Spontaneous Combustion

by Bobby Hutchinson

  Shannon felt like a total dork as she posed in the workout room doing sit-ups on the incline board. Then the photographer posed her in front of the truck, in her blue uniform, balancing on one knee with her hat perched on the other like a total and complete doofus.

  By the time Becky had her sit behind the wheel of Engine One as if she was driving the damn thing, Shannon’s skin was hot and her nerves frayed. By the time the two women got around to having her hold the hose, and then slide down the pole, she figured she’d pretty much bottomed out as far as mortification went.

  Except she hadn’t.

  “You oughta get one of Biceps arm wrestling,” one of the guys suggested with a wink in her direction. “She’s real good at that.”

  Shannon glared at him and decided that murder was actually an option in this case.

  Of course, Melissa wanted to know what the Biceps thing was all about.

  Maybe they saw the look in her eyes, because none of the guys ratted her out, but Shannon was sweating and shaking by the time the session was finally over.

  As she said goodbye to Melissa and the photographer, Shannon gritted her teeth and vowed that never in her entire life would she agree to another interview, private shower or no private shower.

  AT HOME AGAIN with Cleo and Pepsi underfoot, she called the hospital to check on Sam. He was resting comfortably, the desk clerk said. Shannon doubted that—she’d only been in hospital once, to have her appendix removed, but she remembered all too clearly the rigid routine and the fact that getting any real rest had been almost impossible.

  Next she placed an ad in the local paper, saying that a black Lab had been found, and the owner could call her number to claim him. Judging by the neglected state Salvage was in, she doubted anyone would answer it.

  When she was done with that, she felt herself relax for the first time all day. She was on days off now. What needed doing the most? The list of repairs to the house seemed endless. Much of the work was structural, which meant she had to have help. She was no carpenter. The tiny deck off the kitchen was rotting through in places, as were the stairs. The front steps were also rickety. The windows in the two upstairs bedrooms had no screens. Her father and Sean had rewired the house for her before they’d let her move in, and the places where they’d had to poke holes to run wire awaited patching and plastering. The kitchen could use new countertops—the old white Arborite was stained and curling up at the edges. The kitchen sink and both bathrooms needed some plumbing; all the taps leaked.

  Well, she wasn’t about to tackle any of that today. She had laundry and grocery shopping to do, and she was almost out of dog food. Where were the heirs to dog food empires when she needed them?

  She opened the fridge, expecting mold to reach out and grab her by the throat, but it was gleaming. Either Willow had cleaned it or Shannon had acquired a kitchen angel along with the one from the fire. Her money was on Willow, and now that Shannon was paying attention, it looked as if she’d also washed the kitchen floor. There was even fresh newspaper under the dogs’ food and water bowls. Having a boarder must be something like having a wife. No wonder guys wanted one.

  The living room still had dog hair everywhere, so a good vacuuming was in order. With some difficulty and much resistance, Shannon dragged the dogs outside and put them in the screened run. They whimpered and looked betrayed. “So learn to vacuum your own mess up, you deadbeats,” she told them. Inside, she dragged out the machine and got to it.

  Willow came in just as she finished.

  “I was going to do that,” the woman said, “but I decided on a long walk instead. With the pittance I’m paying you for rent, Shannon, you should make me a job list. I’ll happily do whatever.”

  “You already did the fridge and the floor, thanks so much. I don’t expect you to clean for me, Willow. It’s enough you help take care of the dogs.”

  “I’ve never been one to sit. I need jobs to do.” Willow’s smile encompassed her entire face, and Shannon couldn’t help smiling back, thinking how incredibly young-looking her boarder was for sixty-something. Tiny and slender, Willow had a short cap of snow-white hair that she moussed until it stood wildly on end. Her clothes were dramatic and colorful and youthful, and she oozed energy. Today she was wearing a slim denim skirt that bared excellent legs, a pink tee and an assortment of bracelets that jangled on her arm. She actually made growing older look appealing, Shannon mused.

