I sit down in the front seat once Mabel’s buckled in the back, panting with excitement.
“We should swing by the dog park after this,” I say, gesturing toward the dog.
“Yeah. I bet she’ll be confused when we get there.” Dad tries to smile, but I can tell it’s hard for him to do.
We pull out of my driveway and head toward the cemetery, not speaking. Uncle Jack was always the talker, and when we were all together, it was energetic and fun. He could tell the wildest stories, and everyone would be hanging on his every word.
I wait in the car while Dad hops out to buy some flowers for his grave. He comes back with two bouquets.
“I wanted to put some on your mother’s, too,” he explains, handing me the flowers.
I nod. My mother died in the winter, near Christmas, so we rarely trek out to her gravesite when it’s snowing, or the ground’s too wet. Last year we did the same thing when we visited Jack. It’s another punch to the gut since the two are intertwined in my mind.
Mom died from cancer, which was already terminal by the time she was diagnosed, so the misery of losing her felt drawn out. It was never a question of if she would improve — it was always a question of how to make her suffer less. Most of my good memories of her are on her good days or before she was sick, when I was about eight. I think I’ve suppressed most of the bad ones some days, but then it all comes rushing back, usually when I smell something that reminds me of a hospital.
Her death hit Dad hard. They had been together since high school, so losing her was like losing a limb. He spiraled into a terrible depression for years, and Jack came in to support both of us. I was an unruly kid and got even worse after she died, probably because I didn’t know how to grieve properly. But he stayed on, patiently helping me with homework if Dad went to one of his widower support groups in the evening and teaching me to channel some of my energy into martial arts.
As Dad got better, we all hung out together, going to movies (he was a sci-fi fan), hiking, even skeet shooting. He was always there for everything, and always had the perfect thing to say, even if I didn’t realize it at the time.
In college, when I was trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do after graduation, he told me about being a firefighter. I knew the basics, of course, since he had been one since before I was born, but his advice pushed me into it, head first. I always thought I would go into investing, like Dad and my grandfather, but he knew I would hate it. I’m thankful he stopped me from wasting my time doing something that would make me miserable to my core, just because it’s lucrative. Being a firefighter has made me a better person, and having him as a mentor is a huge reason why.
We arrive at the cemetery, the sun shining down almost obnoxiously. Mabel is confused at where we are, but she hops out of the car with energy. We head left once we’re inside, toward Mom’s grave first. Dad lays the flowers down, and we just stand there, staring at her gravestone. It’s white marble, almost glittery, and the white lilies Dad placed there are the brightest things in this row.
I can tell Dad’s contemplating something, so I let him have a second alone.
Eventually, he joins me, and we walk to Jack’s grave. I lay down the flowers and take a deep, shuddering breath. I don’t like to cry, but a couple of tears escape anyway. Mabel whines, which she does when I get emotional, and I offer her my hand to lick.
“I can’t stay,” I finally say, feeling a swell of emotions suddenly surge up in me. I’m nauseous and want to lay down.
“Are you sure?” Dad asks, putting his hand on my shoulder.
I nod. He hands me the keys to the car, and I take Mabel back. I buckle her in and take my seat, buckling in also even though I don’t need to. My subconscious wants to take the driver’s seat and just drive off, I guess. I focus on taking deep breaths, so I don’t break down, and it works for a while. Dad returns later and gets into the car.
Neither of us says a word as he drives us to the dog park. We don’t even say a word as Mabel plays. The next thing either of us says to each other is our food order at Chipotle. Despite knowing Mabel’s put on a little weight, I order her a taco to eat at home.
“Okay, Noah,” Dad says when he pulls into my driveway. “You want company? I don’t have anywhere else to be for a while. I’ll probably go to Babs’s tonight.”
