by Kelly Irvin
His expression inscrutable, Caleb perused his melting ice cream as if he didn’t know how it got there and picked up his spoon. “In everything they did, they showed me what unshakable belief is. They lived their faith. I try to do the same.”
Shame swelled in Mercy. After natural disasters, people often spoke of how the loss of property meant nothing. Only loved ones mattered. They were right, of course. Why did she find it so hard to accept? She was small. So small. Gott, please forgive me. “I’m sorry about the other night.”
“You have no reason to be sorry. You owe me nothing.”
His lopsided smile belied his words. No matter what had happened between them, the thought that she’d hurt his feelings ate at her. He cared deeply for her. Otherwise he wouldn’t have proposed. Those feelings didn’t disappear overnight. What about her feelings? The days leading up to that proposal had been happy ones. She enjoyed his company. She liked the way his gaze rippled over her as if coming back for seconds or thirds of his favorite dessert. The touch of his hand on her arm when he helped her into the buggy sent a ripple of pleasure through her. Every touch made her long to go deeper. He had been the one to hesitate.
Why? If only she could see into his heart. See what kept him from taking that step and showing her his love in those special ways of a man and woman. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”
“Hurt my feelings?” He pushed the bowl away and dropped the spoon on the table with a clunk. “Is that what you think you did?” He leaned closer. “I asked you to marry me because I love you.”
“I understand that. At least I think I do.”
“You don’t feel the same way about me. I understand that.”
“You didn’t give me a chance to explain.”
“Explain what?”
“We can’t talk about this here.” Mercy swallowed against sudden tears. How could she talk about her desire for more affection in a soda shop filled with giggling teenagers and elderly couples sharing a bowl of vanilla ice cream? “Could we please just eat our ice cream and enjoy this moment?”
After a long pause, Caleb nodded. He picked up his spoon and attacked the chocolate peanut butter ice cream with all the vigor of a starving man. “I had this feeling when I was in Indiana. I was restless and I couldn’t figure out why.”
Maybe he did understand. “What did you do?”
“I picked up and moved to Kootenai, Montana.”
Mercy focused on dainty bites of banana, vanilla ice cream, and whipped cream. The coolness soothed her aching throat. “I never thought my family would be starting over at a time like this. Our home is gone. But you know how it feels. Your cabin is gone. I don’t understand it.”
“Jah, these are unsettling times.” He pushed his bowl toward her. “Ice cream helps. Would you like to try mine?”
He did indeed understand.
“I think you’re angling for a bite of my banana split.”
“The whipped cream and cherry, actually.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the childish entreaty in his voice. “I get a bite of all three kinds of ice cream in return for you getting all three cherries and a dollop of whipped cream.”
“Seems like a fair trade.” He helped himself to a generous bite of whipped cream and two cherries. He concentrated on savoring the mingled flavors for a few seconds. “I came to Montana to seek a fresh start.”
“Did you find it?”
His spoon hovered in the air as his gaze, full of heat and light, sought and captured hers. “I thought so, but now I don’t know.”
She shivered. “What if I said you shouldn’t give up so easily?”
“I’d say, I’m still here, aren’t I?”
The scent of hope lingered in the air.
32
Eureka, Montana
Good food was the oldest trick in the book when it came to feminine wiles. Lasagna, salad with Italian vinaigrette, garlic bread sticks, fresh green beans with chunks of bacon and onion, and a chocolate sheet cake for dessert. Spencer leaned back in his chair and considered loosening the belt on his jeans. Marnie was up to something. Her cooking skills had improved since his teenage years when he’d scavenged for mac and cheese in a box or ramen noodles in barren kitchen cabinets.
Mikey, strapped into a booster seat at the other end of the table, belched. His face and hands were covered with frosting. Kylie giggled. Angie shook her finger at the toddler. “What do you say?”
“’Cuse me.”
“Good job.” Angie took a sip of her iced tea and settled the glass next to her empty plate. She tucked a light blanket around Janie, who slept in her carrier on the adjacent chair. “Thanks for cooking, Mom. The food was really good.”