  “Speaking of jobs, there’s one you might want to look into.” She told Willow about Lisa and the vet clinic.

  Willow’s hazel eyes sparkled, and she clasped her hands under her chin. “Oh, that sounds like such fun. I love animals, as you know.” Her face registered uncertainty. “But I haven’t had a real job in years. Steve had a thing about me working.”

  Steve sounded like a real winner, Shannon thought. Good for Willow for doing a bunk. “So how did you spend your time if he didn’t want you to work?”

  “Oh, I took a zillion classes on everything under the sun, including carpentry. I don’t really have any sort of work résumé, though.”

  “I don’t think Lisa gives a hoot about a résumé. She just wants somebody who knows something about computers and doesn’t paint their nails or ignore the telephone while a vicious cat tears up the waiting-room cushions.”

  “Is that all?” Willow had a wide, quirky grin. “I’d promise to do my nails on my own time. And as for the cat—surely there’s catnip growing somewhere around here that we could bribe the animal with?”

  Shannon laughed. “There you go. Just tell Lisa that and she’ll hire you in a heartbeat.”

  “Thank you so much, Shannon. I didn’t expect you to come up with a paying job as well as a place to live. Now, there’s something else I was wondering about.” Willow hesitated as if she was nervous about asking a favor. “Do you think I could maybe help with the things around the house that need fixing? I noticed you have drywall that should be patched, and the banister on the stairs is loose. And both sets of steps are a little dangerous.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, fudge. It sounds like I’m criticizing your house. Please don’t take it that way. It’s just that lots of my night-school classes were in carpentry and I’m pretty good at it. The back deck could use some new flooring. I know how to do that. We’d use treated cedar, I’d nail it on an angle—whoops, there I go again. Tell me just to mind my own business.”

  Shannon was flabbergasted. Dainty Willow, fixing her deck? Although she shouldn’t be surprised; there was that toolbox.

  “Me mind? Are you nuts? A carpenter, living right here—it feels like I’ve won the lottery. I’d think I’d died and gone to heaven if even two of those things got done. Just make a list of all the supplies you need, and I’ll get them.” Shannon’s imagination was taking off. “My uncle Donald has power tools he never uses. He was going to build a boat when he retired from the insurance business, but that hasn’t happened. I’m sure he’d loan them to us if we need them, so we’re solid there.” She reined in her enthusiasm. “But, Willow, please don’t feel you have to.”

  “Have to? No ‘have to’ about it, it’s my hobby. Besides, I get restless without enough to do.”

  “Just don’t kill yourself. You might find you won’t have the energy if you take the job at the clinic. It can get pretty hairy over there.” She grinned. “No pun intended.”

  “Honey, I’ve lived for forty-three years with a man who criticized almost everything I did. He wasn’t what you’d call supportive. It feels as if I just got let out of prison, and besides, I’ve got that post-menopausal zest thing going for me, as well. I have energy to burn.”

  “Then let’s drink to freedom.” Shannon got cola from the fridge and two glasses, and they sat at the kitchen table.

  Willow took a sip and then said, “Is that black Lab you saved from the fire doing okay? I saw you with him on TV. And apparently that fire started up again, and two firemen were hurt. That’s horrible. Are they okay?”

  “Yea
h, they’re doing fine, but that warehouse is turning into a nightmare for all of us. And the dog lost his back leg. Lisa couldn’t save it. He’s still at the clinic, and he’ll be there another couple days. I’m calling him Salvage. I advertised for his owner, but I think he’s a stray, so I’m gonna have to find a home for him, because I just can’t afford another dog—emotionally or financially. Cleo eats twice her body weight in dog food every day, and it’s a wonder I haven’t ended up getting sued over Pepsi’s behavior.”

  “He is a little peculiar. He seems to have a problem with his bladder.”

  “That’s a tactful way of putting it. The truth is he’s a miserable little cuss whose favorite expression is ‘Piss on the world.’”

