid was I?”
The smile he held turned serious. “You know, of course, that escaping from detention and crossing state lines is big trouble? It’s a felony.”
I felt my insides fall. “Yeah.”
“Listen; let me make a few phone calls. I’m sure they’ll take into account what happened to your mother, and that you were just coming to find me.”
“What if they want me to go back to juvie hall there?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “it’s been almost fifteen years since I’ve been there. It’s probably high time to go back for a visit.”
He turned the desk phone around and reached for the receiver.
I asked, “What was so terrible that you had to leave in the first place?”
It seemed like a long time passed before he answered me.
“We all have our share of bad stories. I guess mine was no different. My mother told you I had a brother who died?”
I nodded.
“My parents blamed me for his death.” He shook his head and then looked down at his hands. “It wasn’t until years later that I realized it wasn’t my fault, but I grew up in a bitter house. I took my anger out on everyone else. I started seeing your mother a year after high school. It was getting serious when—”
“What?”
“It was just one of those things, I suppose. A couple of young men mugged us. I let my rage get the better of me and … I almost killed one of them. Allison was terrified by what she saw—I think her father was the type who wasn’t afraid to use his fists to make a point. Anyway, she ran away from me that night, and afterward, she wouldn’t answer my phone calls. I went by her place a few times, but her father chased me off with threats of calling the police.
“I decided to leave Maine. So, I wandered for a while and eventually ended up in Denver. That’s when I joined the fire department.”
He looked up at me. “No one ever told me about you. If I’d known,” he said, his words fierce, “things would’ve been different.”
I believed him.
“How long has it been since you had anything to eat?” he asked, sitting straighter in his chair.
“The bus stopped outside Albuquerque for breakfast, but that was a few hours ago.”
“Want to get some lunch? We can deal with Maine later.”
Food had been the last thing on my mind, but as soon as he mentioned eating, my stomach growled. I laughed. “I guess that’s my answer.”
He stood up. “We can go to the Finer Diner. It’s just down the street.”
“The Finer Diner?” I asked, lifting the corner of my mouth in a half-smile.
“Yeah. I thought it was corny the first time I heard it, too, but they serve one heck of a burger.”
Chapter Seven
I couldn’t remember having felt this kind of happiness before as I walked down the street with my father. It didn’t even bother me so much that I would probably have to go back to the Portland Youth Development Center for Girls for the next six months—or longer, depending on how upset the warden was. At the end of it, my father would be there, waiting with open arms. Something in my life was finally going right.
Soon, we arrived at the restaurant. The lunch rush was apparently over, and only a few of the booths were taken. My father led me to one, and we sat down.
A waitress arrived with some menus, but my father waved them off. To me, he said, “You need to try the Blaster Burger. It’s delicious.”
“Sure.”
He looked up at the waitress. “Two with fries and sodas, please.”
With a nod, she said, “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“Tell me all about you,” my father said. “Catch me up. What subjects do you like in school? What kind of music do you listen to? All that.”
Ordinarily, when people asked me personal questions, I clammed up. Now, I didn’t know where to begin. I wanted to blurt everything out all at once.
For the next few minutes, I rambled on about myself, the bands I listened to, how I didn’t have many friends, that I hated school, but that I didn’t mind some of the science classes. “I don’t know how you can handle it here in the desert,” I said. “It’s so far away from the ocean.”
He made an odd face.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing.” Then he said, “Looks like our lunch is here.”
The waitress brought our plates, and my eyes widened at the size of the burger. There was no way I was going to be able to eat all that.
I bit into it and let out a groan of pleasure as the taste filled my mouth. “That’s good,” I said.
My father didn’t reply. He’d also taken a bite of the burger, but wasn’t chewing. He looked downright ill.
“Bad burger?” I asked.
“Uh, no. The burger is fine.” Still, he put it down and looked out the window, eyebrows narrowing.
“What?”
“Something’s wrong,” he said in a whisper.
His cell phone rang, startling me.
Picking it up, he said, “Dawson, here.” Then he listened for a few seconds. He frowned. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up.
“Sorry, Serena. Work. There’s a fire at a garage on the other side of town. If it spreads to the pumps, we’ll be in trouble.” He pulled out his wallet and laid a few bills on the table. “Lot of fires, lately,” he said in a breathy voice.
“Uh,” I said, not sure how to react. Remembering the burned down motel where the bus had dropped me off, I instinctively wanted to deny that I had any involvement in the fires. I realized he wasn’t even looking at me; instead, he was scouring the skyline of the town.
He said, “Go ahead, finish your lunch.” Then he stood up and looked at me. “When you’re done, go back to the fire hall. I’ll probably be a couple hours.”
“Okay,” I said. It was all a new experience for me. I supposed I would have to get used to him leaving every time there was an emergency.
Before he left, he flashed me a smile. “We’ve got a lot more catching up to do. I have a lot to tell you, too.�
��
Leaving me with a warm feeling inside, he raced out of the diner and jogged across the street back toward the fire hall. I watched until he disappeared from sight, then turned back to my burger.
It was too good to waste.
* * *
Middleton was the smallest town I’d ever seen. After finishing my burger, I decided on taking a tour of the downtown area. After all, it was possible I might end up calling this place home, eventually.
I tried to imagine how life would be in a community like this. Everyone seemed friendly. Even though I looked like I’d just stepped out of a Goth revival, the townsfolk nodded at me as they passed. Only a few of them gave me suspicious looks, but I was used to that.
The majority of the retail shops were located on two streets. Farther to the west was a series of warehouse-like buildings that I figured made up the industrial section.
The residential area was much bigger. I glanced at a map of the town painted on a big billboard near the community center. For a town with a little over two-thousand people, the houses were spread out over an area that would probably have ten times the population in Portland. What did they do with all that space?
I wondered which house my father lived in. I had a sudden urge to go there and see it for myself.
Though it seemed much longer, I’d only been wandering around for twenty minutes—if the digital clock on the outside of the hardware store was right.
I noticed several people on the other side of the street looking out over the rooftops behind me. Unable to see anything from where I was, I crossed over to them and then turned around. In the distance, a billowing column of black smoke rose high into the sky.
The people gawking at the sight murmured among themselves, and though I couldn’t make out everything they said, I did hear one of them say, “That firebug’s back; that’s for sure. No other explanation.”
It seemed even small towns had big town problems sometimes.
I hoped my father was all right. He’d been worried that the fire would hit the pumps; apparently, it had. I guessed that meant he would be longer than he originally thought.
The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels Page 64