HF01 - Almost Forever Read online

  “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it . . . I really do. But I can’t be that far out of town.” She forced her voice to sound upbeat. “I start back to work soon—at the library. And I’ve got leads on a couple of jobs. Full-time, I mean.”

  “Do you need some money?” He fished in his back pocket.

  She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “I’m fine. I promise I’ll let you know if I’m starving.”

  He narrowed his eyes and gave her a look that said he thought she was already there.

  “I’m fine,” she said again. She was the one who should be taking care of him. Dad was two years from retirement and already worried about how he would make it on a fixed income. His health had deteriorated drastically since Mom’s death three Christmases ago. It would be a miracle if he made it another two years at Eberfield & Sons, where he worked as a production manager.

  She hadn’t been lying about the jobs. She’d seen a couple of things in the paper, and she did have to find something with full-time hours and benefits. Or she’d be living in a homeless shelter, not volunteering in one.

  Dad was right. She couldn’t stay locked up here forever. There were things she had to take care of, like figure out how she would make a living. Adam’s pension benefits didn’t amount to much since he’d only been with the station two-and-a-half years. He’d had a separate life insurance policy worth twenty-five thousand dollars, but she hadn’t gotten the check yet, and that would barely keep her going a year—if she cut way back.

  But she couldn’t let herself think about all that now. “Come sit down, Dad. I’ll make you something to eat.”

  He waved her off. “No, no. If you won’t go out to eat with me, I’ll just go home and eat leftovers by myself.” He pouted a little, but Bryn caught the good-natured twinkle in his eyes. “Besides, there’s a game I want to see on TV tonight.”

  Behind him, the doorbell rang. Dad looked at her with a question in his eyes, but she shrugged. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

  She opened the door a crack. Jenna stood on the stoop, her head bowed. “Jenna? Is everything okay? Come in.” She backed up so her friend could enter. “Dad, this is Jenna Morgan. Zach’s wife.”

  Her father’s eyes lit with recognition at Zach’s name. “Of course, of course. Nice to meet you, Jenny.”

  Bryn didn’t correct him.

  He dipped his head. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He touched Jenna’s arm lightly, reaching for Bryn with his other hand. “You girls have had more to bear than any young wife ever should.” His voice broke, and Jenna teared up.

  But then Dad brightened. “Well, I’ll leave you two to talk. I was just leaving.” He winked at Bryn.

  She walked him to the door. “Thanks for coming by, Daddy. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I know you will. You give your old man a call now and then, okay?”

  “I will.” She closed the door behind her, and when her eyes had adjusted to the dim room again, she met Jenna’s gaze.

  “So how’s it going?”

  Jenna slumped into the overstuffed chair by the window. She gave a little moan, tears clogging her voice. Even with her makeup smudged and her hair disheveled, she looked beautiful. Bryn had always envied Jenna’s fair complexion and blond hair. It didn’t help that Adam had always referred to her as “drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “I’m going crazy, Bryn. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep . . .” She bit her lower lip. “I think . . . I think I’m going to lose the house.”

  “Oh, Jen. I’m so sorry. But . . . are you sure? Can’t you refinance or . . .”

  “Zach’s parents want me to move in with them.”

  Bryn nodded. “I just had the same conversation with my dad. Are you considering it?”

  “I’m not sure I have a choice.”

  Jenna’s relationship with Zach’s mother was tenuous at best. Zach’s father had some upper-six-figure banking job in Springfield, but according to Jen, the Morgans chose to live in the Falls so Zach’s mother could preside as queen bee over Hanover Falls’ social circles. And so she could keep an eye on “Zachy.”

  Bryn shuddered, remembering some of Jenna’s horror stories about her mother-in-law. She could be thankful she hadn’t had to deal with Adam’s family grieving. “Surely you can work something out.”

  Jenna broke down. “We’re dying financially, Bryn. Our credit cards were already maxed out, and I’m not even sure how we—how I am going to make the next mortgage payment.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know . . .”

