Page 34 of Steamy Dreamy Hearts

The waitress returned, interrupting the moment before I could ask Marge any questions. “Onion rings, ASAP.”

“Put them in the middle. Sean loves onion rings, and I ordered them for him mostly. But he better hurry.” She picked one up. “I love them, too.”

“Same.” I stole one off the plate and popped it into my mouth.

“You and Sean should take a swim after lunch.”

“I don’t have a suit.”

“I can ask my neighbor Morris. He swims a lot and will have extra suits. But they also would allow you to swim in shorts.”

“The water did look nice.” I fingered my sticky T-shirt. “And it does sound refreshing after battling fire for days.”

“Some places don’t allow pools, you know.”

“Why not? It seems like such good exercise, and it’s hot enough here.”

“Accidents.” She glanced around and then whispered, “Adult diapers.”

“Oh.”

“Caleb, your face,” she laughed. “I guess you won’t be swimming after all.”

We crunched a few more onion rings, making small talk about the wildfire, her friends and bustling social life. Marge was a delight.

“Can I ask about the scars?” Marge reached out for my hand. “My husband had some on his lower stomach after one bad fire.”

“Really? Sean never said…”

“My Robert would never show them to Sean. Too proud. And he died when Sean was so young, a teenager…but I saw the scars and changed the bandages. Forgive me if you don’t want to discuss it, though. We can change the subject, sweetheart.”

“No, um…it’s just rare for somebody to ask me. Most folks avoid looking right at my scars or reassure me it doesn’t matter to them, but it’s a part of me. So, it matters.” Just remembering made my stomach clench. “It was with my old engine, not Sean’s. And the culture there was more cutthroat and less about collaboration. I always wanted to prove myself. It was a flashover.”

“That means everything combustible ignited fast, right?”

I bit my lower lip and nodded.

“If this is too painful, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have?—”

“No, it’s all okay.” I paused. “I spent way too long never talking about it or blaming myself for rushing into the fire so fast. It’s maybe healthy to talk a little. So, all the therapists told me.”

“Did you do a lot of therapy? That’s good. Robert refused to go, not for work, not for our bumpy patches in the marriage. Men of his generation were difficult creatures. And then, of course, he died on the job and never got to soften.” She dug her phone out of her purse. “This is Robert and us.”

I took in the photo of Marge, Robert, and a toddler Sean. They were in front of some red rocks, baby Sean on his shoulders.

“Sean looks like him. And not just the bald head.”

“All the Smack men lose their hair by thirty. But my Robert was still a looker. He was brave, difficult, kind, and a bit of a weirdo. I’ll miss him forever.”

I smiled. “Do you date?”

“On occasion. I have some fun these days.” She put the phone aside. “I wish he’d lived long enough to see Sean grown and to see our precious Erin. Maybe come around to the therapy idea. Robert was more stubborn than anything else. Sean got that and the hairline. But Sean loves more openly and fiercely,” she added. “He got that from me.”

Not knowing quite how to reply to that information, I focused on the rest of what Marge had said. “Therapy was good for me. But sometimes just taking breaks from it and not thinking about the accident. Just feeling normal. Then there are times I have to recognize that I need a fix.” I tapped the side of my head. “A mental tune-up.”

“Don’t we all.” She pushed the basket of onion rings near me. “Please have some more. I’m eating them all.”

I took one and chomped it down. “So good and greasy.”

---