  Willow laughed and then said, “It’s too bad Salvage had to lose his leg, but it’s sure better than dying in that fire. I really like his name. What about the firehouse? Don’t firehouses usually have a mascot?”

  That hadn’t occurred to Shannon. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll talk to the guys, see if anybody has any objections.”

  “My son always wanted to be a firefighter, but he’d never be able to pass the physical,” Willow confided.

  “Why would he have trouble?”

  “Didn’t your mother tell you? Aaron was born with one leg twisted and much shorter than the other.”

  Shannon was shocked. “That’s really rough. Do the doctors have any idea what caused it?”

  Willow shook her head. “My mother was psychic. She’s dead now, but she always said it was from past life stuff, and I’m sure she’s right.”

  “You believe in all that, reincarnation and multiple lives?” Shannon had read about it, but she was undecided.

  “Oh, absolutely. Astrology, reincarnation…it makes perfect sense to me. We bring challenges with us from other lives and do our best to work them out. Everyone we meet here is both our teacher and our student, and we’ve all agreed beforehand to play our part in one another’s lives. There are no accidents.”

  Shannon drank the last of her cola and smiled at Willow. “That would sure make you view things differently.” She was thinking of her mother. Maybe if Mary believed everything was already decided, she’d lay off Shannon about her choice of career.

  “It’s comforting,” Willow said. “It takes away the whole issue of why somebody might treat us badly. Leaves no room for self-pity. Maybe last time around, we did something similar to them.”

  “What about relationships? You think we’re fated to meet a certain person at a certain point in our lives?” It was something Shannon had always wondered about.

  “Oh, absolutely. An astrological chart can predict exactly when it’ll happen. The interesting part is that we’re simply drawn to them. We have no idea whether it’s going to be heaven or hell to actually live with them.” She looked pensive, and Shannon figured Willow was thinking about her husband. “They’re the right person to make us grow, that’s all,” she added after a minute. “The universe has no respect for our comfort zones. See, I could bemoan the fact that I ever met Steve…berate myself for marrying him.”

  Shannon nodded. “That would be the usual response, all right.”

  “And it would make me miserable. Life’s way too short for that. Looking back, I can see that I would never have gained what little determination or self-esteem I have without Steve always being negative and questioning me at every turn.”

  Shannon nodded again, even though she figured she would have walked out on Stevie baby way sooner than Willow had. Like ten minutes into the honeymoon.

  “In the end, I knew it was either lose myself completely and turn into a blob, or get strong and walk away.” Willow’s voice quavered a little. So she wasn’t quite as tough as she seemed. “I got strong. He’s been my greatest teacher. I’m grateful to him for that.”

  “Wow. You must drive your divorce lawyer nuts. How’s he gonna make any money if you don’t get mad and mean and want to fleece the guy for everything he’s got?”

  Willow laughed. “Oh, I haven’t thought about divorce yet. And according to the laws in New Jersey, I’m entitled to half of what we have. When the time comes, that’ll be more than enough for me.”

  “Enough people like you, and divorce lawyers would have to go out of business.” Shannon hesitated, but curiosity got the best of her. “So what’s your son doing now?”

  “Aaron works for a contractor. He was the one who inspired me to do the carpentry thing. Here, I have a photo of him.” She dug in her handbag and then flipped open her wallet.

  “Wow. He’s really good-looking.” Aaron was a hunk, whatever length his legs were. He had a big smile, even features, a shock of thick hair. Nice smile lines around his eyes. He had a gentle look about him.

  “Thank you. I think he’s wonderful, but then, I’m his mother. I do know he has amazing talent as an artist, but Steve insisted he get training in something practical instead of getting a degree in art.” Willow sighed. “Aaron always tried hard to please his father.”

  “Maybe he’ll decide to be an artist when he’s older.”

  “Maybe. He’s thirty-six, so there’s lots of time.”

  That made Shannon blink. This guy they were talking about was eight years older than she was, and still conflicted about what he wanted to be when he grew up? At least her mother hadn’t had that problem to contend with.