Marnie bowed her head in acceptance of the praise. “Spencer, another piece of cake? More tea?”
He patted his flat belly. “No way. If I keep eating like this, I’ll never meet my PT regs when I do go back to work.”
“You’re all muscle. You always were a good athlete.” Marnie stood and began clearing the plates. “Both your dad and me played sports in high school, but he was the one who excelled.”
Excelled at running away. No point in digging up old graves. “I like working out. It makes sleeping easier.”
“I’ll help with dishes before I go back to the house.” Angie grabbed a wipe and mopped Mikey’s face and hands. He squawked in protest. “Hush, child. I really appreciate you letting them spend the night so I can study for my test.”
“I could watch them.” Spencer bit back the rest of the thought. Better he should babysit them than a recovering alcoholic. “I don’t mind and they could sleep in their own beds.”
“I like having them here,” Marnie objected. “We’ll watch a movie and eat popcorn. They love that.”
“If they’re at the house they’ll want my attention. No candy, Mom, and make sure they brush their teeth. Lights out by eight.” Angie scooped up the salad bowl and headed for the kitchen. “Spencer, it wouldn’t hurt for you to help with the dishes.”
Angie had changed. She’d found her take-charge gene. Sitting around with his leg up for over a week now had him well on his way to the loony bin. Even with the kids to entertain him. Spencer hoisted himself to his feet and began stacking dirty plates and laying silverware on top of them.
“You don’t need to do that.” Marnie tried to shoo him away. “You’re convalescing.”
“His leg is broken, not the rest of him,” Angie yelled from the kitchen. “Don’t spoil him.”
Not likely after all these years. “She’s right. Why should she do all the cleanup?”
“You can help in a minute. I want to talk to you. How about some coffee? I made a fresh pot.” Marnie unbuckled Mikey and settled him on the floor. Cake crumbs tumbling to the floor in his wake, he scooted after Kylie, who made a beeline for the living room. “I’ll turn on the movie in a minute, bubba.”
So far conversation had been limited to the kids’ antics during the day, the number of dirty diapers Marnie had changed while Angie was at work, and whether rain would finally come and douse the flames in Kootenai National Forest. “Sure, coffee would be good.”
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two oversized earthenware mugs filled halfway with coffee. She’d added a generous dollop of milk without asking. Spencer took his coffee black, but there was no way she would know that.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
This should be good. Thankful the words hadn’t escaped his mouth, Spencer eased back into the chair with his mug in his hand. “What about?”
“I’m getting married.”
Thoughts rushed at him. Because that worked out so well the first time. Why tell him? Her life since his departure was a complete blank. By his choice. Why should he care? Why did his throat tighten and his fists clench? He stared into the murky coffee. “That’s your business, not mine.”
“The proper response is congratulations,” Angie hollered from the kitchen.
She had big ears and a big mouth.
“Congratulations.” The words sounded begrudging in his own ears. “But why tell me now?”
“One of the reasons I was eager for you to come back was so you could meet Jacob. Jacob Johnson. He’s a great guy. He’s a carpenter. The kids love him. Angie likes him. He goes to our church. I’d like you to be here for the ceremony.”
“Why?”
“Spencer.” Angie’s voice carried a warning. “Just listen and try not to be so you.”
When had she started being such a pain?
“Because you’re my son and Jacob will be part of our family.”
“It’s been years since we were a family, if we ever were. You think you can say ‘Hey, sorry about all those years’ and ‘Hey, let’s be one big happy family’ now?” Spencer crossed his arms over his chest and gritted his teeth. His heart thumped. The sound of blood pumping rushed in his ears. “It doesn’t work that way. What you do with your life doesn’t concern me. It hasn’t for years.”
“I know it’s not that easy, but I’m no spring chicken and life is short.” Her lined face pensive, she stirred sugar into her coffee. “I blew every shot I ever had at happiness, at a family life. God’s giving me one more chance in my old age. I was hoping you could be happy for me. That you could be a part of that. We could be a family again, if you give me another chance.”
