Chapter Fourteen
The faint buzz against Nora’s fingers intensified until the vibration pushed up her arm to her shoulder.
Gas and oil fumes from the chainsaw were gradually joined by the sweet scent of pine as the pile of sawdust grew beside her boots.
A cracking sound warned her that the tree was almost ready to fall.
She stepped away to assess the final cut angle but caught her heel on a stump.
Flailing against the falling sensation, she bit back a cry of terror at the vision of a running chainsaw flying toward her face.
Strong arms caught her. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.” Fallon’s voice was steady in her ear.
Nora jerked awake. Her breathing calmed, but not her heartbeat.
She blinked furiously against the shaft of sunlight that always found its way through the edge of the window shade, aware that the air cooling the sweat on her neck was a product of a very busy air-conditioning unit and not a mountain breeze.
She was in Arizona, not Colorado, and Fallon’s arms weren’t anywhere near her.
It had been nearly ten years since that summer in the mountains.
She rarely thought of it anymore, not deliberately, but her dreams still seemed to take her there at the least provocation.
She’d been stupid then, and so stubborn.
Maybe everyone was at twenty, but she’d done a better job of it than most. And as a result, she’d lost something she hadn’t been able to replace.
She’d fallen asleep with the phone in her hand—again—and the buzzing of the alarm had obviously kindled her recurring dream.
Hitting snooze out of habit, she sat up and rubbed her eyes, trying to push the remnants of that time out of her mind.
After attending the ASU for its photojournalism program, staying in Arizona had helped her escape the memories of Colorado’s woodland environment, and she’d forced herself through that painful separation by doing the same thing that had caused it: living solely for her work.
At college, where there was no Fallon to bring her into community life, she’d lived as she’d intended to at Firecamp, as a loner.
But even with her outsider status, she’d become known as a remarkable talent with a flair for dramatic, narrative photographs.
Upon landing her dream job as a photojournalist with the Arizona Daily Star immediately after college, she’d been almost as ecstatic about not having to job hunt—something only marginally better than a first date, in her opinion, and the move from Tempe to Tucson was easy.
The downside was not having time for a return visit to Colorado.
But who knew if she’d have found any of her old crew still at Firecamp, especially Fallon, who might have returned to the nomadic existence she’d lived before arriving at Firecamp.
Fallon had always claimed she wanted a stable life with a family of choice, but when it had come down to it, she’d run.
Not that Nora could blame her. She’d replayed those last moments in Ranger Upshaw’s office enough times to see how the disaster had unfolded over that final week from both their points of view.
It was hard to believe she’d been with the paper for seven years, refining her style and making her mark on the local beat as she befriended reporters and photographed everything from parades to crime scenes to ribbon-cutting politicians.
In the face of stunning changes to journalism in general and photography in particular, she’d expanded her skill set to include independent photo editing and retouching, especially relishing any film work those 35mm stalwarts would offer, along with dabbling in simple web design.
Though her pictures were often picked up by other papers, both regional and statewide, she’d steadfastly avoided wedding photography or anything similarly personal until Collin Becker, the man who’d hired her and supervised the first six years of her career, had died suddenly of a brain aneurysm.
Yielding to repeated requests from her colleagues and one emotional phone call from Collin’s widow, Nora had reluctantly agreed to make a video for his memorial service.
The process had brought her close to tears, partly for the man who’d guided her into the world of print and online media, but also because of the memories it had evoked of the last video she’d put together.
After his funeral and the four-hour gathering at the Star employees’ favorite bar, her last bit of good sense had her taking an Uber to her town house.
Safe at home, right on the edge between maudlin drunk and self-pitying frustration, she’d decided to view her only other previous video.
After finding the website for the Southern Conservation Corps Firecamp Program, she’d been dimly impressed with the slightly amateurish introduction she’d created, convinced she’d make it through the whole thing until Fallon’s face came on the screen.
She still remembered exactly when she’d taken the shot.
Fallon had been focused on something just beyond her, but as her gaze had shifted and she’d seen Nora, she’d smiled.
