From Nowhere (Wildfire #2)

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Is this about the neighbor’s rosebush?” Lola asks while her grandparents and I stare at her over dinner.

During my lunch break, I called my mom to talk to Lola and told her we had something to discuss with her tonight over dinner.

But instead of a discussion, it’s turned into a game of chicken. Nobody wants to be the instigator or the bad guy in this scenario. So we look ridiculous watching Lola eat while we keep quiet.

The good news (I think) is that Tia and Amos haven’t started packing anything, so I suspect she was bluffing. But that could change at any moment.

“What are you talking about?” I set my fork on my plate and blot my mouth with a napkin.

“Addie and I were playing basketball, and the ball kept landing in the rosebushes, breaking some branches.”

“Well, that’s not good,” I say. “But that’s not what we want to talk about.”

“Then what?” Lola shifts her wide-eyed gaze to Tia and Amos.

“Maren wants us to move in with her,” I say just as Tia opens her mouth to speak.

Lola gasps. “Really? You’re getting married?” She practically falls out of her chair with excitement.

Tia pins me with an I-told-you-so gaze. Someone, somewhere along the way, instilled it into my daughter that men and women don’t live together until they’re married. And maybe that should be every father’s dream, but it’s not every boyfriend’s dream.

Boyfriend.

There’s something about adults calling themselves boyfriends and girlfriends that sounds juvenile and just wrong.

Partner?

That conjures up other things that don’t fit either.

“Lola, no. We’re ...” I shake my head, fighting frustration. “Sometimes people live together— adults live together even if they’re not married.”

“Living in sin?” Lola narrows her eyes. “That’s what Nana said about Uncle Leroy living with his girlfriend.”

Eyeing Tia, I give her my best grateful smile. Sure, it might look murderous to someone else, but it’s not. I’m incredibly thankful that she’s taken the time to pass along her standards of morality to my daughter.

Tia sits up a little straighter with an air of smugness. She hasn’t had to say a word because she’s already brainwashed my daughter, molding her into a judgmental disciple spewing Tia’s doctrine.

“Lola, Nana thinks Leroy is living in sin because some book she read—”

“It’s not some book ,” Tia interrupts. “It’s the Bible . And I know your mother raised you better than to disrespect God’s word this way. Just because you don’t take Lola to church anymore doesn’t mean you have the right to raise her as a heathen.”

“Tia, for the love of—”

“What’s a heathen?” Lola asks, cutting me off just as I raise my voice.

As a rule, we don’t argue in front of Lola, but I feel attacked as a father and role model. I don’t appreciate her making me look bad in front of my daughter.

“Lola,” I say before taking a deep breath. “If Nana and Pa weren’t here, would we figure out how to make things work?”

Tears instantly fill her eyes. “Are you sick?” She looks to them for answers.

“No, honey. We’re not sick,” Amos reassures her while Tia frowns at me.

I can’t win.

“If they moved away from here, would we be okay?” I rephrase.

“Ozzy, that’s a lot of pressure to put on a ten-year-old,” Tia says. “How is she supposed to know if you’ll be okay? She’s ten. Who’s the adult?”

“Why are you leaving?” Lola asks, rubbing the unshed tears from her eyes.

Amos and Tia look to me for that answer.

I’m the bad guy—a lousy guy who wants to sacrifice them to save myself. That’s what Tia did to me.

Despite what she thinks, I won’t use Lola as a pawn.

“Pumpkin,” I say in a calmer tone. “Forget I mentioned anything about Maren. You are my number one priority. And it’s incredibly loving of Nana and Pa to be here for you.” Words have never tasted so bitter. I don’t want to bend the knee, but I don’t see any other choice.

Lola’s too young.

Too traumatized.

Too everything.

I told Maren to be patient, but I’m the one showing a lack of patience.

“When the day comes that you overcome your fears from the accident, and I know that day will come, then we will look into life changes for the both of us. But for now, I think it’s best to continue doing what we’re doing. And”—I raise a finger—“Maren suggested we look into using virtual reality gaming to help you. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Pfft.” Tia rolls her eyes. “Just what a ten-year-old needs—video games that take them away from reality.”

“Well, when her reality is—” I bite my tongue. We can’t do this in front of Lola.

I smile at Lola while digging my phone out of my pocket because it’s vibrating with a call. “It’s just something I will ask your therapist about,” I say, standing and heading toward the kitchen. The number isn’t familiar. “This is Ozzy.” I hold the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Ozzy. It’s Ira from work. Taylor gave me your number.”

“Oh. Okay. What’s up?” I can’t imagine why Ira is calling me.

“Did you hear about Maren? Taylor didn’t realize you and Maren were a thing. And maybe you’re not still a thing, but—”

“Ira!”

Silence.

“What about Maren?”

