21. Miles
CHAPTER 21
MILES
M y new partner saw me like I’d once seen Sophie: an annoying newcomer she’d need to break in. She was probably fifty, with short-cropped gray hair, her lips always pursed like she’d sucked a lemon. She stopped me, our first shift, on my way to sign in.
“I’m Magda,” she said. “I heard about you.”
I opened my mouth to ask what she’d heard, but she made a zzt sound: zip your lip .
“I know five years ago, you spent six months on admin leave. You ran into a house on fire, ignoring orders. Almost got yourself killed, not to mention your partner. And now there’s talk you’ve transferred in a hurry. Transferred right after a traumatic call. I’m telling you now, I do not work with cowboys. One whiff of cowboy shit, that’s it. We’re done. Do you think you can handle that, or should we call it right now?”
I muttered that I could handle it, and she narrowed her eyes. She stared me down till I blinked, then turned away. I braced myself for a long day of nagging, but she barely spoke once our shift had begun. When she did speak, it was just to bark orders: You drive. Spine board. Stand back. Let me. She was good at her job, so I didn’t fight, just did what she said and got through the day.
Our next shift was the same, and every shift after that. I found myself sidelined, more often than not, watching while Magda took charge of the scene. I wasn’t too proud to learn from her experience, but I missed the rhythm I’d had with Sophie. I missed our give-and-take, and her easy smile. Magda never smiled, at least not at me.
We wrapped up our latest shift with a nod and a grunt, and she went her way and I went mine. All I wanted to do was dive into bed, but my phone started chirping about halfway home. I put it on silent, but it buzzed on the seat. One step through my door, and my house phone went off. I picked it up.
“Yeah?”
“ Yeah? What the hell?”
My head spun for a moment, then it hit me. “Brian?”
“Who do you think? Are you on your way?”
I leaned in the doorway, massaging my brow. Pins clattered, muffled, down the end of the line. I could hear children screaming and the rumble of balls. Bowling, damn it. Was that today?
“It’s Sunday already?”
“Yeah. Hurry up.”
I groaned. “I don’t think… Could I take a rain check? I’ve had a long week, and?—”
“You’re kidding, right?”
A worm of irritation coiled in my gut. I couldn’t miss one day? What was he, my wife? I knew he was lonely with the divorce, but we all had our problems. He wasn’t unique.
“I’m exhausted,” I said. “I’ve had a crappy few weeks. Forgive me if I’m not in the mood to go bowling.”
“You could’ve called, at least. I’ve been waiting an hour.”
My irritation uncurled and spread through my chest, no longer a worm but a crackling wildfire. I couldn’t have held it back if I’d tried. “You know what? Screw you, and the horse you rode in on. I’m in hell over here, and you call just to nag? No ‘hello, how are you, everything good?’ No ‘hey, you okay, since the whole—since the fire?’ You call just to yell at me, just?—”
“Miles.”
“Just to be a dick? Here’s a newsflash: no one likes bowling. No one under sixty, so?—”
“ Miles. ”
“So you go to hell.”
I hung up, breathing hard, and yanked the phone from the wall. My cell buzzed in my pocket, and I tossed it aside. The house was too bright, so I drew all the shades, then I face-planted into the couch. I could hear my phone buzzing on the hall table, but I ignored it. I ignored Brian. He’d have ditched me eventually. Everyone did. He’d only stuck with me this long because of last time. Because of five years ago, when I’d nearly flamed out. He was a do-gooder, was Brian’s problem, hanging around out of some misplaced guilt.
I rolled on my back. Closed my eyes tight. In the dark, I saw Nick, then the man from the crash. The one from the yellow car, pinched nearly in two. We couldn’t have saved him. Nobody could. There wasn’t enough of him left to patch up. But the one before him, with the pipe through his gut, could we have helped him? Had we done all we could? I went over it all again, how Sophie’s voice cracked. How I stopped to check on her, getting out of the bus. FD should’ve restrained him, but so should we. I could’ve secured him before he flipped out. Or Sophie could. Or both of us. If I hadn’t been distracted, if she’d been calmer…
I reached in my pocket and pulled out my wallet. It fell open to Nick’s picture, all faded to hell. One day, that picture would fade all the way, till all you could see would be ghosts where we’d been. Shadows for eyes. Nick’s gaping scream. Mom and Dad in the background, yellowing shapes.
One day they’d all be gone.
They had been for years.
One by one, they had left me, first Nick, then Dad. Mom had hung on the longest, then she’d pulled away too. Now we talked twice a year, on her birthday and Christmas.
I pulled the photo from its plastic pouch to look at it closer. Nick and I were both screaming, but half-laughing as well. Mom was yelling at Dad, but she was holding his hand. That day had been good, nigh on perfect. Now it was gone, and our family was, too. Not just our family, but my friends, my life. Everything I’d recognized, our house. Our street. I’d gone from a popular kid to, at my next school, a hermit. Kids could see I was damaged. I wasn’t right.
I slid Nick’s photo back into its pouch, face-in this time, so I couldn’t see it. Ten minutes ago, I’d been ready for sleep. Now I was wide awake, tensed for a fight. But I had no one to fight with, so I grabbed the remote. I clicked the TV on and flipped through the channels, cartoons, more cartoons, home shopping. News.
I should get up, I knew, and go and call Brian. Tell him I was sorry before it was too late.
I pulled a cushion toward me and didn’t move.
I was fine being alone. I’d been alone half my life. More than half my life. More like two thirds. Trying to hold on just made it harder, when one by one they all pulled away. Sophie, as well, she’d have left me. She would. I’d done the right thing, however it hurt.
“—and now, an update on the Green Tower explosion: the two orphaned children rescued from the blaze have been reunited with their grandparents.”
I grabbed for the remote, but knocked it away. It hit the floor and the back popped off. The batteries rolled out. I scrabbled after them as the broadcast went on.
“We go now to Sandra, at the airport. Sandra?”
“Well, Paul, as you know, it’s been quite the journey. It turned out the grandparents were on vacation, off on some African birdwatching tour. A guide had to drive out across the savanna, drive out three days and bring them a phone. They’re just home today, and you can see them behind me — they wanted some privacy, but you can see through the glass, doesn’t that look like a happy reunion?”
I yelled out shut up and lunged for the screen. Jabbed buttons blindly till the TV blinked off. A happy reunion? Happy for whom? Those grandparents had just lost their son or their daughter. The kids had lost everything, their family. Their home. That was life, loss. Loss piled on loss. You couldn’t hold onto anything or anyone.
My phone buzzed again, and I wished it was Sophie. I wished I could crawl back through the days and the weeks, and back into bed with her, into her arms. When she held me, I’d felt like we could be different. Like she understood, and she’d stick around. But what I’d forgotten was, life was fragile. Sophie might want to stay with me, but life wouldn’t let her. There’d be a fire one day, or a crash. An explosion. Or she’d get tired of me, or we’d grow apart.
“I was always going to lose you,” I told the remote.
My phone buzzed again, out in the hall.
I slotted the batteries back in my remote. Picked up the cushion I’d dropped on the floor. Righted a footstool I’d tipped in my haste. This was my life, this house and my job. The same old routine, the cycle of loss. I’d learned to live with that once, and I’d learn again.
Put Sophie behind me and get back to my life.