Firefly Mountain

by Christine DePetrillo

  “Actually,” Gini said, “can I go with you? I could use a break and owe Jonah a thank you.”

  “Sure.” Haddy paused, an odd expression on her face.

  “What?” Gini asked.

  “Your parents came over late last night. I’d gone to bed, but Jonah told me they had stopped by when he came to bed.” Haddy paused again as if she were trying to find the right words. “He was upset, Gini. He didn’t want to talk about it, but whatever they’d said to him rattled his cage.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Gini said. And that was all she was saying. Haddy had been her assistant for six years and her best friend for almost double that, but she didn’t know every detail about the Claremonts. Gini had come close to telling Haddy several times over the years, but always decided against it in the end. She couldn’t bear it if Haddy didn’t take the news well. Was there any other way to take such news? That your best friend was a pyrokinetic.

  It only took fifteen minutes to get to Jonah’s and Gini had turned on Haddy’s car stereo in an attempt to keep the chatting to a minimum. If they weren’t working then the conversation would turn personal, and Gini wasn’t in the mood for such talk. Not today. Of course, every song the deejays played had a depressing, sour note to them, and Gini flipped the stereo off as soon as they pulled into Jonah’s driveway.

  Inside, Jonah was on the couch watching The Lord of the Rings trilogy. He was on The Two Towers, and Gini paused to admire Aragorn for a moment. The dark beard framing Viggo Mortensen’s mouth got her every time. Looking at the character now, however, made her think of Patrick’s beard and how it had felt when she’d kissed him. Would she be forever haunted by those kisses?

  “A hobbit-a-thon.” Gini sat on the couch next to Jonah, and he gave her one of his lazy smiles.

  “Figured I’ve got nine continuous hours to kill, why not?” Jonah shifted to face Gini and winced as he did so.

  “How much pain are you in exactly?” Gini asked.

  “Probably not as much as you.” Jonah slid his free hand across the couch cushion between them, and Gini met him halfway. He squeezed her hand then held it as Frodo and company continued their quest to Mount Doom.

  “Thanks for your note, Jonah.” Gini scooched closer to her brother and rested her head on his good shoulder. “I needed it this morning.”

  “I’m still fuming about the whole thing.” Jonah shook his head as he released her hand and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t—” He stopped abruptly when Haddy walked in carrying a tray of food for him. He cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know what I’d do without such beautiful women to take care of me.”

  Haddy’s cheeks pinked as she set the tray down on the coffee table. The color on her face made her look so alive, so in love. As if she were getting everything she’d ever wanted out of life. Gini wondered if she’d ever be in that happy place.

  “Pause the movie for me, Haddy, please. I want to give that lunch my full attention,” Jonah said.

  Gini straightened up on the couch as Haddy reached for the television remote on the arm of the couch. When Haddy came in range, Jonah motioned her closer with a tilt of his head. She paused the movie—on a frame of Aragorn—and leaned down to Jonah. He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek, and she giggled.

  “Couldn’t you listen to that sound for a lifetime?” Jonah asked.

  “A lifetime?” Haddy and Gini said together.

  “Yeah, a lifetime.” Jonah nodded, his blue eyes closing in pain for a moment.

  “Those are some excellent drugs they’ve got him on, huh, Haddy?” Gini asked.

  “Excellent, yeah.” Haddy’s eyes were wide and totally focused on Jonah.

  “No, it’s not the drugs,” Jonah said. “It’s you, Haddy. You’re like a fever consuming me only I don’t want the fever to break.”

  “Maybe he’s got an actual fever?” Haddy asked, the expression on her face changing from shocked to concerned. She reached out a hand and held it to Jonah’s forehead.

  Jonah closed his eyes and pulled her hand down to his mouth. A kiss to her palm then a few over her wrist up to her elbow. Gini wondered if she should leave, but Haddy had driven over there. She settled for going to Jonah’s kitchen for a drink of water. She stalled for a few moments, gazing out the windows over the sink at two butterflies flitting to blossoms on a butterfly bush. Her fingers itched for her camera, but her purse was in the living room. Gini settled for a mental picture and filed the image away for a time when she’d need a calm vision to settle her.