  Jenna hung her head. “The money seems minor compared to everything else. I just can’t make this whole thing seem real, you know?”

  Bryn nodded and touched her hand. “My dad always says God won’t ever give us more than we can bear.” The words turned to ash in her mouth, but she plastered on a brave face and made the same speeches her dad had given her when Mom died. “We just have to trust God even when we can’t understand why things happen the way they do. God loves us and is with us, even—maybe especially—in the hardest times.”

  Somehow she’d believed it when Dad said it to her. Now, parroting the words to Jenna, she wasn’t sure at all. And since the night of the fire, she wasn’t on speaking terms with God that she could ask Him.

  A shadow crossed Jenna’s face. “I don’t know how you can say that, Bryn. After everything that happened. You say God’s with us, but where was He when Zach and Adam were trapped in that building? If He’s so all-powerful, why didn’t He stop that fire from starting in the first place? Why did He let that homeless guy get away? You can’t have it both ways. Can you?”

  “I . . . I don’t know, Jen.” She didn’t have an answer for her friend. And Jenna’s words brought a new thought. Jenna apparently believed the theory the fire inspectors were working with—that Zeke Downing had started the fire.

  How long before they would find Zeke—or at least somehow prove that he did it? Her heart revved, and she worked to keep her breathing steady. She had somehow mustered up a fragile certainty that allowed her to live with herself: it must have been Zeke. Everyone seemed so sure that he was responsible. She simply could not have left that candle burning. Surely she had blown it out before she left the office. She must have. But the solid, visual memory she desperately needed—the memory that would absolve her of guilt—eluded her.

  She took comfort in the preliminary reports that cited dozens of old hospital mattresses stored on the second floor as the reason for the intensity of the fire and subsequent explosion. But the initial cause of the fire remained “as yet undetermined due to the extensive damage to the building,” according to the fire inspector the media quoted most recently.

  She’d lived in equal anticipation and dread of the day the fire inspectors would turn in their final report.

  “Bryn? Hey, are you okay?” Jenna’s voice pierced through the fog of dread.

  Bryn shook her head, trying to focus her thoughts. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  Jenna shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m tired of thinking about it.”

  The phone rang, and Bryn shot her an apologetic frown. But Jenna waved her off. “It’s okay. I need to be going anyway.” She rose and started for the door. “I’ll stop by later this week.”

  The phone trilled again, and Jenna waved and slipped out the door, closing it silently behind her.

  Bryn went into the kitchen and checked the display. No name showed up, but she recognized Susan Marlowe’s number and picked up the cordless handset. “Hello?”

  “Bryn, it’s Susan. How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. How are you?”

  Susan’s sigh filled the line. “One day at a time.”

  “Yeah . . . same here.”

  “Listen . . .” Susan’s voice brightened, and Bryn recognized the same tone she affected herself whenever Dad called. Don’t let anyone know how it really is. Because if they knew, they couldn’t take it. Odd that she and Susan played the game even with each ot
her.

  “I have a huge favor to ask of you,” Susan said.

  Bryn hesitated, her defenses on alert. “What’s that?”

  “The Humane Society picked up Sparky yesterday—you remember Charlie’s dog?”

  “Of course.”

  “He was hanging around the shelter . . . the site, I mean . . . and the pound picked him up. I talked to Charlie last night and he’s really hurting. They won’t let him keep a dog at the Springfield shelter, and he’s afraid the pound will adopt him out—or worse—before he can get back to the Falls.”

  Bryn brushed her hair off her forehead. What did this have to do with her?

  “I’d take him in myself, but I’m allergic like crazy,” Susan said. “Would you . . . consider keeping him? Just until we get the shelter up and running?” she added quickly.

  “Susan—”

  “I’ve promised Charlie his job back the minute we have a place. And I’ve got a couple of strong prospects.” Susan’s voice lifted on a hopeful note. “It might only be for a few weeks. A couple of months at the outside . . .”

