From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Twenty-Four

JAYMES

“I’m not going to cry,” Maren says in a high-pitched voice like she’s afraid to breathe.

“You are.” Will snickers while loading my suitcase, skateboard, and box from my mom.

“Fine. I am.” Maren hugs me.

I can’t stop my tears but quickly wipe my cheeks when she releases me.

“You’re welcome back here anytime, even if it’s just on the sofa for a few nights.” Will wraps me in his arms.

I nod several times, emotion clogging my throat.

“It sucks Fitz couldn’t be here.” Maren sticks out her pouty lip. “But he said he told you goodbye already.”

He did not.

I return a reassuring smile. “I’m overjoyed that I managed to catch both of you at home on my last day here.” I fan myself, feeling warm from the summer heat and my restrained emotions.

“What’s that?” Maren’s head cocks to the side, stepping closer to me while I absentmindedly pull my hair off my sweaty neck.

I quickly drop my hands to my sides and narrow my eyes. “What’s what?”

Maren slides my hair away from my neck, sending my heart into a frenzy. “When did you get this tattoo? Have you had this ever since you’ve been here?”

I rub the back of my neck. “Yes.” I force a laugh that I’m not sure sounds believable.

“How have I never noticed it?”

I shrug. “In all fairness, I rarely wear my hair up. I’m not sure why I even got a tattoo there. Oh, that’s right ...” I face-palm. “A drunken afternoon with my friend.”

“What did you get?” Will tries to see my neck.

I reluctantly lift my hair again for two seconds.

“Who is he ?” Maren’s eyebrows form two perfect peaks. She and Will share the same look of excitement, like I’m on the verge of sharing some juicy details.

“Just a guy.”

“You don’t get a tattoo for ‘just a guy.’” Distrust lines Maren’s face. “You must have loved him a lot to ink yourself.”

“I was intoxicated.”

“Who in their right mind would tattoo someone who was intoxicated?” Will’s head jerks backward.

I frown. “I thought the same thing. It’s a miracle I didn’t die.”

“I think it’s romantic.” Maren smirks. “Risking it all to make a permanent statement about someone because you can’t imagine not carrying a reminder of them with you forever.”

Will bites his lips with a slow headshake.

Maren elbows him. “You wouldn’t understand that level of romance.”

“Getting drunk and making stupid decisions? I excel at that level of romance. And he’s clearly not still hers, so can we really say it’s romantic?”

I almost forget they’re talking about me. I’ll miss this banter with my roommates. The laughter. The camaraderie.

“It was stupid but not regrettable. If that makes sense,” I interrupt.

“It makes perfect sense,” Maren agrees.

Will rubs his chin, not as convinced as Maren.

I climb into my Jeep. “I’ll check in. This is not goodbye; it’s a see you later.” I blow them a kiss and shut the door before Maren’s next round of tears and before I let thoughts of Calvin Fitzgerald back into my consciousness.

It takes me three days to get to San Bernardino. Three soul-searching days of breathtaking scenery and summer heat mixed with refreshing dips in pristine lakes and delightful conversations with strangers along the way.

Idaho.

Utah.

Nevada.

California.

This girl who never left Florida is making great strides to rectify that regrettable situation.

As I keep track of fires, closures, and detours, I think of Calvin Fitzgerald jumping out of planes, cutting lines, sawing trees, and trekking through the wilderness with over a hundred pounds of gear in the stifling heat of summer.

A true warrior.

Does he think of me?

Will he miss me?

I know my heart will unavoidably carve time out to miss him every day for the foreseeable future. Maybe I should be angry, but I’m not. The emotions born from any kind of trauma are unique to everyone. And how one person deals with it can be as personal as their DNA. I only have empathy toward him.

However, my heart is big. It can multitask. I can feel calm empathy while feeling hysterically heartbroken. I can want nothing but the best for him while selfishly wishing I were what’s best for him.

A woman’s heart isn’t merely complicated; it’s the reason humanity still exists. We are the nurturers, the peacemakers. We know when silence is more profound than any spoken word. And we know that pain is not love’s enemy; it’s the existential foundation that keeps humanity rooted in this world. It’s the sole motivation to do better, get better, and be better.

“Okay, I didn’t make it to Montana, but I’ve already started pricing flights to California.” Melissa answers my FaceTime without a hello.

I laugh, surveying the new furniture in my dinky studio apartment. It’s bigger than my shed, but not by much. “We’ll have to sleep together in a twin bed.” I flip the camera to show the space.

“Oh, Jamie, look at that wall of windows. You have great light. And I like your bed.”

“I went with a daybed since I don’t have room for a sofa.”

“And a yellow quilt. Nice.”

I grin. “Yes.” I show her my white desk and chair facing the windows.

“Get some floating shelves for over the kitchen counter, and you’ll be fine. Oh! And a shit ton of plants because you have so much light.”

“Plants are a good idea”—I laugh—“since there’s barely enough oxygen in the room for two people.” I sit on the bed.

“That’s because the air quality there is awful.”

“Then why do you want to visit?”

“Because I’m worried you left your heart in Missoula.”

I lean my phone against the desk lamp and continue unpacking. “Do you want to know what’s most heartbreaking about Fitz?” I arrange my shoes below the hanging rod. “I think he doesn’t feel capable of love because he refuses to say the words, but he shows love. He went above and beyond preparing my Jeep for the trip here. And I didn’t ask him to do it. I think he’s a true gentleman who tries to disguise his soft side with smart-ass remarks and a stiff upper lip.”

“That is heartbreaking. Are you going to call or text him? Or do you feel like it’s over, and there’s nothing you can do? Can you salvage the friendship?”

“I would love that. But he’s working all the time. And I’m not comfortable sending him messages. He likes not feeling accountable to anyone.”

“It’s a text, babe. That’s the best part of messages. They’re ready to be read whenever the recipient has the time to read them. Send. The. Damn. Message.”

I grin. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to thank him again for what he did with my Jeep and just let him know I’m here, and I hope he’s safe. I can tell him I don’t expect a reply.”

“Or you can leave that part out. You’re worthy of a reply.”

“I love you, Mel.” Eyeing my mom’s box on the floor, I try to nudge it under the bed with my foot, but it’s too tall, so I slide it into the corner by the stacked washer and dryer.

“Love you too, babe. I’ll give you a few weeks to settle into your place before I book anything. Let me know how your first day goes.”

“Perfect. Bye, Mel. Talk soon.”

“Later, babe.”

I gaze at my phone screen for over five minutes, composing the perfect message.

Me: I made it to San Bernardino. Thx for making sure my Jeep would get me here. I’m lucky to have u as my person. Hope ur kicking ass and staying safe.

I stare at the message for another few minutes. Then, I erase the “staying safe” part. It feels too motherly. It might put pressure on him to reply with the status of his safety.

Besides, Maren or Evette will let me know if anything happens to him.

After I unpack my suitcase and make a list of things I need to purchase, my phone chimes with a text from Fitz. My heart goes wild. It doesn’t think; it just reacts.

Fitz: That’s great. Ur welcome

I’m giddy that he replied so quickly. Hell, I’m delighted that he replied at all. Yet my greedy heart wants more.

I type numerous replies, trying to bait him into giving me more.

Tell Gary hi

If you’re ever in my area, call me

Maybe I’ll send a care package of cookies

I miss feeling you between my legs

Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.

I grab my purse and head out to explore my new neighborhood and make a few purchases, perhaps some plants. “Let him go. He’s not really mine.”