  Her cell phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket where she’d stuffed it. She didn’t recognize the number, but figured she’d answer it. She’d had her business calls forwarded to the cell phone while the studio was closed. No sense in missing opportunities to make money. Her home office and darkroom were adequate workspaces in the interim. She could handle new jobs.

  “Hello?”

  “Gini, it’s Willow.”

  “Willow! How are you?”

  “Super, actually. I’m getting married.”

  “Congratulations! That’s fantastic.” Gini listened to her college roommate, Willow Greene, babble on about her fiancé, the spur of the moment proposal, the high-speed wedding plans, the honeymoon.

  When she’d first walked into her dorm room at RISD, Gini had only known the name of her would-be roommate. What if Gini and Willow Greene were total opposites? What if Willow Greene made Gini angry? She’d expected a crunchy, tie-dyed wearing, granola-eating, save the world one rainforest at a time type with a name like Willow. Someone who probably had strong feelings about world issues and philosophical notions. Strong feelings and Gini just didn’t mix.

  Fortunately, Willow Greene had turned out to be the easiest person to get along with. Laid back and go with the flow, Willow had made dorm life at RISD a breeze. A really fun break from the small town Vermont way of life breeze.

  “So you’ll come and be a bridesmaid, right?,” Willow said. “The wedding is this weekend.”

  “This weekend?”

  “I know it’s short notice. I haven’t even sent out paper invitations. I’ve just been calling people. It’s crazy, but Andrew and I didn’t want a long engagement. We decided on a beach ceremony. His parents have a beach house. Well, beach house isn’t really the right word. It’s more of a…mansion.”

  “Mansion?” Gini felt like an idiot. Words were coming at her and it was as if they were in another language.

  “Yeah, in Newport,” Willow said. “Remember that night at Easton’s Beach?”

  Gini laughed now. “How could I forget? I haven’t skinny-dipped since.”

  “Something about running, dripping wet, with your clothes balled up in your arms, isn’t there?”

  “We don’t even know if those guys were cops or not?” Gini could barely get the words out she was laughing so hard. Willow joined in and the hundreds of miles between them faded away.

  “Say you’ll come, Gini,” Willow managed around a couple snickers.

  Gini turned the notion over in her mind. A weekend getaway to Rhode Island to witness the wedding of a friend sounded like just the thing she needed right now. A chance to put some distance between herself, the fires, her daddy, the temptation known as Patrick Barre.

  “I’d love to come to the wedding, Willow, but how about if I do the photos instead of being a bridesmaid? You know I’m always more comfortable behind the camera, and we could consider the photos your wedding gift,” Gini said.

  “What a wonderful idea! Thank you, Gini. I can’t wait to see you again. We have a ton of catching up to do. It’s been too long.” Willow gave Gini the details of the when and where of the wedding, insisted on Gini staying with her while she was in Rhode Island, and made plans for dinner when Gini arrived on Thursday night.

  Gini hung up the phone feeling supercharged. She bounced into the living room where Haddy teased Jonah with grapes. The two of them stared at Gini, identical looks of confusion on their faces.


  “I’m going to Rhode Island this weekend,” Gini announced. “Jonah, you remember Willow Greene, don’t you?”

  “Sure.” He snatched a grape from Haddy with his good hand and smiled at Haddy’s defeated expression.

  “She just called. She’s getting married this weekend. Wants me to go down for the ceremony and I’ll do photos for her. I’ll leave on Thursday. Be back by Sunday night.”

  “Perfect,” Jonah said. “At least one of us will have some fun this weekend.”

  “Hey.” Haddy held the grapes out of reach. “And who said you wouldn’t be having fun this weekend?”

  There was a vixen-like arch to her eyebrows Gini had never seen before on Haddy’s otherwise angelic face.

  A slow smile leaked across Jonah’s lips. “I sit corrected.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Haddy finished the grapes herself and narrowed her eyes at Jonah.

  “I meant in my current condition,” he looked to his arm still bound against his chest, “my fun is limited.”

  “We can work around your limitations.” Haddy picked up the tray and carried it into the kitchen.

  “No wonder you’ve kept her on as your assistant all these years,” Jonah said. “She’s…”

  “Resourceful?” Gini suggested.

