Smoke Season

CHAPTER 17

Sam’s office at the back of the River Eddy felt like a sanctuary after the chaos at the bar. With the press statement over, he retreated there to check in with Claude again, tugging a reluctant Astor along with him. She was loath to miss any of the action in the grill.

“What if they say something about Mom?” she protested, dragging her feet after Sam.

“We’ll be the first to know,” Sam said, setting a plate of grilled-cheese sandwiches Kim had produced on the desk. “Eat some dinner, honey,” he said, adding, “Chief Hernandez will update us.”

She flopped into his desk chair—she usually smiled at the way it swiveled, but not today—and he sank a hip into the edge of the desk with a sigh, relishing the relative quiet of the office. He pushed a triangle of sandwich toward Astor again, who swiveled away with a face.

“I’m not hungry.”

Sam helped himself to his own triangle, biting into it without tasting it.

“Dad? What does Claude say about Annie?” A little mother, Kim called Astor. Had Sam and Mel somehow done that to their older daughter, making her grow up too fast once Annie had been born? Had this been inevitable? “What’s happening at home?”

“Honey, just ...” Just let me stand here, not making decisions, not dealing with crisis, just for a second. “Just let me think.” Sam rubbed roughly at his face with the heel of his palm, trying to clear his head. He could swear he still felt smoke stinging his eyes, now that he’d stopped for half a second. What is happening at the house?

He looked around the messy office for his phone, taking in the invoices piled up on his desk, the orders awaiting their suppliers, and the tower of boxes leaning up against one wall ... Kim’s over-order of water glasses he had to hope their warehouse supplier would take back. The purchase had been an honest mistake, but Sam had still barely managed to curb the harsh admonishment—fueled by too little sleep and too much stress—that had risen within him. What if they were stuck eating the cost?

They’d lost money the last two summers in a row at the Eddy, smoke season socking in their little canyon by the river with oppressive air quality. Retail sales from local businesses across the Outlaw Basin went down 20 percent, according to their small-business association. And now with this new fire? If the blaze continued in its current trajectory, it was only a matter of time before the river corridor was consumed, and rafting tourism along with it. And then what? No out-of-town customers in the River Eddy, buying burgers and beer after a day on the Outlaw. And with evacuations and fire right here in Carbon? No locals, either, after they’d all been forced to shelter at the high school or had fled town altogether to bunk with relatives and friends. What would they lose this year—thirty percent? Forty?

He thought again of the framed photo of him and Mel at the bar celebrating their impulsive purchase just after tying the knot, then glanced across the office toward the open door. He’d been right out there at the bar when they’d snapped that pic, Sam remembered, his newly minted wedding band still feeling foreign on his finger.

He and Mel had both been so impossibly young. So incredibly confident and naive. Was that part of him still somewhere inside him? Or had that fierce optimism been buried under too many unpaid bills as they had sunk deeper and deeper in debt, two stones tied to the same cord of shared parenthood? One thing was certain: the River Eddy fell ever deeper from the black to the red with every month Sam couldn’t seem to break even.

He sighed, reaching out to lay a hand atop Astor’s head. Still curled up in the office chair, she swiveled gently back and forth now, unenthusiastically chewing a bite of grilled cheese. Now that she’d moved the plate of sandwiches, Sam spied his phone on the desk, and he punched in Claude’s number.

“How’s she holding up?” he said without preamble as Astor glanced up, alert. Sam put the call on speaker.

“Oh, all right, I suppose,” Claude tells them. “Had a bit of a coughing fit, but the inhaler worked well enough. I gave her one of her fruit pops.”

Sucking on the cherry-flavored lollipops helped calm Annie’s ragged breathing when nothing else worked. “Good, good.”

Sam took heart, knowing that Claude knew his daughter so well. Their dentist threatened that the habit would lead to problems down the line, but today, much like the Bishops’ finances, Sam and Mel had to triage that shit. Inability to breathe now, or cavities later? No parent would pick the former. Besides, the sad truth was, Annie only had so many comfort mechanisms at her disposal, and so many times she needed comfort.

“Whatever it takes to keep her calm,” Sam told Claude now.

“She’s a trooper,” Claude said.

She had to be.

When she’d been born, Annie had been so small. Five pounds, eight ounces, even though she’d been full term. Common for tet babies, the NICU staff had said. The image of Annie’s newborn self, her skin the dusty gray-blue of smoke, of the churning, angry water in True’s favorite rapids after a hard rain, of the nurse’s faded scrubs run too many times through the washer, had been seared into Sam’s memory forever. Fear always flooded Sam when that image surfaced in his brain.

