Page 16 of Burning for Alexander
Tommy nodded in understanding. “Would’ve been easy to fall for someone who could make your life more comfortable. Plus, the kid was probably desperate for someone to care about him.”
Sadie showed up to pass us plates filled with food, and when she disappeared again, Tommy asked, “So he’s here in Legacy, hiding from the judge who doesn’t like the word ‘no’?”
I nodded. “Uncle Dante called and told me the situation. I offered to help. And since the judge in question has access to lawenforcement resources, that means keeping Tavo’s name out of anything official.”
Ella added, “Including fire investigation reports.”
Tommy glanced at me and lowered his voice even more. “He here legally?”
I shrugged. “He’s a DACA recipient, which means it might not take much to get him sent to Mexico. And if his social security or immigration records ping here in Montana, the judge could find him. So, I can’t hire him at Timber. But he’s helping out for free in exchange for room and board.”
Lennon looked up from the food piled on his plate. “Soon as Tavo upsets the judge, the judge can do any number of things to ruin his life.”
Tommy sucked in a breath and nodded. “So we keep Tavo safe. And we don’t tell anyone he’s here.”
I scooped a bite of scrambled eggs onto my fork with a toast triangle. “Thankfully, the judge calls himOctavio. So if we all stick to his nickname, it’ll help.”
Everyone dug into their food as I picked around mine carefully, wondering if my stomach was upset from the hangover or because I was worried Kincaid would learn that Tavo had been involved in the fire at Timber.
I still felt bad about lying. Not because I hated taking the fall for something that wasn’t my fault, but because I didn’t like lying, full stop.
And for some reason, I especially didn’t like lying to Judd Kincaid.
As much as I disliked the man and thought he was overly strict about fire safety and his vaunted “protocol,” I also respected someone who took his job seriously and followed the rules.
I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t the same, because I was.
I’d worked my ass off at my fathers’ vineyard growing up. I’dlearned the family business and taken in as much information about viticulture as possible, since it had been understood that Alexander Vineyards would be under my management one day.
Ella had always been the adventurous sibling, the kind of person who didn’t intend to stay near home. Mattie, on the other hand, was content to stay in the Bay Area now that she had a job in the wardrobe department of the San Francisco ballet. That had left me to carry on the Alexander tradition—the winery in Napa that had been in our family for generations.
But I hadn’t been sure I wanted it.
And it wasn’t until finding an anonymous confessor online that I’d finally admitted it “out loud.”
IndexEchohad encouraged me to follow my own dreams.
Your family loves you. They’d want you to live your best life, no matter what that looks like.
As I left my family at the Pinecone and walked back to Timber to start my workday, I lost myself to memories of the man. The way I’d met him on a random message board five years ago while asking for help with a certification course on Incident Command Systems I had to take on behalf of the vineyard.
DrunkenPoet:I’m taking ICS-100 and I’m confused about how span of control applies to a small business staff.
IndexEcho:Here’s how we handled it on airfields with limited crews…
That one question had led toIndexEchobasically hand-holding me through the certification process. He’d been so funny, so calm, so patient, that even when the certification was over, I’d found any and every excuse to keep talking to him. Had a question about wildfire breaks in agricultural settings? I’d askIndexEcho. Came across an article on aviation innovation? I’d send it toIndexEcho.
Over the months, we’d become close enough that I began to confide in him. Things I hadn’t told anyone else.
DrunkenPoet:Do you ever worry about letting your parents down?
It had taken a few minutes for him to respond.
IndexEcho:Not really. My parents passed away years ago.
I’d stared at the screen, stomach tumbling with regret and guilt at being so thoughtless.
DrunkenPoet:Index, I’m so fucking sorry.
