Page 20 of Smoke Season

“I can try to contact her,” she assured her, “but I don’t think it’s necessary.” True didn’t need to make another sat call to know the Flatiron Fire continued to grow, complicating their already complicated plans to get to Temple Bar on time.

In the meantime, she tuned her radio dial to their emergency-dispatch call signal and listened in for a moment. No evacs yet, from the sound of it, beyond the few ranches that sat at the base of Flatiron, so that was good. But she still knew nothing about the other side of the slope, where herproperty sat. And what about Highline Road? What about the Bishops’ place? True swallowed down a new rise of fear. What she wouldn’t give for a little reassurance, Mel’s familiar voice back on the line telling her everyone was fine. What she wouldn’t give for a quick glimpse of her place today, tucked into the cedars hugging the southern bank of the Outlaw, under Flatiron’s shadow.

Shit,True thought. She should have bulldozed that meadow into a firebreak when she’d had the chance.

CHAPTER 10

Frozennow airing in the living room, Sam paced the apartment, cell phone in hand, wishing he could rub it like Aladdin’s lamp and produce an update from Mel. Annie hadn’t stopped coughing, so he’d given her a Benadryl to reduce strain on her lungs, but the smoke would only get worse. Resigned to taking Kim’s advice, he called Claude, who confirmed that the air was indeed clearer up on Highline Road.

“Don’t overthink it,” Claude said. “Just come with the girls. I already gathered Ingrid’s quilts, some of my papers on the house, my taxes. I’m go-ready, so I can help you when you get here.”

Sam thought of Claude’s late wife with a pang, swallowing a second lump that effortlessly arose in his throat. The kindest woman ever, Ingrid Schmidt. Her prizewinning quilts were a must to salvage; in fact, she’d made one for Astor before she passed ... Sam made a mental note not to leave it behind, either. Right this minute, it sat folded on the edge of the couch.

“My River Eddy lease, property-insurance documents, the kids’ birth certificates, that sort of thing are already in the Eddy safe, so I just need to get Annie ready,” he told Claude. He hadn’t been back to the Highline house for more than general upkeep or a quick hello to Claude since Mel had told him she was through. It had felt empty without her in it, even when he had his girls. But any emotional baggage he might harbor about returning now would just have to remain behind, here in Carbon.

He dialed the familiar number for Annie’s pediatric cardiologist in Portland next, the receptionist patching him through to the lead RN right away when he explained the situation. Half an hour later, with the endorsement of Annie’s medical team fueling him, he’d assembled everything the cardiologist insisted upon taking in addition to the kids’ go bags: Annie’s emergency oxygen cannula, her child-sized N95 mask, the ice packs necessary to keep her refrigerated meds cold. As he closed the fridge, Astor’s school artwork caught his eye on the door, and there was Annie’s clay handprint on display by the windowsill, by the Paddle, Inc., oar, a gift from True, whose home-decorating style admittedly left something to be desired.

He spun away from all of it, turning to unplug the medical-grade air purifier and set it next to the heart monitor and pulse oximeter by the door. None of this sentimental stuff could make the cut. Fitting the N95 over Annie’s small face amid weak but futile protest—she wanted the one she’d stuck Hello Kitty stickers on—he rallied Astor, and the three of them made a break for the truck.

“This is cray-zee,” Astor noted, waving her hand in front of her face when thick smoke met her at the River Eddy entrance. A brave front, or was she really feeling this cool under pressure? Sam never knew. She buckled herself into the truck before leaning across Annie’s booster seat to buckle her, too, and he felt a swell of pride rise up, followed by a chase of regret. Astor was such a good kid, but she shouldn’t have had to grow up as fast as she had.

“Eight going on thirty-eight,” True liked to kid, but truth was, it was no joke, being the older sibling to a medically fragile child.

He turned on the windshield wipers to clear off enough ash to see properly, reminding himself he’d done the same half a dozen times during every smoke season; the river valley acted like a basin, collecting smoke, ash, and soot. It was no indication of the level of danger—or not—the mother of his children faced higher on Flatiron Peak.