Yet another manifestation of PTSD, he’d been told.

Eager to change the subject, he filled Claude in on the briefing Hernandez had given, and then asked, “How’s the smoke up there?”

“’Bout the same, although ...” He hesitated.

“What?”

“I don’t know if I like the way the wind’s picking up.”

Was it? Sam turned to the window, but he couldn’t see far enough through the haze to notice if the trees outside were bending one way or the other. He and Astor should head back up with the Goal Zero, help Claude pack up Annie.

“I’ll get an update from the chief,” Sam promised, “and be on the road in ten.”

Mel patrolled the roads with Janet as day turned to dusk, the bloodred sun sinking over the horizon like a fiery crimson coin, flat and thin as pressed copper against the ugly gray of the sky. The measure of a full day away from her kids, knowing her daughter struggled in the haze. The rookies and volunteers had all gone home for the night, White and even Lewis had clocked out hours ago, but it was full black by the time she could do the same, the stars and moon scrubbed out by the smoke. She headed directly for the River Eddy, the closest place to get answers; Hernandez had told her she’d find Sam there. In her haste, she crossed right over the outdoor patio overlooking the river, normally her favorite spot to grab a beer. You want to sit inside and catch the game or watch the fish jump? Sam usually asked patrons.

Pushing open the door to a sea of locals, she caught sight of Astor, en route from the office, immediately.

“Mom!” They collided with an “Oof” that sent Mel staggering a step backward, the crown of Astor’s head hitting Mel’s stomach.

“Hey, honey. Hey, you’re okay.”

Because much to Mel’s surprise—and probably Astor’s—her stalwart older daughter had burst into tears upon contact with her. She squeezed her tight as Astor held on, crying softly, the stiff uniform jacket of Mel’s yellows rough against her face, a brass snap pressed to her cheek. The jacket had to reek of smoke. “You’re good, kiddo. It’s all good.”

And it was , at least for this one instant, when she could cradle her firstborn close.

“You’re here,” she heard, and raised her head to see Sam, who had already crossed from behind the bar. He enfolded her wordlessly in an embrace. Consoling one another was still embedded in their relationship, like muscle memory. Sometimes Mel almost forgot they weren’t together anymore; in each other’s presence they always seemed to pick up right where they’d left off, like Sam had just been on a short deployment, or Mel had simply been in the field. Sometimes, like right now, she wondered what they were even doing apart. But then her thoughts swung to their daughter’s health, and the instant pressure that wrapped around her made Sam’s arms feel more like a vise. She pulled back.

“How’s Annie?” she asked immediately. “Have you talked to Claude?”

“Just a few minutes ago. They’re hunkered down.”

Mel frowned. “Shouldn’t you be there?”

He bristled. “I was just trying to figure out how to cut out when you showed up. I only came down here for the Goal Zero, but all these people ...”

He trailed off as Mel felt that pressure cinch tighter. She didn’t want to argue with Sam, certainly not tonight. But still: “Annie’s more important than anyone here at the Eddy,” she reminded him.

“I know that,” he shot back. “Can you just trust me?” He didn’t add For once , but Mel heard it. She held up both hands in surrender.

“How was the press conference?” she said. “Did Hernandez say anything about road closures?”

Sam frowned. “No, why?”

It didn’t hurt to be honest. “I’m worried about True.”

“Did you raise her on the sat phone?”

Mel nodded. “Last I heard, she hoped to shelter with her clients at Wonderland Lodge.” She bit her lip. “That was before the wind picked up, though.”

“Raise her again,” he said. “Even if the blaze gets stopped short of the Wild and Scenic river corridor, the smoke’ll be hell.”

“It’s hell everywhere,” she told him ruefully. “Which is why I’m worried about Annie.”

Sam’s shoulders straightened, like he was trying to ready himself for round two. “I told you I called Claude and—”

Mel silenced him with an uplifted hand. She had only mentioned her worry as an explanation, not as a criticism. Together or not, they still had to see eye to eye, tethered as partners in parenthood. No one told you about that part of post-separation life. How no one could just walk away, dusting their hands of it all. Sam’s mantra echoed back to her, as it always did during moments like this. We’re a team. It took both of them to take care of Annie, and that was truer now than ever. But Sam was right. Mel’s trouble was with trusting.

“Listen,” Sam said, “I think ...” He trailed off midsentence, his face a scowl. “What’s he still doing here?” he asked, presumably more to himself than to her.

