Ashes: An Everyday Heroes Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Gail Haris

  “Ah, mi ángel. Yes. You brighten all lives around you, nena.. I’m very proud. But at some point, I want you to save your own life. You must live. Find love. Give me grandbabies.”

  “I don’t need a man to save my life.”

  “But you do need one if you’re going to give me some nenes to spoil!”

  Yeah, she wants grandbabies, what a surprise.

  “Not necessarily…”

  “Bueno, niña, it has to come from somewhere, doesn’t it? What are you doing tonight? Not sitting alone, I hope. I worry about you being alone too much. At home you had family surrounding you, at least.”

  “I’m not. I’m going out with friends from work.”

  “Yes!” I hear a swoosh over the phone and Mami yells out. “¡Ya tienes amigas!” Their voices in the background are muffled, but clearly excited. My family has so much faith in my social abilities. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I’m so glad. Te me emperifollas, please don’t wear your scrubs. Or leggings. Wear real pants.”

  “Speaking of…I need to get ready.”

  “Okay, my beautiful girl, te amo más que a nada.”

  “Y yos más.” I love you more than anything in the world too.

  Turning up Maluma on the radio, I dance around as I get ready. When I’m finished, I look in the mirror, and for the first time in a long time, I love what I see.

  I love my reflection.

  I love me, and like I said earlier, when you love someone, you love all of them. That includes yourself. Love all of yourself. I love my thick, dark hair, my tan skin that has a few early wrinkles, evident from working long hours, and I even love my full hips. Most of all, I love where I came from—because that’s made me the woman I am now.

  I apply my red lipstick and then pop my lips. I stare at my reflection and smile. “I’m a strong, driven, and confident woman, so watch out world.”

  The door creaks as I open it to the little bar, Hooligan’s. I’m wearing my big hoop earrings, tight, fitted skinny blue jeans with a simple black top tucked in the front, and my wedge open-toed shoes. My dark curls hang loose past my shoulders. I can’t help but be a little anxious as I step in, but soon that fades away. I see familiar faces instantly, whether from patients or fellow co-workers. Small town perks, never a stranger, no matter where you go.

  I find Orlando with a group of other nurses. He immediately wraps his strong arms around me. “I can’t believe you’re actually out. Let’s get you a shot!”

  “Actually, I’ll have a cranberry and vodka. Thank you.”

  “You got it.”

  A tap on my shoulder has me turning around to find Dylan. “Hey!”

  Dylan smiles brightly, “Hey there!” She hugs me and steps back. “Wow, I am in love with your hair.”

  “This wild mess?” I chuckle. “I could barely tame it. That’s why you always see it in a high pony or bun. Plus, the whole no loose hair at the hospital thing.” We both laugh.

  Another woman steps up and slurs, “Well, I’d love to take photos of you with this wild hair.”

  I narrow my eyes and then look to Dylan, who laughs. “This is Macy. She’s also new to town.”

  “Nice to meet you. And thanks…I guess. I’ve never had anyone want to photograph my hair.”

  Macy bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry. I’m a photographer. And I’ve been dying to do a boudoir shoot. You missy, would be amazing to photograph.”

  Of course, right at that moment, Orlando hands me my drink. A huge grin stretches across his face. “Hell yeah.”

  My cheeks heat and I take a long sip of my drink avoiding any eye contact with anyone. Macy smiles proudly. “Am I right? You have to let me photograph you.” She seems to catch herself and stops. “That is,” she places a hand on my arm and stumbles. I’m not sure if she’s trying to comfort me or balance herself. “That is…if you’re comfortable with it,” she continues.

  I don’t miss how Orlando has gotten quiet and is eagerly listening. Giving her a small smile, I pat her hand that’s gripping my arm and say, “I’ll think about it. Thank you…for the offer.”

  Dylan giggles and then whispers, “She’s really sweet. She is being sincere, but she’s had a few.”

  Orlando nudges my shoulder while speaking to Dylan, “We need to get a few in this one. She’s been working non-stop, and I don’t think she’s had any fun since coming to Sunnyville.”

