Page 14 of Smoke Season

But at least they’d faced it together. At least Sam had had Mel’s hand to grip at each meeting across the desk from Dr. Newman, and Mel had had Sam’s shoulder for support on each slow but steady walk around the maternity wing.

True always told Sam to take a deep, long breath when he relived this stuff, reminding him that PTSD came in many forms.

“Guess I’m lucky to have hit the trifecta,” he’d retorted once. Childhood trauma, military combat, and his daughter’s birth, all contenders. True had told him she’d rather decline her invite to the pity party, but she’d laid a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder, just the same.

He refocused his mind, returning to evacuation protocol: Gas in the SUV? Check. Water in the portable can? Check. But where would they go? The most obvious answer flitted immediately into his mind, but he batted it back. Even though the smoke would be thinner at high elevation, the last thing he wanted to do was take Astor and Annie back up to Highline, to be reminded all over again of the end of their parents’ marriage.

Never mind Sam’s own reaction; he didn’t need Astor acting out today, and couldn’t stand the sight of the confusion on Annie’s face. After almost a year at the rooms above the Eddy, his youngest daughter barely remembered Highline, which stung more than any barbed quip Astor could throw at him.

He knew what people around Carbon said, because they usually said it directly to his face:Give yourself a break. Go easy ... Few marriages could withstand the challenges you two faced.But he could never seem to stop taking inventory of all the ways in which he’d failed Mel. Not able to shake the baggage of his childhood. Not providing enough for Annie. Not even knowing when Mel would call it quits. That shit day would be etched in his memory forever, when their creative math had stopped adding up and she’d thrown in the towel.

Now, navigating between the bedroom and kitchen of the little apartment over the Eddy to gather gear, all he could manage was a shallow inhale, which only made him feel worse. If it was this hard for him to draw breath, what must Annie be feeling? Every once in a while, she sat up in bed, hacking anew.

“She’s a tough cookie,” Kim said, attention split between looking after her and trying to locate the TV remote, having given up on finding valid info on the fire online. Apparently, social media searches were yielding very little so far in terms of useful information. Sam eyed Annie’s struggle, counting all the ways in which she could relapse during this fire, their hard work at ensuring she was in as good of health as possible before surgery out the window.

“Asthma is common among children with congenital heart diseases,” Dr. Newman always reminded them. As was the ultimate fear: complete heart failure.

Those three words always hit Sam like one of Chris Fallows’s childhood punches to the gut he hadn’t braced for. The doctors and hospital staff tried to counter the terror of them with words likeAffordable Care Actandcovered costs, but Sam spit backpremiumsandout of pocketandprescriptions.

When he next walked into the living room, Kim perched on the edge of the couch, coffee cup in hand, eyes on the screen. She’d found the remote but still struggled to navigate the unfamiliar menu. Sam took over, making just about as many missteps toggling from Disney+ to the local news. It had been getting darker by the minute in the apartment, and the TV screen cast an eerie glow, like it was dusk, not well after daybreak. How did this bode for Mel, out on the line? True, on the Outlaw? Sam just didn’t know.

“Dad! Here. I’ll do it!” Astor hijacked control of the remote, and Sam let her, one hand on his coffee cup to keep the hot liquid from splashing onto her pajama bottoms.

“There it is. Stop there, Astor.”

She’d found their local news channel, where a ticker at the bottom of the screen listed Carbon’s AQI zone—or level of air pollution—at red, a.k.a. “very unhealthy.”No shit.Hopefully it was at least marginally better inside the apartment.

Annie gave up on trying to rest and decided she wanted Froot Loops, too, and while Astor climbed back onto the kitchen counter for a second bowl, Sam shifted Annie’s weight on his knee, wrapping her Tinker Bell blanket more tightly around her shoulders before focusing back on the TV. In her polo shirt and overdone hairdo, the local newscaster for Channel 10, Madison something or other, looked out of place standing in the center of a dirt Forest Service road outside of town. “Thank you, Barry,” she told her colleague at the desk, then glanced up from the notes clutched in her hand. “Caused by alightning strike at 5:16 p.m. last night, July 10, the Flatiron Fire has burned 3,245 acres per last report, and is zero percent contained.” Her eyes flicked down to the paper again. “Fire crews on-site are under BLM mandate to stand by—”

“Stand by? While the mountain burns? What is this shit?” Kim complained.