“No, we’re okay.” I unbuckle my seatbelt.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
He knows I won’t be, but he lets it go. Instead, he gives me an awkward hug over the middle console of his car and lets me out. Once we’re inside, I give Mabel her taco and stand in the kitchen, eating my burrito. I hardly taste it. I grab a beer and head to the couch to hopefully take my mind off of things. It’s hard when I feel like I can’t avoid thinking about him.
I drink. And drink. Then nap and drink a little more before passing out again since I hardly slept last night. I wake up in a confused haze. It’s only six in the evening, and I’m starting to get hungover? Jesus.
I don’t want to watch any more TV, so I grab my laptop. My work email’s up, and the grieving part of my brain starts to think about Jack again.
That fire he died in. Now I can’t stop thinking about it. The gut-wrenching pain I felt that day comes rushing back, as does the weird gut feeling about those other fires that have been happening lately.
I need to dig deeper into detail, like the exact times the fires occurred, and look at the evidence. There has to be a connecting thread I haven’t found. Two fires? Coincidence. More than three? Definitely a pattern. Given that fires are, you know, fires, and tend to burn up evidence, I need to pay extreme attention to every scene. What if I missed something? Sure, there are photos and videos, but I might see something new. We need hard evidence in order to make actual arrests, so I think I’ll focus on that.
Maybe I could sneak into the office without anyone bothering me…
I feel Mabel staring at me in the creepy way that makes me think she’s reading my mind, her dark eyes strangely wise for a dog that sniffs her own farts sometimes.
“Yeah, I know I should leave it alone,” I mumble to her.
She closes her eyes and goes back to sleep, her head resting on a throw pillow like she’s a person.
Yet another thing that reminds me of Jack. She’s done this since she was a puppy, and Jack would wonder if she did that on her own or if she learned it from sleeping with me.
I make a few notes based on what I’ve got in my email and send the notes to myself for later. I’m still pretty tipsy, so they’ll probably be incoherent when I read them with fresh eyes. I close my laptop and put it on the table.
The emptiness of my house feels very apparent right now.
Maybe I should call someone to come hang out. I used to do that all the time, maybe multiple times a week. When was the last time I did, besides the time with Nadine and Andy?
The guys at the station are right. I’m not as involved anymore and haven’t been since Jack’s death. The most involved I’ve been lately is in my own obsessive side quest into these house fires that Harry doesn’t even know about. I’ve been channeling all of my energy into it, trying to get a grip on the problems, even though I know, logically, that not everything has an answer.
Still doesn’t stop me from poking at it, though.
Apparently, my new introversion extends to my non-work social life too. Besides family dinners, Skype calls with an old college buddy, and breakfasts with Andy, which only restarted because our parents are getting married, I’ve been a bit of a hermit. I used to be the guy who hosted parties and couldn’t imagine not going out on the weekends or when I was off. Ever since Jack died, I’ve had more cash to blow on booze or dates or whatever, but I haven’t used the money for that. My circle of acquaintances has fallen away, leaving Andy and Ray, my closest friends, and my family.
Hanging out with Nadine felt good. Not that hanging out with just Andy is bad, but both of them made me feel a kind of normal I hav
en’t felt for a while.
I pick up my phone and stare at the screen. Should I text Nadine to hang out? The last time we saw each other, we fucked. I’d happily go for another round, but since she hasn’t spoken to me since the trip, it seems like she’s being a little avoidant again.
Or maybe she doesn’t like me like that? The sex was great, borderline perfect, so that isn’t it. Not to be arrogant, but I know I blew her mind. But I’m still not sure how she feels about me as a… I don’t know, potential boyfriend? Do I want to date? The last time I did seriously, I got a little crowded. She wanted to settle down and have kids and all that fast, and I wasn't ready for it. I'm still not. I don’t want to broach the topic with Nadine until I know what I want.
Maybe I really should go into the office instead. I bet I could sneak in without too many people catching me.
I grab my wallet and phone and go out the front door. I walk over, praying most of the guys are out. I slip into the quiet fire station and think I'm home free until I turn right into Henry outside the door that leads into the office. It couldn't have been any of the guys I actually like?