“Ozzy,” she says in a softer tone. “Maren’s plane went down.”

I take a step back. “Wh-what did you say?” My legs want to give out until the wall of floating shelves catches me with a thud , followed by dishes shattering.

“Ozzy?”

“Where is she?” The words rip from my chest. This can’t be happening. This can’t happen to me twice. No god is that cruel.

“Dad!” Lola yells my name as she, Tia, and Amos enter the kitchen. “What happened?”

“Search and rescue are on their way. That’s all I know. I’m sorry. We’re all praying for her. A lot of people are,” Ira says.

“Was it in the drop zone? Were there other aircraft involved? Did anyone—” My mouth can barely keep up with my thoughts and a million questions.

“Ozzy, what’s going on? Who are you talking to?” Tia asks.

“Lola, stay back. There’s glass everywhere,” Amos says with his hands on her shoulders.

“Ozzy, that’s all I know,” Ira says. “I heard about it from my friend who works at the base. She said she’ll let me know when she hears more.”

With my phone clutched in my hand, my arm flops to my side, glass scattered all around me and my bare feet.

“Don’t move, Oz. Let me grab a broom and shoes for you,” Amos says.

“Dad, what happened? Your eyes are red. Are you crying?” Lola’s words become as desperate as mine were with Ira.

“Lola, you’re going to get glass in your feet. Wait in the living room until we get this cleaned up, and then you can ask your dad whatever you want.” Tia ushers her out of the kitchen.

Amos returns from the garage with a broom and a dustpan. “Oz, did something bad happen?” he asks in a slow, steady voice while clearing a path with the broom to get to me.

I can’t fucking move.

Clank.

My phone slips out of my hand.

I still don’t move.

“Ozzy, you need to tell us what happened,” Tia huffs.

“Stay in the living room with Lola,” Amos says.

“I want to know what—”

“For God’s sake, woman!” Amos snaps. And he never snaps. “For once in your stubborn life, do what I asked you to do.”

She stands her ground for a few seconds before exiting the kitchen.

All this talking, yelling, and questioning. For what?

My wife is dead.

My father is dead.

My daughter can’t get into a car.

My ex-mother-in-law hates me.

And Maren and her plane are who knows where in Canada—shattered into a million blazing pieces of rubble?

I no longer believe there is a purpose to life.

Life is a joke. A cruel, fucking joke.

I blink when Amos touches my leg, squatting before me and guiding my feet into my work boots. As he stands, my gaze locks with his.

I’ve never hated him. He’s always tried to see things through my eyes, even if doing so has been challenging with a wife who refuses to walk a single step in anyone else’s shoes.

“Son, did something happen to Maren?”

I stare at him for long seconds, letting his words bounce and echo in my head. When the real possibility of never seeing someone again cuts through the surface of denial, it feels like an out-of-body experience. I felt it with Brynn and my father. It’s as if we’re forced to choose to stay or go.

I haven’t loved Maren for long. My brain knows that. It’s good at math and reason. But my heart doesn’t have filters. It doesn’t do equations. It doesn’t acknowledge the existence of time. The heart is unreasonable and completely illogical.

Childlike. Innocent, like Lola.

“Yes,” I whisper. And it’s no longer an echo. I’m acknowledging my willingness to go on no matter where Maren is on this earth or the world beyond this life.

“Her plane?” Amos asks.

Brynn was a daddy’s girl. Maybe it’s because she was too much like her mom and they butted heads. Amos was protective like a good father, but he always awaited her with open arms—a safe haven.

“Yes,” I whisper, averting my gaze to the glass he’s swept into a pile by the fridge. “Search and rescue are looking for her now. That’s all I know.”

“You can’t tell Lola.”

I return my attention to him and swallow hard with a slow nod. “I know.”

“One of the pilots who works for Cielo had trouble with a mission.” Amos grabs my shoulders to ensure I’m listening. “You don’t know the details yet. But you’re concerned about them. And when your friend told you, you took a step backward and accidentally tripped. She will assume that you would tell her if it were Maren. Okay?”

“I can’t lie.” I shake my head.

“You can do whatever it takes to keep her from worrying about something you don’t know with certainty. Okay?”

I laugh.

Amos squints, drawing together his bushy gray eyebrows.

I laugh some more.

Lola and I will pull up to Maren’s funeral on bicycles. We can set our handlebar lights to flash mode to fit in with the procession. Maybe we’ll bring Bandit with us. I should get Lola one of those backpacks for cats with the domed window.

“Dad?” Lola peeks her head around the corner.

My laughter simmers into a light chuckle. “Sorry, Lola. I didn’t mean to scare you. Someone from work called me with some concerning news, and when I took a step backward, I tripped.” I take the broom that Amos leaned against the counter and continue to clean up the mess. “Go get ready for bed. I’ll be down after I clean this up.”

