by Kelly Irvin
“I’m no leader.”
“You didn’t used to be, but from what I hear, you’ve turned your life around.” Tim’s expression darkened. “Why not step up and do the right thing here?”
“Can I think about it?”
“Yeah, sure. And I really am sorry.”
Spencer stumbled outside. He leaned against the wall, letting it hold him up. Now would be a great time for a vice like smoking or drinking. A bowl of ice cream just wasn’t the same. A place to scream until his throat hurt would be a good option.
Or a woman willing to let him lose himself in her.
That woman didn’t exist.
He’d never allowed himself to get that close. His gut hurt from the desire to hold and be held.
Get over yourself.
He gritted his teeth and straightened. His phone rang.
Dan Martinez.
“Hey, Danny boy.”
“You heard?” Dan’s words faded in and out. The reception was terrible. He sounded like he was on the moon.
“I heard. Are you still in the park?”
“I gave him CPR, man. I carried him out.” The man’s voice cracked. “He was dead the second the tree hit him.”
“He went down with his boots on.”
“Yeah, man, he did.” Dan coughed and swore. “Just wanted to make sure you knew. For some unknown reason the guy respected you. He talked about you nonstop after you left. We told him to shut up, but he never did.”
“Did he make the Spam sushi?”
“Yeah, it wasn’t half bad.”
They were silent for a three-count.
“Are you going back in?”
“I want to, but they won’t let me. The team is done. They’re coming out. We have to get back to base before we get called out again. It’s a moving target.”
The worst wildfire season in the history of the state. “Be safe.”
“Get your butt back here as soon as you can.”
“Roger that.”
The phone went dead.
Spencer smacked a crutch against the building. Only the fear that it would break and leave him to hop to the truck on one crutch kept him from doing it again.
Nothing, not even the love of a good woman—or his family—could stop him from returning to the job. It was what he did. And who he was.
Someone had to pay the price for people usurping nature’s territory in the mountains.
Fighting back would be his homage to a kid who loved playing with fire and didn’t live long enough to show it who was boss.
As soon as his leg healed, Spencer would straddle the beast again.
38
Eureka, Montana
Despite the short notice, a slew of folks from Rexford, Eureka, and Libby had turned out for the memorial service on Sunday afternoon. Tim peeked from behind the thick blue curtains on Eureka High School’s auditorium stage. Every seat was full and people were still streaming in. Standing room only. It would be ironic if the fire marshal had to shut them down because the crowd was over the facility’s legal occupancy. His stomach roiled. He popped an antacid. Emmett sidled alongside him and peered out. “Big crowd. Even the Amish folks came. Are you ready for this?”
“How did I get roped into serving as master of ceremonies?”
“It was your idea to do this whole shebang.” Emmett slapped him on the back. “And a good one too.”
“So why do I feel like I’m about to hurl?” His claim to fame in high school had been barfing all over Juliette’s tray in the cafeteria. It had taken years to live it down. He couldn’t do it again.
“They need to grieve and they need to start healing,” he said, more for himself than Emmett. His boss already knew why the service was necessary. “A community coming together to grieve will rebuild together.”
“Don’t tell me, tell them.” Emmett straightened Tim’s tie. For a second, time stood still and a glimpse of what life would’ve been like with a father shimmered like a mirage in the distance. Then it was gone, a wispy bit of smoke that evaporated before Tim could grab on to it. Emmett grinned. “You’ll be fine. The Holy Spirit lives and breathes in you, kid.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
Tim took another gander at the crowd. Juliette sat half a dozen rows back with her whole family. Sweet Juliette carrying around a boulder of shame, regret, and guilt on her shoulders all these years. The sound of her tearful voice begging him not to be mad at her haunted his dreams. He longed for a way to reach back in time to rip to shreds the guy who took her innocence and joy. How could Tim ask her to forgive if he couldn’t?
Now wasn’t the time to ponder such questions.
“All three pastors are here and Dan.” Emmett’s way of telling him it was time to pony up and get the show on the road.
The incident commander would talk about the status of the fire and the number of personnel working them so folks would know how many people were putting themselves in harm’s way to end the threat to their homes. One pastor from each community would speak. While Eureka wasn’t in danger from the fires, the small town had welcomed many family and friends from the other two communities into its midst during the threat.
Spencer, so far, was a no-show. The guy was hard to read. His sister said he would be here. Yet he wasn’t. Maybe if Tim had been more welcoming from the start, Spencer would’ve felt safe speaking in front of his hometown crowd. If Tim hadn’t been so judgmental, the guy might believe he would be supported in his time of grief.
Sorry, God. I’m a work in progress.
Don’t apologize to Me, apologize to him.
Tim sighed and glanced at his wristwatch. “Seven o’clock straight up.”
“No sense keeping these folks waiting.” Emmett gave him a nudge. “God be with you, son.”
Tim handed his hat to his boss. He patted his forehead with a tissue and stuck it in his uniform’s pants pocket. He took a step. His phone chirped. He glanced at the screen. A text from his mother.
Call me.
Busy.
911.