“Hey,” he says, stopping. He’s holding a small bag in his hand and crosses his arms so I can’t see what it is. “Thought you were off today?”
“I am. I'm just…” I gesture toward the office.
“Cool, cool.” He leans up against the wall, so he's kind of in my path. “How was your trip? You got tan.”
“It was fine?” I can't keep the question out of my voice. Why is he talking to me?
I try to step past him, but he looks genuinely annoyed.
“What's the rush if you’re just popping in?” He studies me, arms still crossed. “Just trying to be cool, but if you don't want to be…”
Again, he's trying to provoke me. But why? He's not reading my body language at all. Or he is, and he's just ignoring me.
I've run into guys like him. The ones who always try to seem tough, but their egos are fragile as fuck if you don’t act the way they want you to. He seems like that. And he's the kind of guy who hates not getting his way.
Ugly combination.
I wonder how the rest of the guys are taking him. Maybe he’ll get the message that we don’t roll like that here soon and leave.
Speaking of leaving, why is he here in the first place? I don’t know everyone’s shift schedules, but if most of the guys he usually works with aren’t here, Henry shouldn’t be either. Maybe he left something behind? Whatever’s in his hand, maybe. He refuses to move his arms from their position across his chest like he’s making a point of being tough. I don’t know. But I do know I want to get in and get out. This interaction has made the start of this mini-hangover even worse.
“I'm just in a hurry, man. I'm just swinging by since I live right here, a couple houses down.” I point vaguely in the direction of home. “Sorry.”
He steps back and shrugs. I step past him quickly, now feeling downright annoyed.
Most people are in a meeting, so I'm able to slip into my cubicle, grab the notebook I've been using to jot down random notes, and slip back out. Henry fucked up my plan, but it's better for me to leave, I guess. I can do a little research at home.
I get home and sit down with my notebook. My handwriting is shit, and my notes are kind of incomprehensible. Sorting through them now sounds hard, and I'm out of energy.
I open my takeout app instead and order a pizza. I watch some stupid crime drama as I eat the whole damn thing, then take some sleeping pills. They’re mild, so I usually take them when I can’t fall asleep, but don’t think I’ll need help staying asleep.
I slide under the covers, even though it’s hardly dark, dragging Mabel toward me to cuddle. She groans in protest but stays still. I pass out fast, thankfully, but wake up because I need to pee. All that beer and later, water, is running right through me.
I shuffle to the bathroom and don’t bother turning on the light. There’s a window facing Nadine’s place, and the bottom half is covered to prevent people from seeing inside. I look up at the moon as I go.
It’s a clear night, so why is the moon hazy?
I finish up and hop to see out the window clearly. Dark smoke is billowing up from the side of Nadine’s house.
Shit.
I run back into my bedroom and immediately dial the station, telling them there’s a probable fire, and then call Nadine.
“Hello?” She says when she picks up the phone, thank god. She sounds like she was sleeping. “Why are you calling me so late?”
“Nadine, your house is on fire,” I say, sliding on my boots and jogging the short walk toward her house. “It looks like it’s coming from the other side, the side that’s not facing me. Where are you?”
“What?” She sounds wide awake now. “Oh god, I can smell smoke. How did I sleep through this?”
I stop, running my hands through my hair. Going from dead asleep to this with no buffer, like getting to the station, is jarring. I’ve never felt so panicked in a fire in my life. My first impulse is idiotic — running in to save her. People do it in movies and come out relatively unscathed, but this isn’t a movie. There’s nothing I can do yet.
“Is your bedroom door closed?” I ask, jogging around to give myself enough distance from the house to not get in the way.
“Yeah, why?”
“Good, keep it closed. Can you go up and touch it to tell me if it’s hot?” I ask. I finally hear the sirens from the station approaching.
“It’s pretty warm.” She sounds crazily calm for the situation. Or maybe I’m just freaking out so much that she seems calm in comparison.