Sam shot her a look, but Annie wasn’t listening, having snuggled deeper into her blanket, ear against Sam’s chest. The sound of her cough still reverberated, shaking the blanket against Sam intermittently. Having prepared her sister’s cereal, Astor now stood by absorbing the news and studying the adults stoically, but that was Astor. Sometimes it seemed to Sam that nothing fazed her.

“... currently engaging in containment only,” Madison continued, “as the blaze continues to burn on the west and southwest sides of Flatiron Peak. We’re joined now by remote call with Carbon Rural District 1 Battalion Chief Melissa Bishop.”

“They said Mom!” Astor contributed.

Sam nodded, feeling his first tentative smile all morning at the sound of her name. The camera angle went to split screen, a little phone icon springing to life on the right-hand side. He straightened at attention on the couch, the remote forgotten in his hand as, on the screen, Madison ran her hands awkwardly through her hair as she waited uncomfortably for the voice patch to go through. Then Mel’s voice crackled across Sam’s living room, the little phone graphic vibrating, and he found himself exhaling fully for the first time in over twelve hours. Annie looked up from her blanket, and Astor leaned in.

“Thanks, Madison,” Mel said, from somewhere on the mountain. “Carbon Rural has been monitoring the fire since 6:00 p.m. last night, and as of this morning, we’ve been joined by the Bureau of Land Management, as well as county and Outlaw teams.” Mel’s voice, though clearly roughened by smoke, carried its usual smooth confidence that somehow reassured, even in an emergency.Especially in an emergency,Sam amended. She and True were strikingly similar in that way, evertougher when the going got tough. “At this time,” Mel assured them, “with an increasing wind factor and a predicted fire trajectory to the west-southwest, precautionary measures are being taken. The community of Carbon is advised to stay on alert for future instructions or evacuation orders.”

“Stay on alert untilwhen?” Kim questioned aloud.

“Until we know more,” Sam shot back. He thought he’d done a decent job of keeping the fear and stress at bay until now, but hearing Mel’s voice unraveled something inside of him he hadn’t even realized was coiled so tightly. Because he hadn’t had direct word from her in far too long. Which meant that for all her on-air confidence, it was bad enough out there that she didn’t have time to run down the hill for a quick check-in.

Astor’s solemn eyes moved from her father to Kim and back again. “I hate the weird smell in here. It’s like burnt toast.”

Kim glanced at Sam, worry in the fine lines around her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s hard to think,” he said to both of them, partially by way of apology, “with this stupid smoke going to our heads.”

“Is Mom out there now?” Astor asked, eyes still on the little phone icon gracing the screen.

“Fighting the fire, sweetie, yes.”

Mel had sounded tired, Sam thought, though she hid it well for the sound bite. He watched through the end of the news segment, hoping for a glimpse of her, but KBLS Channel 10 never got close enough for a face-to-face interview. There was a long aerial shot of the blaze, but Sam knew they had a better view right here, if they were to venture back onto the deck of the Eddy. If he were to brave the outdoors now, would he see the flames lick upward to disappear into the thick smoke above Flatiron?

Sam breathed deep, just to check: yes, Astor was right. The smoky smell still permeated, even inside, so he double-checked the locks on each window, making sure he had every one sealed. He pulled a Buff over his face and stepped out onto the landing, closing the apartmentdoor resolutely behind him before Astor or Annie could follow. He trotted down the stairs and out the side door by the grill kitchen to the deck, and ... shit! He could practically taste the smoke out here, the air thick on his tongue, making him cough again with just one breath. A layer of ash collected on the railing, reminding him of the snow that accumulated in winter; the girls liked to bring a plastic ruler from their school-supply desk out here, to make measurements. Today, Sam estimated that if he went inside to retrieve their Hello Kitty ruler, it would mark the ash as half an inch thick, at least.

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