He gritted his teeth. “It’s my mother. She says it’s an emergency.”
Emmett grinned. “Two seconds.”
Just about what it would take to solve any emergency Mom could manufacture. He hit her name on favorites. “Mom, I’m about to go onstage—”
“Leland and I eloped to Vegas.”
After a second the words registered. “Leland came back to you?”
“He brought me a two-pound box of Brach’s chocolates, two dozen red roses, a big, fat diamond ring, and two tickets to Vegas.” Her smoker’s laugh cackled in Tim’s ear. “He said we’re not getting any younger so we better tie the knot and get it over with.”
“He’s a sweet talker.”
“Isn’t he? We’re on the hunt for one of those Elvis chapels. He’s booked a suite at the MGM Grand. We’re going to see Celine Dion after.”
“That’s great news. Congratulations.”
“You really mean that? You’re not mad?”
“Of course not. Believe it or not, I want you to be happy.” His sisters would be happy too. Mom would be Leland’s problem now. “Take pictures. The girls will want to see them.”
“They’ll be pea green with envy when they see the ring.”
Not so much. “Be careful and enjoy yourself. Call me when you get back.”
“Son, wait.” Her voice quivered. In Tim’s entire life, he’d never known her to cry. “I want to thank you for being so patient with me. You’re a good son. I love you.”
The phone almost slipped from his fingers. The small miracle bowled him over. Anything was possible.
“Tim, are you there?”
“I’m here, Mom. I love you too.”
“I’ll bring you a shot glass.”
Just what he needed.
She was gone.
Emmett gestured toward the stage. “Go, go, go.”
He went. His boots clacked on the hardwood stage. He strode to
the podium. The spotlights blinded him. Programs used as fans went whap, whap, breaking the silence. Children whispered. Adults shushed them.
Leaning down, he spoke into the microphone. “Good evening.” It was too short or he was too tall. He adjusted it with both hands. It squawked. He jumped and let go.
A titter of laughter rose and then died.
God, help me do this right.
His eyes adjusted. He stared out at the vast sea of faces, waiting, expectant, uncertain, curious, unhappy, wondering.
“We’re here tonight to honor our fallen firefighters, to pray for those who still fight these monsters, and to pray for the strength and stamina we’ll need in order to rebuild in the coming days. I’m not sure what the best way is to do this. I just know that there’s power in prayer. Scripture says where two or three are gathered in the Lord’s name, there He is with them. So let’s start by bowing our heads and give our hearts and this night to our Creator.”
The words flowed with no effort. Adoration. Confession. Thanksgiving. Supplication.
“Heavenly Father, you are the Great I Am. You are all powerful. You reign supreme. You give us what we need. You are the Great Physician. You hold our hands. You are our rock. We confess that we are weak. We worry. We don’t turn to You in our need. We try to do everything on our own. We want to control our situations instead of turning to You. We mess up over and over, and yet we still think we know better than You do.
“Still, You deliver us from our oppressors. You heal our wounds. You break our chains. You forgive us when we don’t deserve it. You carry us through the pain. Lord, we lift up to You the grieving families of Chase Wilson and Garrett Milano. We ask that You let them feel Your presence. Hold them in Your arms. Heal their broken hearts. We know we’ll never understand why these things happen, but we also know You have a plan on such an enormous, broad landscape that we can’t see its vast scope.
“We live in a fallen world where evil is rampant, but You are still good and You will be victorious. You will erase every pain and dry every tear. On that we can hang our hats and our hearts. We pray for the firefighters, law enforcement officers, and first responders who are out there as we speak fighting these massive fires. Keep them safe, Lord, watch over them. Bring them home safely to their families.
“Lord, we pray You will soothe the pain of the folks in this room who have lost their homes and property to wildfires. We thank You that no lives were lost, but we know how their hearts grieve for those special mementos that can’t be replaced. Knit us together as one big community so we can support each other and work together to build new homes, better homes. Bless our efforts and fill every room of every house with Your Holy Spirit.
“Lord, we are so thankful for the abundant blessings You have rained down on us. Let us never forget how blessed we are. Let us never forget the sacrifice You made for us when You gave Your only begotten Son to die for us on the cross for our sins. Let us never forget how His sacrifice erased our sins. Let us never forget how great and endless Your grace and mercy are.
“In Jesus’ holy, holy name.
“Amen.”
The power of that word, whether it was in a church filled with wooden benches, at a Sunday supper table, or in an auditorium filled with grieving folks, never ceased to amaze Tim.
Heads remained bowed. A sweet stillness swept over the auditorium. Silence reigned.
The auditorium doors swung open and Spencer McDonald slipped inside. His crutches thudded against the laminate wood. His head up, he stared straight ahead as he swung down the aisle toward the stage.
“We have with us this evening someone who knew fallen firefighter Chase Wilson. I’d like to ask Spencer McDonald to share with us his recollection of Chase.”
Spencer took his time hobbling onto the stage. The crowd maintained a respectful silence while he made his way to the podium. He handed his crutches to Tim, nodded, and said, “Thanks. Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not late. You’re right on time.”