Yeah, and she had some oceanfront property in Wyoming she wanted to sell him too.
Spencer grabbed his crutches, pushed back his chair, and stood. “I gotta go. Thanks for the food.”
“Spencer.”
He shoved through the door and out into the humid evening air. The sun hovered on the horizon. He faced it and let the sun burn away the shame and anger. Pretty Patty would say forgiveness would help him heal as much as his mother.
Pretty Patty was a sweet woman whose parents had been married for forty years, lived in the same house she grew up in, and gave her and her three siblings an idyllic childhood complete with a two-story house, two-car garage, Girl Scouts, Little League, church on Sunday, and a swimming pool in the backyard for birthday parties.
He hobbled the two blocks to Angie’s duplex and let himself in. After spending a few hours with two women and three small children, the silence served as a balm. His headache ratcheted back from bongos to snare drums.
Maybe he could sleep, finally. Sleep would be a nice release.
He tugged off his sneaks and socks and threw himself on the guest bed without changing. A slew of sleepless nights had caught up with him. His eyes closed and the light dimmed.
Sirens screamed nearby.
He jerked awake. The same old nightmare. He opened his eyes to a dark room.
The angry wail of sirens didn’t stop.
They came closer and closer. Louder and louder.
The angry wails sent chills scrambling up his spine and across his shoulders. His muscles bunched. They wanted to run, to hide, to jump through a window.
Not a nightmare. He bolted upright.
“Spencer! Spencer!” Angie’s scream and pounding mingled with the sirens. “Get up, hurry, get up.”
He threw off the sheet. Angie jerked open the door. “Mom’s house is on fire!”
33
Eureka, Montana
Flames lit up the night. Black smoke rolled over the rooftops of dilapidated houses made of wood and stucco. Their faces groggy with sleep, neighbors in pajamas and housecoats stumbled from their homes. Spencer’s heart pummeled his chest. Panting, he hobbled toward Marnie’s house. Rocks and twigs bit into the soles of his feet. He cursed under his breath and heaved himself forward on crutches that only got in his way.
Her sobs intermingled with words of fervent prayer, Angie raced ahead. Her bare feet slapped on the pavement. Her magenta hair flew behind her.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.
God, how could You let this happen again?
Fleeting images ricocheted in his head. A twelve-year-old boy in shorts and a dirty, ragged T-shirt pulled a sobbing little girl with bony wrists and tangled hair in her face from the closet where she cowered under a faded blanket. He dragged her from her bedroom, down a smoke-filled hallway, and through hungry flames that licked at his feet and burned his lungs.
The sound of Angie screaming her kitten’s name still echoed in his dreams on long nights filled with more thick smoke and fire that never burned itself out.
Fire trucks screeched to a halt in front of Marnie’s house. Volunteer firefighters poured out and began rolling out hoses. Smoke billowed from broken windows. The smell of burnt rubber and shingles permeated the air. Flames licked the sky above the roof.
How long had it taken the firefighters to jump from their beds, drive to the station, and haul butt to this location?
Too long.
Cursing a body that refused to cooperate, Spencer struggled forward. Sweat rolled into his burning eyes. His stomach lurched. His vision darkened. Purple dots danced in the darkness.
Breathe, breathe, breathe.
He searched the milling crowd and the cluster of firefighters.
God, God, God.
There.
Marnie knelt on the crumbling sidewalk outside the picket fence that surrounded her yard. Janie nestled in one arm, she snuggled Mikey and Kylie close with her other arm. Kylie sobbed, but Mikey was intent on escaping his grandmother’s arm. He wanted a ride in the fire truck.
“Is she hurt? What did you do? What did you do?” Angie bolted toward them. She dropped to her knees and tugged the screaming baby from Marnie’s arms. “Were you smoking? Did you leave the stove on? What was it this time?”