  Dylan raises her glass, “Then, let’s fix that.”

  Macy whoops as she holds her glass up in agreement.

  Okay. Let’s do this.

  Four drinks later and I am feeling good. I’ve danced a couple of times with Orlando and already know I need to back off. We work together, and I know mixing work with pleasure never works out. Although, it would be nice to be with someone who gets this career. My job isn’t just about going to work, it’s a calling. It’s my life. It’s another one of those parts of me that makes up who I am, and if I ever start another relationship, I’m going to make sure that person understands, and more importantly, accepts that. But he can’t be a fellow coworker. It’s a shame since Orlando is fucking hot, easy to be around, and he would get it. ¡Ay bendito! I would end up connecting with the one guy who is a definite no-no. I ease past his strong body and get closer to Dylan, slowly dancing away and putting space between us.

  “So, you and Macy are not originally from here?” I casually ask as I dance my way to her other side, effectively putting her between Orlando and me.

  “Yup. But we already feel like we’ve lived here forever, ya know? Like we just belong.”

  “That’s nice.” Maybe I’ll feel that way soon. I miss home, my family.

  I feel two strong hands land on my hips and smell overpowering cologne. “Hello, gorgeous.” A deep voice speaks against my hair.

  My creeper radar is going off as I pull away and turn around. A very clean-cut man stands tall before me. This is a guy who radiates overconfidence. He smirks at me and takes a step closer. “Sorry if I snuck up on you. Would you care to dance?”

  “I’m here with friends.”

  “So am I. But I’m willing to leave my friends to dance with the most beautiful girl in the room.”

  Gag me. I release a nervous laugh trying to hide my disgust because the compliment comes off phony. “I don’t get out a lot with my friends, so I’m really dedicating the night to just them. Maybe another time.”

  I quickly turn away and spot Macy at the bar. As I’m making my way toward her, I see the guy from a second ago walking toward the bar as well. I left the dance floor to get away from him and now he’s going to the bar too? Before I can turn around, Macy sees me and waves me over. I return the wave and stay on track toward her.

  “Did you strike out with J. Lo?”

  What?

  It’s another guy laughing with my dance floor creeper. Macy must hear them as well, because she stands up straighter. I come to stand next to her and listen.

  “I don’t think I struck out, okay? She seemed like the timid type. Probably nervous about the size of my burrito and her taco.”

  The guys howl with laughter. “Oh, man. No. Not possible because her hips don’t lie, she could’ve handled you.”

  Another guy shushes the guys. “Hey, seriously, though. Since you struck out, mind if I have a go? She’s fucking hot. How old do you think she is? Hispanic women don’t age the same as others, do they?”

  I feel anger boiling inside of me. But if I react? Then I know what they’ll say—oh, she’s Latina. She’s a hothead. Está eschavetá. She’s psycho. I’ll make those stupid fucks think psycho.

  “What the hell?” a deep voice yells.

  In my embarrassment and anger, I hadn’t noticed Macy walk away. Her fist connects right below the belt of the guy on the left of her. Then she grabs the collar of the guy who tried to dance with me. “My friend wouldn’t dance with you, so now you all have to act like assholes to feel better about yourselves?”

  Se armó un revolú. Yep, they were in trou
ble…

  “Hey, calm down. Shit. Are you fucking psycho?” Oh, so they call all women who don’t take their shit psycho.

  The other guy holding his balls moans out, “God, are you on your fucking period?”

  Oh, hell no. I walk over to them and cross my arms. Macy smiles at me, and it’s kind of scary, not going to lie. “Natalia, why wouldn’t you dance with this nice, dashing young gentleman?”

  “Macy, I was far too concerned by his size. Haven’t you heard what they say about guys with big mouths?”

  Macy nods, still holding a full smile. “That they have little dicks. So, they have to talk a lot of shit due to their insecurities.”

  “Sorry I bruised your ego. I didn’t realize you’re so fragile.”

  Macy lets go of his collar. “But I’m not sorry I bruised your face.” She pulls her arm back and punches him so hard in the jaw that he falls off the barstool.

  I cover my face with hands. “Oh, shit! Macy!”