I feel everyone’s gazes on me, heavy and suffocating, but I don’t look at them. My composure and survival hinge on my ability to believe my own lies and imagine bicycles and cats in backpacks for funeral processions.

“Okay,” Lola says.

Amos, once again, steps up and shows me some compassion. “Come on, Tia, let’s get out of Ozzy’s way while he finishes cleaning this up.”

I will cover for his late-night pastime until the day I die because he’s throwing me a lifeline when I need it the most.

After sweeping the glass into a bag, I use the vacuum and a wet microfiber mop to remove any remaining shards so nothing ends up in Lola’s feet. I have to keep moving. Idleness is the enemy.

I go over things I need to do.

Take the trash bags to the garbage.

Check the air in the bike tires.

Make a grocery list.

Pay bills.

Throw in a load of laundry.

Tuck Lola into bed.

Then I robotically follow them.

“Did you feed Bandit on your way home from work?” Lola asks when I step into her room.

“I did. You have an appointment with your therapist tomorrow. Nana or Pa might ride with you there, and I’ll come straight from work and meet you.”

Apples.

Bread.

Yogurt.

I go over my grocery list. We might stop by the store after her therapy appointment.

“Okay. Is Nana upset about the broken dishes?”

“She shouldn’t be. They’re our dishes. I’ll replace them. They’re just broken dishes.” I straighten her blankets and the pile of stuffed animals around her. “Good night, my girl.” I press my lips to her forehead.

I don’t think a guy kisses a girl on the forehead until he loves her. It’s like a parent kissing a child on the forehead to see if they have a fever. It’s a loving gesture.

My heart surges into my throat, a noose cutting off all the oxygen.

“Love you,” Lola says.

I keep my lips on her forehead because I can’t speak. All I can do is nod.

As I lift my head and exit her room, I scratch my forehead to hide my face. Then I shut off her lights and pull the door 90 percent shut.

Mow the yard.

Grease the squeaky back door.

Trim the low-hanging branch on the maple tree.

The problem is I can’t make mental lists and keep going forever. After I close my bedroom door behind me and take two steps, my legs give out, and I fall to my knees, fisting my hair while shaking with silent sobs.

But they don’t stay silent for long; the pain is too great. So I reach for my comforter, pull it off the bed, and wad part of it into a ball to bury my face and muffle my cries.

Angry, hate-filled, soul-snatching cries.

“Nooo . . . God . . . p-please . . . n-nooo . . .”

It’s been two years since I’ve felt my insides ripping to pieces.

Two years since I’ve hated God, the world, and life in general this much.

Two years since I had to pretend that I wasn’t slowly dying, all in the name of a brave face for everyone around me.

When I’ve let out enough emotion to put the lid back on my feelings, I drop the comforter and stare at the window through dead eyes. I can still see her climbing into my bedroom.

Her giggles.

That unstoppable smile.

And a light in her eyes so bright that I felt it in my chest.

Maren was my second chance.

My last chance.

I’ll never let myself feel this way again. Everything is for Lola. Perhaps Tia wasn’t trying to punish me. Maybe she was trying to protect Lola and me from this. Why risk everything again if we were lucky enough to survive it once?

But that’s what I did. And I don’t regret it.

Still, I’m done.

I can’t find my phone; maybe I left it upstairs. When I turn the corner into the kitchen, Tia’s sorting her pills into their respective slots for the week.

I reach for my phone on the counter next to her. Before I can slide it off the edge, Tia rests her hand on mine and squeezes it.

“You don’t deserve this,” she whispers. “No one deserves this.” She turns her head to look at me, but I can’t move my gaze from our hands.

Not her.

I can’t cry in front of the woman who has been the bane of my existence for years. In fact, I hate that she’s being kind. It feels rather cruel after everything she’s put me through. I’d find it easier to deal with her lecturing me on my poor choices, bad parenting, and a litany of other grievances about me.

“I hope they find her and she’s okay.” Tia lifts her hand and moves it to my shoulder.

I curl my fingers around the phone and turn, escaping her touch and her pity.

When I return to my room, I sit on the end of the bed and text Taylor.

Ozzy: Have you heard anything about Maren?

Taylor: Not yet. I can check again

Ozzy: Please do

Taylor: Is there something going on between you two?

I stare at his text.

Ozzy: Yes

I wait five minutes, pacing my room.

Ten minutes.

Just as I start to type another text, my phone pings.

Taylor: They’ve found her location. Crews are en route

Ozzy: Any word on her condition?

I swallow hard while my eyes burn with more emotions.

Taylor: No. But you need to prepare yourself

I ever so slowly type two words—five letters and a space.

Ozzy: I know

Aircraft accidents are unforgiving. Life is unforgiving.