“No, no, no!” Alarm and disbelief warred on Marnie’s face. “I didn’t do anything, I promise—”
“Just like last time. What was I thinking? Spencer was right.” Angie grabbed Kylie with her free hand. Her head sank into the little girl’s hair. She sobbed. “I believed in you. I forgave you. I trusted you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Marnie’s soot-stained face crumpled. “The babies were asleep. I was asleep. The smoke alarms blared. Scared the poop out of me. I got the babies up and out of the house. That’s all I know.”
“It was your fault, just like the first time.”
“I didn’t start that first fire either. I was asleep on the couch . . .” Confusion colored her face. Slowly, horror dawned. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“You almost killed us.”
All these years Angie had refused to engage, refused to lay blame. Ever the peacemaker. The dam had broken and fear released all the pent-up rage of a young girl, suddenly homeless in the middle of the night with a dead cat under her bed.
“Hey, hey, slow down, Sis.” Spencer wobbled on his crutches. The desire to comfort and protect his sister, once an everyday occurrence, returned tenfold. “Everybody’s okay. The kids are fine. Let me talk to the firefighters and see what happened.”
He wasn’t twelve anymore. Angie had children of her own now. She needed to hold it together. Marnie wasn’t a drunk anymore.
They had all changed. Life was like that. A free fall. Sometimes the wind shifted and knocked people into the nearest big tree. Their only choice was to pick themselves up, brush themselves off, and keep going.
“It’s okay, Mommy.” Kylie patted Angie’s hair. “We didn’t get hurt. Grandma carried us out.”
“She got my Transformers.” Mikey clutched the toy to his tiny chest. “Can I ride in the fire truck?”
“Not this time, little man.” Spencer patted his silky hair with a shaking hand. “I’ll be right back.”
Bob Davidson had charge of the scene. Spencer’s fellow classmate at Eureka High had shared his affinity for all sports. At Spencer’s approach he lowered his radio and offered a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this. We don’t need a hotshot smoke jumper’s help.”
Amazing how people in this town kept track of folks. “How bad is it?”
“It likely started in the laundry room. Kitchen, dining room, and living room are gone. It’s pretty much under control. There will be water and smoke damage to the bedrooms, though.” A touch of regret played across the man’s face. “We’re volunteers. It takes a while for us to get here. A regular fire crew centrally located probably could’ve put the fire out before it did so much damage. Plus there just aren’t enough of us.”
“You guys are doing your best. I appreciate you volunteering your time.” With any luck, Marnie was smart enough to keep her homeowner’s insurance up-to-date. “Any idea on the cause?”
“Too early to tell, but if I had to guess, it’s probably gonna be electrical.”
Davidson’s radio squawked. He keyed it and responded. Spencer stared at the house. Blackened windows, broken glass, rolling smoke, but the firefighters were making quick progress on the flames. The familiar smells of burnt wood, rubber, and wet debris sent the desire to get back to work spiraling through him.
He did not belong on the sidelines. He had a mission in life, fighting this beast on all fronts.
“We’ve seen a lot of fires in these old houses recently.” Davidson clapped him on the back. “The wiring is shot. Your mother will need another place to stay for a while, but it’s not a total loss. She’s blessed.”
Blessed that no one was hurt.
“Thanks.”
“No thanks necessary. If you ever decide to come back to Eureka for good, we could use an experienced firefighter on the crew.”
That would never happen. But it was nice that someone saw him for what he was now and not what he’d been all those years ago. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for taking on such a tough job for no pay.”
“My chance to live dangerously.” Davidson grinned and headed toward the house. “But we really could use some help,” he called over his shoulder. “All the young folks flee this town and don’t come back. That leaves mostly old farts to do the heavy lifting. I’m the exception to that rule.”
Davidson, who was an accountant, had stayed around to marry the homecoming queen and go to work in her dad’s firm. At least that was the word on the grapevine known as Angie Rockford. “We’ll be at my sister’s two blocks down if you need to talk to Marnie.”