“Stay put, okay? The fire department is coming.” I jog to the sidewalk as the fire truck pulls up.
“What’s the deal?” My boss Harry asks as everyone gets out. The other guys on the team start mobilizing almost immediately.
“Saw smoke coming from my friend’s house,” I point, watching the team work. “She’s inside, door’s closed, bedroom on the north side of the house.”
“Gotcha, we’ll get her,” he nods.
I trust him with my own life, so I step back and let them work. Watching a fire and not being able to do anything is nerve-wracking. It feels like eighty years pass as they set up the hoses and connect it to the hydrant.
I’m struggling to keep my breathing under control. I know she’ll be fine; I know it with every bone in my body, but still – this is Nadine. It’s all I can do to keep from panicking as I watch them slowly, methodically surrounding the house and approaching the fire from multiple angles. I know it’s the smart thing to do. But damnit, it’s taking too long.
From the corner of my eye, I see Henry stepping up next to Harry. “I’m going in,” he says. Harry nods.
Something snaps in me. Like hell he is.
“I’ve got her,” I call over to them.
“Egan, you’re not suited up,” barks Harry. “Let Henry handle it.”
“Yeah, Egan,” Henry puffs himself up, sticking his mask into my chest. “I can handle it. Your friend is safe with –”
But before he finishes his sentence, I grab his mask from his hands and slip it over my face. Without another word, I dart into the flaming house.
I hear shouts of my name being called, but it’s too late. I’m already in the door.
“Nadine!” I call out. The fire hasn’t started raging just yet, but the smoke is nearly blinding, and the heat against my unprotected skin is searing.
Stupid. This was a stupid decision. I’ll probably be reprimanded like hell. But it’s worth it to make sure Nadine is safe.
“Noah, is that you?” she calls out, and then lets out a scream as a support beam crashes and falls to the ground with a loud crackle. The fire is heating up now. Even though the guys have been blasting it, they still can’t seem to get it under control.
I duck low and make my way deliberately to the still-closed bedroom door. “I’m coming in,” I shout through it. Luckily, I put my boots on. I rar
e up and kick the door open with all the force I can muster. It barely budges. I kick again, and then the door bangs open with a crash, sending tiny sparks flying everywhere.
I whip my eyes around the room as fast as I can. The heat is becoming too much. Stupid. I need to find her and get out now.
Finally, I see her, curled up on the bed, her whole body shaking in her pajamas. I run over to her, pull her to her feet, and wrap her under my arm. She’s completely tense, practically frozen from terror.
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” I whisper to her. She presses herself up against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her. “Stay with me.”
Together we duck low under the worst of the smoke and quickly make our way out into the cool evening air.
I rip off my mask, taking a deep breath, suddenly shocked and relieved and terrified of what I just did. But I look over, and Nadine is safe. It was all worth it.
We make our way over to the truck, and it’s all I can do to stop from collapsing.
I hold her tight until the fire is out, and the post-fire investigation starts. I sit next to her on the truck while Harry interviews her about the fire, and then while the paramedic checks her for injuries. I sit next to her while she calls Babs, who thanks me profusely for catching the fire. She offers to come get Nadine, but I tell her I’ve got her.
“You need her?” I ask Harry.
“No, you two are good. We’ll keep you in the loop.” Harry says. “We’re going to talk about this tomorrow, Egan.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
The scene eventually winds down, and everyone leaves until it’s just me and her. I walk Nadine back to my place, and once we get inside, she bursts into tears. I’m surprised it took her this long. I hate seeing her cry, but I know there’s nothing I can do to fix it.
“Hey, hey. Let’s get you something to drink,” I say, still holding onto her like she could fall down any minute.
I guide her with me to the kitchen and pour her a glass of water. I watch her suck it down, somehow crying and drinking at the same time. She hands the glass back to me and wipes her face on her bare arm. She’s covered in a fine dusting of ash.
One Night Flame Page 19