  “That’s for my new friend, asshole!”

  Dylan pops up beside me, staring at the scene wide-eyed. “What’d I miss?”

  Macy walks up and wraps her arm around us, “Let’s go before they kick us out. I’m drunk, but I’m sober enough to realize we just had a bar fight. And that’s a no-no.”

  Dylan laughs. “That’s a big no-no.”

  “Very big no-no,” Macy repeats.

  “Mi mamá would like you,.” I tell Macy.

  Macy looks at me with big puppy dog eyes. “Aww. You want me to meet your mamá?”

  We get outside and Dylan’s phone rings. She answers and we listen as she makes a lot of “mmhhmm,” and “yeeeah.” She hangs up and smiles. “Good news, my brother-in-law is on the police department. He’s already gotten a call about us, but we’re not getting arrested. Bad news, he’s already called Grady.”

  “Why is that bad?” I ask.

  “Oh, I’m sure it sounded a lot worse coming from his brother.”

  Macy gets a mischievous gleam in her already glassy, drunken gaze. “Angry sex is the best.” Suddenly, she bends over and hurls. I pull her hair back with one hand and slowly rub circles on her back. When she’s finished, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and as though she never paused the conversation with her vomit, looks to Dylan and says, “Think you’re getting a spanking when you get home?”

  The next morning, a car honking wakes me up. By the time I roll out of bed with an epic hangover, there’s a knock at my door. Behind the door, I find Macy.

  “Good morning,” I murmur. “What brings you here? And how come you look amazing after last night, while I feel like I was hit by a truck?”

  “I came to apologize for last night. Oh my gosh, that was a horrible first impression.”

  I laugh. “It was actually one of the most memorable first impressions ever. You’re quite the badass.”

  Macy looks down at her shoes and then back to me. “See, not so much. Once again, bad first impression. That was so not me.”

  “Well, I liked the so not you.”

  “Thanks. But how about I take you out for breakfast and give you a ride to get your car from Hooligan’s, and along the way, you get to meet the real me?”

  I pretend to act in thought, “Would the real you knock a guy out for me? Because that’s the kind of friends I like having in my corner?”

  Macy bursts out laughing while she covers her face. “I can’t believe I did that!”

  “I can’t either!”

  “He deserved it, though. I don’t regret it. Yes, now that I’ve done it, I think I’d do it again.”

  “Then, let’s go! I like pancakes.”

  Over breakfast, I tell Macy about my life and why I wanted to move here. She now knows I had an idiot ex, which makes her even more angry about the guys from last night, that I have a loving family that I miss, and that I’m dedicated to being a nurse.

  “Sorry I propositioned you for a photoshoot. I get carried away with my art sometimes and don’t really think anything about saying, ‘hey, let me shoot photos of you half naked.’ I love capturing people though.”

  “You know what? I think I might take you up on it”

  “Really?”

  “Only if nobody ever, and I mean ever, sees them.”

  “You got it. For your eyes only.”

  Carter

  “Mom? Dad? Hello? I’m home.”

  I walk through the house, but nobody answers so I run outside. The grass is wet and cold against my bare feet, some loose blades stick to my feet. I call out their names, but still no answer. Suddenly, I hear my mom.

  “Carter? Is that you, dear?”

  I look back and she’s standing at the upstairs window. Dad comes to stand next to her. He pokes his head through the raised window. “Hey, son! We’re coming right down.” They’re alive. They’re standing right there. I feel such joy at seeing them that I smile so big it hurts.

  “I’ve missed you,” I yell out to them.

  Dad raises his hands and the window begins to slide down to close, but it gets stuck. I watch closely as Dad struggles to close the window shut. Finally, it loosens and slams down with a loud bang. Glass shards fly everywhere. I raise my hands because even though I’m a few feet away, tiny pieces of glass hit and scrape my cheek.

  I wipe glass shards off my shoulder and stare at the now broken window. My parents are nowhere in sight. Maybe they’re already on their way down the stairs. I take a single step toward the house when suddenly everything goes eerily quiet. Then, the house turns into an inferno of flames.