  “Yes, resourceful. That’s it.” Jonah had that devilish twinkle in his eyes, and Gini suddenly knew, beyond a doubt, that he was going to be fine this weekend.

  “Have fun in Rhode Island, Gini,” he whispered. “It’s the perfect time for a trip. I’ll let Ma and Pop know you’ve gone. Things will cool down here and everything will work out.”

  Gini hoped her brother was right. Cooling down was always a good idea, and things had definitely been heating up in Vermont instead. Time to blow some steam—she hated that expression—and when she came home, she could get back to the quiet little life she had been leading. The life she could handle.

  ****

  “You have experience with animals, Barre, right?” Chief Warner asked when Patrick returned from his meeting with Mason.

  “Yes, sir.” Patrick angled his head down to Midas, who had trotted over as soon as Patrick had entered the station. Usually Midas went nearly everywhere Patrick did, but another fighter had offered to give the dog a bath while Patrick was at his meeting. That was an offer a man couldn’t say no to. Bathing a German Shepherd was messy business even when it was a well-behaved trained German Shepherd. Now Midas’s black fur was all fluffed, and Patrick hadn’t gotten soaked trying to get it that way.

  “Go with Fissle and Olson on this call then.” The chief ushered Patrick and Midas toward two fighters suiting up. Neither fighter was moving in emergency mode, but Patrick didn’t waste any time getting his own gear on and hopping onto the truck. As soon as the other fighters took their places, the truck left the vehicle bay without sirens.

  “What’s the call?” Patrick asked Chuck Fissle, the driver.

  “It’s a meow round-up,” Chuck said.

  “A what?” Patrick had never heard the term.

  “A kitty catch,” the other fighter, Willy Olson, said. “The police or animal shelter gets a call that cats have been heard or seen in some abandoned barn or cabin, one that might have structural damage. We go in and collect them. The shelter takes them in, gives them vet care if necessary, then finds them homes if they can.”

  “I see,” Patrick said. “Does this happen often here?”

  “At least once a week there’s some kind of animal trouble in Burnam.” Chuck eased the truck around a sharp corner and onto a dirt road. “Last week, Willy and I had to detangle a moose from maple sugar taps. Week before, old Mr. Monahan trapped a bear in his shed. We had to help…relocate the critter.”

  “When you live in the woods,” Willy said, “you get up close and personal with nature.”

  “Yeah,” Chuck said, “and sometimes nature ain’t happy about it.”

  Willy pulled off his left glove and held his hand up so Patrick could see it. A half-moon of teeth impressions lined the skin between Willy’s forefinger and thumb. Some of the marks had broken the skin. Others had left purpling bruises.

  “Was trying to get a collie free from a wire fence she was caught on. She perceived my attempt at help to be an attack and bit me.” Willy shook his head and slipped his hand back into his glove.

  “Why didn’t you keep your gloves on?” Patrick asked. The gloves were fire-resistant and leather lined. Strong enough to keep a burn away. Strong enough to keep teeth away.

  “He had them on to start,” Chuck said. “But the dog freaked whenever the gloves came close to her. The more she struggled, the more the fence cut her up. Willy had to take the gloves off.”

  Patrick nodded. In Providence, he’d gone on animal calls—none referred to as a “meow round-up”—but they’d been mostly abandoned tenements with dozens of cats living in their own piss and vomit. The cats were usually passive, dehydrated, and starving. They never fought back. Some of them died in transport.

  What Willy and Chuck were describing, however, sounded a bit more active. Patrick made a decision right then to leave his gloves on at all costs, freaked animal or not. He didn’t need more scars.

  The truck came to a stop at a dilapidated log cabin. The front door hung askew by a single hinge, creating a small V-shaped opening at the bottom. Big enough for creatures to get in and out. One of the windows was smashed, and the chinking between the logs looked like vanilla frosting someone had tasted with a finger in too many spots.

  “Caller said cats have been meowing in here since Saturday night,” Chuck said as he jumped out of the truck.

  “Saturday night?” Patrick asked. “Why did they wait so long to call?”

  “They thought someone was down here. The land’s been for sale. Figured someone finally bought it and had them some cats.” Willy pulled several cardboard boxes out of the truck.