It was the look she’d given Nora during the days they’d spent together in Fallon’s Silver Bird trailer, the expression that said she saw Nora fully and completely and welcomed her to do the same.
No one else would know that look, but she had.
And she still did. Oh God. Nora’s heart had seized, and she’d turned off her computer and fallen into bed, clenching her jaw so tight, she’d awakened with a massive headache, though she’d pretended it was the whiskey she’d had at Collin’s commemoration.
Her alarm went off again, and before she could get any deeper into melancholy memories, she texted Tyler. Up yet?
Her bedroom door opened a crack, and her brother’s pleasant tenor voice answered, “Depends. Are you decent?”
“Decent depends on whether you’ve done battle with Decker the Dripper yet,” Nora replied.
“Oh no. You’re the one who can slay that demon. I only stand and wait.”
Her ancient coffee machine was becoming increasingly temperamental.
She kept babying it because it made an excellent brew, but it seemed to know if Nora turned her back for even a second, and the results would be half an inch of light brown liquid in the pot while the rest of the steaming coffee and wet grounds were deposited all over the kitchen floor.
Not in the mood for the Dripper’s tricks today, she’d stand over it and fix travel mugs for her and Tyler once she dressed.
After pulling on worn, faded jeans and a T-shirt, she ran a brush through her hair.
She’d let it grow for almost a year before deciding on the shoulder-length style she currently wore.
It gave her a softer look, another thing that was different from what she’d imagined about her life. “You all packed?”
Tyler nodded. “What is it, eleven hours?”
“Probably more like twelve if we stop as often as we want. But we’ll take turns driving.
” She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been until he’d moved in with her five years ago after spending the obligatory freshman year in a dorm at the University of Arizona.
He’d graduated high school a year early and did the same with both his BS and master’s degrees in plant science as they’d weathered the pandemic together.
As one of the youngest former students to be offered a position in the university’s research department, he was making his mark with specialties in plant genetics and medicinal plants. She was incredibly proud of him.
It’d be Tyler’s first trip home since he started college.
Nora hadn’t returned since leaving for photojournalism school.
But it was their father’s sixtieth birthday, which meant a command appearance for all Palmers, no exceptions.
“I tried to talk Mom into letting us stay in a hotel, but apparently, we’re all going to be in our old rooms to further the appearance of a normal family. ”
“Further proof that appearances can be deceiving,” Tyler remarked, making Nora laugh.
It was after ten p.m. when they arrived, but her father was up drinking with Art and Rudy. “Ah, our prodigal siblings return.” Nora recognized Art’s teasing tone.
Rudy rose and hugged them both. “Welcome home.”
When Nora turned to her father, she was shocked at his appearance. His once ruddy face was haggard, and his thick hair was almost completely white with a few streaks of dark gray.
“Hi, Dad,” Tyler said.
Their father mumbled something unintelligible by way of reply.
“Is he okay?” Nora whispered to Rudy.
“Old and drunk,” Rudy whispered back. “Not a good combination, but he wouldn’t go to bed until you guys got here.”
“Grab that pill bottle.” Art pointed to the table. “He’ll need one first thing in the morning.”
“Diovan?” Nora asked, reading the label.
“Blood pressure med,” Art said, standing. “Listen, we’ll get him to the door of his room, but Tyler, you and Nora will have to help him into bed. Mom’s too embarrassed to have her ‘big boys’ in the bedroom.”
Nora moved as quietly as possible, trying not to wake her mother. Her father weighed much less than she’d imagined, and Nora steered the three of them to the bedside. After she’d gotten her father seated, he looked up at her. “Where’s your friend?”
His voice was unexpectedly clear, but Nora wasn’t sure he knew what he was saying. “What friend?”
“Tall like you. Ran outta gas. Came here that other time.”
Tyler cleared his throat and busied himself getting their father’s shoes off. He’d learned very soon after moving in with her not to ask questions about Firecamp and especially Fallon.
“She’s not coming this time,” Nora muttered. “Lie down, Dad.”
“Working, is she?”