Something in his face said he, too, had the urge to vomit. Tim laid his hand on Spencer’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Spencer nodded.
Tim prayed as he returned behind the flowing curtains. Give this man peace, Lord. Give him comfort. Give him words.
* * *
Spencer faced the crowd. They might as well be a firing squad. His heart pounded so hard they could probably hear it in the first five rows. Sweat soaked his armpits. His hands were slick. A piercing pain like a sharp arrow reverberated between his temples. Tim’s words had propelled him from his safe place listening behind the double doors. The deputy’s prayer had moved Spencer from angry cynicism to the certainty that he couldn’t continue to avoid an arbitrary line he’d erected during years of hurt and pain. His mom’s drinking. His dad’s flight from responsibility. The fire. He cleared his throat.
God, I’m not a praying man. You know that. So I don’t have the right to ask You for anything. But I hear You’re merciful and You show grace. I could use both now. Forgive me for being such an unforgiving jerk. I’m still here. Chase isn’t. I think You got that backward. Show me what to do now.
The silence seemed less threatening. More a comfortable cloak of people waiting while a hurting friend marshaled his thoughts.
“I’m not much of a public speaker.” His voice croaked like an old bullfrog. He cleared it again. “So I hope you’ll bear with me. You’d think a guy who jumps out of a plane and fights wildfires for a living wouldn’t be such a fraidy-cat when it comes to talking in front of people.”
Soft laughter rippled through the crowd. His vision cleared and faces began to appear. Juliette. Angie. Marnie. The Knowleses. The other Eureka families he’d known growing up. The volunteer firefighters who saved his mom’s house from annihilation.
Mercy. Her sweet, kind face filled with empathy encouraged him.
Small communities were family. With all their foibles. The gossip. The nosy neighbors. The lack of anything better to do. The caring. The meals when a person was sick. The caring for the pets when a family was gone on a trip. The hugs when a loved one died.
A restless murmur ran through the auditorium. Someone sneezed. A child giggled.
“I can tell you that Chase Wilson was no fraidy-cat. He was the youngest guy on our crew. The newest. He brought three years of experience as a helicopter rappeller to the table plus three years on a line crew. He was the only guy who could beat my mile and a half in under eight minutes.”
Spencer went on to describe Chase’s aversion to sewing machines and how they teased him about his cooking prowess when it came to all things Spam. “Chase was a newlywed. Six months in. We teased him about that too. What girl would marry an ugly guy like him?
“Truth is, some of us were jealous. He was a good guy with a good sense of humor. He was all in with whatever he did. He didn’t hold back. He and his wife, Megan, just found out she’s expecting.”
Spencer stepped back from the podium for a second. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Hot tears choked him. No, sir, buddy. Not here. Not now. He gritted his teeth and stepped up once more.
“I think the thing Chase would want you to know is that he’d do it again. He was out there doing a job he loved. We all love our jobs. And we never forget that we’re fighting fires for people like you. I know you’re scared and you’re frustrated and you’re worried. When I jump out of that plane, my plan is to do everything I can safely do to make sure you have homes to return to. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t forget Chase. Remember him always.”
He grabbed the podium with one hand and turned. Tim met him with his crutches.
“You did good by him,” the other man whispered.
No words came in response. He’d used them all up.
Tim stayed to introduce a minister from Libby. A young guy who looked like a vet who offered his condolences to Spencer before walking out on two sleek prostheses.
Adrenaline still pumped thr
ough Spencer, but every muscle ached with exhaustion. His fingers, clenched on the crutch handles, hurt. He stopped to listen.
Matt Rohrer spoke with intensity about Bible verses that said in life there would be trouble, but not to worry because God had overcome those troubles.
Good thing, because Spencer had no idea how to begin to do that.
He turned to go. Tim fell into step next to him. “If you ever need to talk, I’m available.” Tim ducked his head, his expression diffident. “We could grab a cup of coffee sometime.”
An unexpected invitation from a guy who couldn’t hide his disdain only two weeks earlier. “I don’t know that I’ll be around here much longer.”
“I figured you’d stay around to help your mom fix up her house. And then I heard she and Jacob Johnson are getting hitched in April.”
Small towns. “Yeah, I haven’t decided. With my bum leg I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”
“Me and my friends are available to help when we’re not working.”
“That’s nice of you. Thanks.”
“Take care.” Tim halted. “God bless you.”
The big guy didn’t sling the words out there like a trite platitude. He really meant it. Less than two weeks ago he’d been certain Spencer was trouble. “Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even like me.”
“I’m just stupid sometimes. God knows how much I’ve changed since high school. We all have. We all had family issues in high school. Most of us have them now. I did and I still do. I know you did and I never cut you any slack over it. I’m sorry about that.”
“You never did anything to me.”
“Except judge you, and there’s no excuse for that.”
It was Spencer’s turn to stare at the floor. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“I hope you’ll stay around until you heal up. Eureka’s not so bad.”
Not so bad at all. “I haven’t decided anything for sure.”
“At least stay for the speechifying. Pastor David from Kootenai Community Church is a powerful speaker.”