  “No! Mom! Dad!”

  I try to run up to the house, but fire shoots out of all the windows and the front door. I feel myself flying backwards, landing on hard, cold concrete. I’m stunned. It’s nighttime now. My feet pound against the hard asphalt as I run into the darkness. Two red lights break through the darkness. It’s Warren’s car.

  My lungs are tight and burn, but I push myself harder. No matter how hard I run, I can’t reach them. They remain an arm’s length away. “Warren! Payton!” There’s no sound. There are no voices, no traffic, no engine running, no wind, no typical noises, just silence. It’s deafening silence. Then suddenly, the car engulfs in flames and I lose all oxygen.

  I suck in a lungful of air. My bedsheets are sticking to my skin. I rip them off and rush to my bathroom. I vomit until I feel the aches of dry heave. I turn the shower on ice cold and stand beneath the water, hoping for forgiveness, the cold, my penance.

  Lolly keeps telling me that I need to just forgive myself, find my own peace, and these nightmares might finally stop. The whole town thinks that my father lost his mind and the house fire was deliberate. I’ve seen the report myself. The fire started outside their bedroom door. He was a seasoned fireman. There was no reason for them both to still be in that house. He would’ve known what to do, but besides all of that, why would a fire suddenly occur outside their bedroom door? I had taken Dad’s 1964 Pontiac GTO for a spin with a girl I was trying to impress. Warren was at a friend’s house. I’ll never forget pulling back onto our street and seeing the flames. Why would Dad kill himself and Mom? A part of me still refuses to believe it. Warren believed it. He said Dad had clearly inhaled too many fumes and too much smoke. Warren immediately rejected our father and this town. I think a small part of him always hated me for staying here and becoming a fireman like him. Is that why he took Payton from me? I’ll never have my answers though, because the dead take their secrets with them. So, maybe I’ll never find peace. My brother accused me of chasing ghosts. Maybe he’s not wrong. It isn’t so much their betrayal, but my own fucked-up guilt over not being able to save them. I know I can’t save everyone. There’s something inside of me, it’s in my blood, it’s my duty to save lives. It’s my purpose for living, but I couldn’t even save my other two reasons for living. I arrived too late, on both accounts. Then they sidelined me, my own team, so I didn’t have a chance to even try and save Warren and Payton.

  When
my skin becomes numb from the cold water, I shut off the water. I go through my typical morning routine and make it to the gym before seven. I probably shouldn’t be going to the gym with my side still in stitches, but I’ll focus on other areas of my body. When I’ve pumped and pushed my body to its limits—another one of my coping mechanisms when it all gets to be too much—I head back home to mow Lolly’s lawn.

  “What are you doin’, Carter? Carter!”

  I turn off the mower and turn to find Lolly standing on the porch in her pastel, lace-frilled nightgown. Quickly I shield my eyes, not from the brightness of the sun, but because the sun is shining through the thin material of the nightgown she’s wearing. And Lolly is not wearing a bra. And Lolly needs to be wearing a bra. My grandma in a see-through nightgown is up there on my list of disturbing sights that I never want to witness in my life. And I’ve seen some things, some truly dark and disturbing things in my line of work.

  Keeping my eyes on the mower, I yell back, “Just mowing the yard, Lolly.”

  “Your stitches!”

  “They’re fine.”

  “Bull! I can see the blood from here, and I’m nearly blind!”

  I look down and sure enough, I’m bleeding again. Dammit. “I’m almost finished. Let me get this last part, and then I’ll come inside.”

  When I open the back door, I say a silent prayer that Lolly has put on some real clothes now that I don’t have the rays of the sun as my excuse as to why I can’t look her in the eyes. The kitchen smells of bacon and… something burning. That’s odd. Lolly never burns food. She is getting older, and so many fires have started when someone forgot to simply turn off the stove. I rush to the kitchen to check the source of what’s burning.

  My heart stops. I feel all the blood drain from my face and run cold. Lolly lying on her side on the kitchen floor.

  “Lolly! Oh my God! No! Lolly!” I rush to her side, and check for a pulse. She’s breathing. Thank God.