  “Susan, we’re not supposed to . . .” She’d started to say that the townhome association didn’t allow dogs in the complex, but that wasn’t true. In fact, she and Adam had talked about getting a dog. A pet to keep Bryn company while Adam worked long shifts. There was a fee for keeping a pet, but it wasn’t much. She owed Charlie at least that much, didn’t she? “I guess I could take him. For a little while.”

  “Oh, thank you. You just don’t know how much that will mean to Charlie.”

  “Do I need to go pick him up?”

  “Would you mind? I’d do it, but then I’d be out of commission for two days sneezing and puffed up like a balloon.”

  “I’ll do it. Does it cost something to get a dog out of hock?”

  “I don’t think so. Charlie promised his shots are up-to-date, and I know he’s been neutered. Sparky . . . not Charlie,” she added quickly, giggling.

  Bryn envied her ability to laugh. “I’ll go get him this afternoon. What time do they close?”

  “Probably five, but I can check and get back to—”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got to take a shower, but I can get there by one in case they close early.”

  “You’re a lifesaver. I’ll let Charlie know. He’ll love you forever.”

  “Yeah, right.” Bryn clamped her mouth shut, afraid her tone would make Susan ask questions.

  But she just laughed. “Thanks, Bryn. I really do appreciate it. Listen, I want to have you and Jenna and Emily Vermontez over soon. Do you think it would be too awkward if I invited Garrett Edmonds, too?”

  “No,” she said, not knowing what else to say. Was Susan planning some big group grief therapy session or something? The whole thing would be awkward.

  “I don’t know if everyone will be on board, but I’d like to put something together to honor our guys when we open the shelter again. You know . . . a memorial or something.”

  Susan was obviously dealing with her grief by throwing herself into this new project. Bryn admired that deeply about her. Envied her. But she wasn’t sure she could pretend. “Have you heard from anybody else . . . besides Charlie?”

  “Community Christian took Linda and the kids in. They’re providing temporary housing in one of their member’s rental homes, and providing meals and clothes for the kids until Linda can get back on her feet.”

  “Oh. That’s good.” Hanover Falls CC was the church she and Adam attended—well, on the rare occasions when they got up early enough to go to church.

  “Tony X and Bobby and most of the other guys are in Springfield,” Susan continued. “But the shelters there are overflowing. There’s no promise they can stay more than a few days, and, of course, they’re starting all over in their job searches. That’s why I want to get back up and running as soon as we can. Since we’re not a residence shelter, I’m hoping some of the churches will step up to the plate. But I’m not having much luck so far.”

  “I can imagine. They’re probably not crazy about the idea of these guys sleeping in their Sunday school rooms.”

  “I don’t think it’s that as much as them being super sensitive about code violations and liability after what hap—” Susan’s voice cut out, but a second later she came back on. “Sorry, Bryn, but I’ve got another call coming in. It’s Davy. He’s . . . really struggling. I probably better take this.”

  Susan and Dave’s elder son was spending his first year of college out of state, and Susan had confided that Davy threatened to quit school after his dad’s funeral. She’d convinced him to go back, but it was apparently a daily challenge for the kid.

  Bryn rested her head in her free hand under the weight of that knowledge. “Don’t worry about Sparky, Susan. I’ll take care of him.”

  In slow motion, she set the phone in its cradle. But something stirred inside her. A tiny spark of hope. For the first time since the funeral, she had an assignment—something with purpose to do.

  She grabbed a clean towel out of the dryer and headed down the hall for the shower.

  He leaned over the

  steering wheel and rubbed at

  the three-day stubble

  on his face, trying to erase

  the barrage of memories

  assaulting him.

  6

  Wednesday, November 14

  HANOVER FALLS, Mo. (AP)—Fire investigators have not ruled out arson as they continue to investigate a tragic fire that destroyed a homeless shelter and left five Missouri firefighters dead and one seriously wounded. The blaze, which started on the second floor of the former hospital building in this south-central Missouri town, was fueled by dozens of mattresses that had been stored in the building. The fire and resultant explosions completely destroyed the building.