Mel still turned to follow his stare across the Eddy. Though not as chilling as the idea of John Fallows in the flesh, the sight of Chris standing there by the dartboards like he owned the place was still decidedly unsettling. He was, after all, only a small step removed from the one person Mel absolutely, without question, didn’t want to deal with today. Besides, even looking at Chris Fallows made her feel dirty.

A quick sidelong glance at Sam confirmed that he seemed as wary as she felt. Her irritation with him burned off like alcohol under fire.

“He’s definitely on my last nerve today,” he told her.

“He was in earlier, too?”

At Sam’s curt nod, Mel fought back a new wash of trepidation. Was Chris here on behalf of his father? Was Fallows worried True wouldn’t stay the course on the river? Or, and this possibility appealed even less, had he decided the situation was dire enough to warrant his presence at Temple Bar himself? Every scenario made the nerves dance a staccato beat along Mel’s spine. Fallows had warned her and True from the start: he didn’t want to hear excuses. Problems weren’t a part of their agreement. The Fallowses flat-out didn’t tolerate them. Just look at young Zack, serving time. Take the trimmers roughed up or robbed or both by the competition. Consider Mark Bishop himself to be a cautionary tale; not even the best friend of Fallows was safe from persecution.

Mel forced herself to ignore Chris, which normally would have been highly satisfying. Hell, any other night she’d have done it for sport. Now it took everything in her to shrug carelessly at Sam. Code for Let it go.

She redirected her attention to Astor, who wanted to know if she was going to take a shower now that she was off duty for a few hours.

“You’re smelly.” She laughed.

Mel pinched her arm lightly. “What, you don’t like eau de woodsmoke? It’s this season’s hit fragrance.”

Astor rolled her eyes with dramatic flair worthy of the teenager she would one day become. “You tell dad jokes worse than, you know, an actual dad.”

Mel tried not to read too much into Astor’s observation. The truth was, she and Sam had traded roles to some extent since the separation and Mel’s promotion to battalion chief. Would she lose her feminist card for letting her new role as chief breadwinner instead of chief nurturer feel like a demotion of some sort? She had to admit: Sam had come a long way from the moment she’d shown him the plus sign on their first pregnancy test.

“What if I’m as bad at it as my own dad?” he’d managed to voice. “What do I know about being a father?”

Mel had tucked herself under the crook of his arm, so that her body fit snugly against his side. She’d hoped the heat of her would be a comfort, a reminder of how well they fit together. “You know plenty about being my husband,” she’d reminded him. “Fatherhood will feel just as natural.”

She had been right, she thought now, watching Sam coax Astor into finishing her grilled-cheese sandwich. And they’d been happy, absorbing the implications of that pregnancy test together. Sam had taken on the challenge of fatherhood with the same fierce determination with which he took on everything else. Top grades in high school, just to prove he couldn’t be lumped in with the likes of Chris. The best scores on the Army physical the recruiter had ever seen. He’d felt a bit panicky, he’d told Mel, signing his life away, hurtling himself toward two tours in Afghanistan, but who the hell other than Uncle Sam was lining up to support him?

Sam had returned home to Carbon a decorated veteran. “And after all that, you’re going to let an embryo the size of a pea unnerve you?” Mel had joked on that inaugural day of fatherhood. She smiled now at the memory, only to sober again quickly. One thing she knew with near certainty: they would still be together, she and Sam, had Annie’s health not brought them to their knees. What was harder to determine: whether this fact was a crack of light in the darkness, or simply proof of a breach too severe to weather.

“Mom,” Astor whispered now, “is the fire out yet?”

Her heart did that thing it did these days, whenever her children needed her and she could not deliver. She’d be at the station and not able to lend a hand with Astor’s homework. Or in her sparse apartment without the DVD the girls had requested for that night. Or far worse: right next to Annie and still powerless to help her breathe. She swallowed, trying to dislodge the horrible lump that swelled in her chest.

“Not yet, kiddo.”

Her mind skidded to Chris Fallows waiting for her, just steps away in the grill. Because that had to be why he was here. She thought of the houses that had already burned below Flatiron, right down to the framework, still steaming where streams of water hit glowing embers. She thought of the stacks of medical bills that hadn’t burned, in Sam’s home office on Highline. And she swallowed again.

“But we’re on it, Carbon Rural and all the other teams,” she told Astor, purposely ignoring the quick stab of worry she felt for Annie as she said so. Claude had things under control, and Sam would be back with her soon. He’d as good as promised, hadn’t he? “It’s only a matter of time before we have a handle on this thing.”

She let herself absorb these words, willing herself to believe them.