They eased their way through town, which was oddly quiet for this hour, any folks not at work probably holed up around their TVsor radios for the time being, or else checking Twitter or Facebook for updates on the conditions outdoors. A few kids could be spotted in front yards—the smoke wasn’t unbearable for those without compromised health—but bikes remained in yards and driveway basketball hoops looked abandoned. Even Astor turned pensive as she watched the road and the intermittent swipe of the wipers.

They turned up Highline Road as Annie continued to struggle with the N95, which, even at size XS, didn’t cup her cheeks properly. “It’s too hot in here, Daddy,” she complained, tugging at the mask.

“I know, but you have to wear it, baby girl.”

“But Astor doesn’t have to!”

Sam ground his teeth as he felt her kick the back of his seat. He wasn’t sure which was worse: dealing with a rare Annie-outburst while he was trying to keep his concentration on the road or witnessing her usual surrender to the inevitable.

“Astor will put one on when we get home,” he heard himself say before flinching on the last word and instantly revising. “When we get to Highline, I mean.”

As if he could sneak such a faux pas past Astor. “We haven’t been home in a long while,” she said solemnly.

Sam felt himself stiffen. Did she miss it? And if so, did that buoy Sam or dismay him? No one told him before he’d become a parent how fraught it would be with uncertainty. “You know it’s easier to get you to school and meet up with your mom if we stay above the Eddy,” he reminded her. He heard the false bravado in the uplift of his words and winced again.

Astor slid him a look. “I just meant ... are you going to be okay with it?”

Sam exhaled.Eight going on thirty-eight,he reminded himself. Hell, no, he wasn’t going to be okay with it, but the other thing about parenting? You found yourself doing a lot of things you didn’t want to do. “Don’t you worry about me. We’re going to invite Claude over and have ourselves a little Bishop-Schmidt house party.”

By the time they hit Highline Road mile marker six, however, where the dirt drive led to the Bishop property, Annie had succumbed to her mask in defeat, listless in her booster seat now that the allergy meds had kicked in. Sam had almost missed the turn, his gaze flicking to the rearview mirror after she’d given up on pummeling his seat to check on her. It was a constant dance: make sure Annie was calm, make sure she wasn’ttoocalm. Ensure she wore a mask, ensure it wasn’t depriving her of precious O2.

Astor, too, looked dour as she studied the gray gloom out her window.So much for partying.They parked the truck in front of the half-remodeled garage, and Sam hurried them into the house, shutting the front door—which he’d mercifully had the foresight to professionally replace and reseal last year—behind them. Annie clung to him, her arms around his neck and her legs clamped around his hip, but Astor moved into the open living space with cautious steps. She took one look toward the family room with its stone fireplace and cupboard for board games and puzzles—now relocated to the Eddy—and pivoted.

“I’m gonna check on my room.”

Sam watched her go. Astor knew perfectly well that her personal effects had all been relocated to Mel’s place in town and the Eddy, but maybe that was precisely the draw. With a sigh, he set Annie down in the old overstuffed armchair by the fireplace, then stood staring at the room himself for a long moment.

Folks in Carbon never understood why Sam had been so determined to keep the childhood home that had done him no favors, but renovating the space had felt like a way to rewrite Bishop history with his own young family. He’d knocked a wall out about ten years ago to achieve an open-concept look, and when Astor was tiny, he’d also redone the wood-plank floors. Time and money had disappeared after Annie was born, so the kitchen tile was not quite finished, and he’d yet to put the cabinet doors back on after painting. But he’d learned that it didn’t take a lot of money to make a house look homey. Before Mel had left and he’d retreated to the Eddy, Sam had made sure to alwayshave pillar candles on the end table, framed photos on the mantel, and photos on the walls.

He admired them one by one, taking heart in each one until his gaze snagged on Mel’s fire-science degree certificate that still sat, framed, on the mantel of the fireplace. Suddenly his chest felt tight, and he knew Astor had been right to worry about him: being back “home” at Highline was every bit as fraught as he’d feared.

He counted backward from ten, finding a focus point directly across from him like he’d been taught—in this case, the bird feeder he could barely make out hanging from the eave outside the picture window. A lot of good it did; more and more often, domestic scenes like this one stirred up that damned PTSD worse than images of combat. Had he made a horrible mistake by coming back up here?

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