  “I’m hoping he’ll come out here for a visit,” Willow said. “I’d like him to meet you. And your brothers, of course. All of you are so confident, so sure of yourselves. But you get that from your mother. When we were performing together, I used to have terrible stage fright, but Mary just loved every moment of it.” Willow shook her head, a faraway look in her eyes. “I was sure she’d be famous someday. She had that marvelous voice, and she wasn’t afraid of anything.”

  She wasn’t afraid of anything? Could this be the same Mary O’Shea who made herself sick worrying over her kids, and was giving Shannon a bad time about her job because it was dangerous?

  “She led your father a merry chase, you know. He was so in love with her, but for the longest time, she wouldn’t agree to marry him. She was determined to have a singing career.”

  This was news to Shannon. “What do you think changed her mind?”

  “Oh, I have no idea.” But the way Willow averted her eyes told Shannon she knew very well. “You’d have to talk to her about that.”

  Maybe she would, Shannon decided. Her mother, like Willow, had never really worked outside her home. Sure, Mary was talented at acting, and everyone knew she could sing. She’d always belonged to the local little theater group, and she performed at church concerts, but Shannon had never thought much about what Mary’s dreams might have been as a young woman. She’d just assumed that her mother had exactly the life she wanted.

  Willow changed the subject. “Let’s make a list of things that need fixing around here, and then I’ll figure out what supplies we need, okay? And then I’m going over to your friend’s clinic to apply for that job.”

  For the next hour, they walked through the house and Willow jotted down in a notebook all the things that could stand improvement. The longer the list grew, the more excited she became.

  Shannon got into the spirit of the thing. She called her uncle Donald and asked to borrow his pickup, and when he dropped it off, she and Willow set off for the hardware store.

  On the way, Shannon stopped and introduced Willow to Lisa and Greg and Salvage, and within fifteen minutes, Willow had the receptionist’s job.

  “I’m so grateful to you, Shannon,” Willow said when they were once again in the truck. “I can’t believe I’ll be getting paid to work there. I’d happily do it for free.”

  Shannon laughed. “That’s exactly how I felt at first about being a fireman.”

  “I feel as though I’ve gotten a chance at a whole new life,” Willow declared, “just like Salvage. He’s going to make the best firehouse mascot ever.”

  “I think so
, too. Now all I have to do is convince the guys at the station that you’re right.”

  A WEEK LATER when Shannon arrived at the station for her morning rotation before another five days off, she was mentally planning her campaign to have Salvage adopted. She could hear voices in the kitchen, and after she stowed her gear, she headed that way, going over in her head the list of reasons why the firehouse needed a mascot.

  The kitchen was the place where the incoming and outgoing shifts chose to brief one another. The outgoing crew was gathered around the table, and most of the guys on Shannon’s shift were there, as well. So was a man she hadn’t met before, and her carefully prepared speech on Salvage’s behalf went right out of her head when she looked at him.

  There was something about him…

  “Shannon O’Shea, meet John Forester, our newest squad member,” said Rolando Martinez, the acting chief. “John’s posted here from New York. Shannon’s one of our two female firefighters, John.”

  “Hey, Shannon.” John got to his feet and held out a massive hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

  “And you, John.” Shannon took his hand and looked up at him—way up. He had to be six and a half feet tall, and with the height went a spectacular build. She’d seldom met anyone as tall and fit as her brother Sean, but this guy was a strong contender.

  What was it about him…?

  A quick assessment told her he was probably close to three hundred pounds of sheer muscle. His eyes were a soft, dark brown. They looked kind, and the laugh lines around them suggested a sense of humor. His hair was a match for his eyes in color, thick and soft, waving a little over his forehead. He had a quirky, lopsided grin, great teeth and that indentation in his chin that women adored. He also had dimples when he smiled.

  As far as looks went, Forester would qualify as a hunk by even the most exacting woman’s standards. And if he turned out to be passive aggressive and chauvinistic as hell, at least he’d be fun to have around. Eye candy, Shannon told herself.