  Police Chief Rudy Perlson said a homeless man who had checked into the shelter around October 15 is missing after the fire. The man, known to shelter employees as Zeke Downing, is wanted for questioning. Perlson said there is a warrant for a man by that name in Coyote County, Kan. The man is wanted on several charges, including burglary and receiving stolen property. However, records from the Grove Street Homeless Shelter in Hanover Falls were destroyed in the fire, and officials were unable to confirm if the missing man is the same Zeke Downing wanted in Kansas.

  Police are also seeking another man for questioning. James Daniel Friar was evicted from the shelter last month and arrested for assaulting another shelter resident.

  The shelter’s director, Susan Marlowe, whose husband, Lieutenant David Marlowe, is one of the fallen firefighters, said the description of the man wanted in Kansas matches that of the man missing from the shelter, but without the shelter’s records, there is no way to verify. A volunteer from the shelter remembered that Downing had been reluctant to turn over his identification and refused to be photographed in compliance with the shelter’s policy until Marlowe threatened to refuse him admission.

  Only two weeks after her husband’s tragic death, Marlowe is working to reopen the Grove Street Shelter at a new location in Hanover Falls. Marlowe opened the original shelter two years ago, buying the former Clemens County Hospital building from the city for a token fee. The shelter—an overnight-only facility—was funded by donations from area churches that also provide meals for an estimated 15 to 20 clients daily. Marlowe receives no salary, and the shelter was staffed solely by volunteers.

  Garrett drained his coffee mug, folded the newspaper, and tossed it into the trash along with his uneaten bagel. Molly’s name had ceased being listed in stories about the fire. At first she’d been singled out because she was the only female firefighter who died in the tragedy. Now his wife was one of five nameless people who’d lost their lives. Five nameless heroes who would be forgotten by the time spring came to the Falls.

  He rinsed his mug and added it to the overflowing stack in the sink. He hadn’t done dishes in a week. But then, there weren’t many dishes to do. He hadn’t eaten more t
han a few bites since the fire. His appetite was gone.

  At least he was off the pills. The prescription—Rick’s prescription—had helped him get through the first few days while he was in shock, almost out of his mind with grief and fear. But he had to get back to living at some point.

  Next week, to be precise.

  He’d told his principal he’d be back to work on Monday. How he could ever stand in front of his fifth graders and talk to them about what had happened, he didn’t know.

  He still choked up every time he thought about seeing those kids file in to the auditorium the day of the funeral. They’d looked so grown up. So somber. He’d been too out of it to appreciate their presence that day, but he was touched that Mrs. Cassman and Mary had made arrangements to get the kids there. He’d organized enough field trips over the years to know what a feat it must have been.

  Somehow, thinking about his fifth graders spurred him to action. He flipped off the kitchen light, grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair, and headed out to his truck.

  Five minutes later, he parked at the curb in front of Station 2, Clemens County Fire District. He leaned over the steering wheel and rubbed at the three-day stubble on his face, trying to erase the barrage of memories assaulting him. He could almost imagine that Molly would come walking through those bay doors, hair bouncing in her workday ponytail, face dewy with perspiration, still wearing her warm-ups and T-shirt with the fire station logo.

  He inhaled and put a fist to his chest, trying to stave off the physical pain her memory still provoked.

  He climbed out of the truck and strode up the walk, following the spicy aroma of spaghetti sauce past the bunk room, to the break room. When the firemen spotted him, he was besieged.

  “Hey, man, how’s it going?” Jake Young, who’d been on Molly’s team that night, shook Garrett’s hand, and the others lined up for a turn to offer sympathy, including a couple of the rookies he didn’t know. They must have come on since the fire. But he was Molly’s family, and that made him family to these guys.

  The pain ratcheted up a notch. But he thanked these men who’d loved Molly like a sister, and he lied through his teeth about how he was doing without her.