  “It’s when the meows turned to yowls and a couple of screeches they figured they were wrong.” Chuck grabbed an ax and handed Patrick an industrial flashlight. “Probably no electricity in that shack.”

  Patrick led the way. When he got to the door, Midas a few steps in front of him, he smelled the unmistakable scent of cat urine. Midas lowered to the ground, put a paw over his muzzle, and let out a low growl.

  “Restez, Midas.” Patrick eased the broken door out of the way and flicked on the flashlight. Cat eyes reflected back at him from every corner of the cabin, and whiny mews echoed in the emptiness.

  “Jesus,” Chuck said. “There’s got to be like thirty cats in here.”

  “God, I hate cats.” Willy coughed on the stench.

  “I think we need our masks and air tanks.” Patrick stepped back for a moment and took in a breath from outside. “Man, that’s awful.” His eyes had begun to tear. He shined the flashlight around the interior of the shack. “It doesn’t look as if any of them are hurt.”

  “Probably thirsty and hungry,” Chuck said. He radioed back to the station. “Fissle, Olson, Barre on scene. About thirty cats found. Need more boxes.”

  The station buzzed back a response that someone from the animal shelter was on his way.

  “Let’s start boxing them up. They all have to come out.” Willy stepped past Chuck and Patrick with one of the boxes from the truck.

  They spent the next ten minutes rounding up cats and settling them in the boxes they had. The animal shelter staff member had arrived and started loading the boxes into his truck for transport to the shelter’s vet. When no more cat eyes reflected, the fighters exited the log cabin.

  Patrick was the last to leave, and as he wedged the door back into the threshold, hoping to eliminate the opening at the bottom, a faint noise stopped him.

  “C’mon, Barre,” Chuck said. “This took longer than it should have. I want to go home.”

  Patrick ignored Chuck and tilted his head toward the cabin. Midas sidled up next to Patrick and rose to his hind legs. The dog pawed at the rounded logs, and Patrick ha
d to back him off so he could hear.

  “There’s something still in there,” Patrick said. He moved the door out of the way again.

  “We don’t have any more boxes,” Willy said, “and the shelter truck just left.”

  Patrick stepped back into the cabin. He switched on the flashlight again and swept the beam around the single room. No cat eyes, but something scratched around toward the back of the room. Midas scurried in and made a beeline to the stone fireplace in the center of the rear wall. Patrick followed and kneeled down in front of the soot-covered hearth. The scratching was louder, but no meowing.

  It sounded as if…it couldn’t be. Patrick leaned over the ashes and shined the light up into the chimney. A tiny, furry face with enormous eyes peered back at him. A kitten huddled in a hollowed out section of the chimney.

  “What the hell?” Patrick swiveled his body around so he lay on his back inside the hearth. Propping the flashlight beside him, he reached his arms up into the chimney. “Hey there, little one.”

  He slid his hands up the sides of the stone and when he offered his gloved palms, the kitten inched her way off the rock ledge without a sound. Patrick lowered his hands and cradled the small body to his chest as he slid out of the hearth.

  “Son of a bitch,” Willy said. “Why ain’t she making a racket like the others?”

  Patrick let the kitten spill out of his hands and into his lap. She was so tiny her entire body fit on his kneecap in a tight ball. “Maybe she can’t make a racket.”

  “What, like she lost her voice or something?” Chuck asked.

  “She’s probably dehydrated like the others. Maybe it affected her throat or something. She’s so little,” Patrick said.

  Despite his earlier vow to keep his gloves on, he pulled one off and stroked the matted fur on the kitten’s back. She was all black with big yellow eyes and a long, skinny tail. Patrick could feel her ribs under his fingers. She wiggled a bit and when he offered a thumb to sniff, she licked it.

  “Well, she likes you,” Willy said.

  Midas nosed around Patrick’s boots until his muzzle rose to inspect the kitten. Just as his meeting with Gini’s cat had been friendly, this too was cordial. Two black noses met, two quick intakes of scent, one cat nestled on his knee, one dog sitting at his feet. Acceptance. Pure and simple. Patrick wished it were that easy for humans.