Chapter 31
Dash
I wake up in the middle of the night to the smell of smoke. At first, I think it’s barbecue smoke and marvel at how the shifting winds could carry smells from our restaurant clear across the property.
A second later, I come to my senses. The clock reads four in the morning, and our restaurant isn’t open. No reason for anyone to be cooking anything.
And now that I’m starting to pay attention, the smoky smell doesn’t smell like a barbecue as much as it smells like a fire. That gets me out of bed in a flash.
After the Napa fires a few years ago, all of us exist on high alert to the potential of it happening again. In hours, miles and miles of vineyards burned to the ground. Fire officials said that in the valley where Napa exists between two mountain ranges, the fire created its own weather.
It blocked out the sun and created enough wind to burn a football field’s length in mere seconds.
“Mallory.” I nudge her where she’s sleeping on the other half of my pillow. Her hair is splayed out behind her like a sunburst in the pale moonlight that creeps through a crack in the blinds. Ordinarily, I’d take a moment like this to gaze at her and thank the universe for my good fortune.
Tonight, I need a different kind of good fortune. She rolls to the side and blinks her eyes open. “What’s up?”
“You smell that?” I’m out of bed and peering out the window where I don’t see anything that looks unusual. Just the deep periwinkle sky to the east. But that doesn’t mean much.
Cranking open my window, I’m assaulted with a much stronger smell. There’s no question it’s coming from a fire. Only issue is how close it is and whether it’s under control.
“Yes.” Mallory jumps out of bed and pulls last night’s sweater over her head. A second later, she shrugs on a pair of my sweatpants from my laundry pile. She hands a second pair to me. “We should hear sirens.”
As if on cue, the lonely wail of an emergency vehicle’s siren sounds in the distance. It’s reassuring, but I need more information about how close it is and where it’s headed. The night’s winds aren’t helping.
I start texting my siblings and my dad’s nurse as we head for the front door. As soon as we’re outside, I feel like I’ve been slugged in the gut. In the distance, a good-sized plume of smoke rises into the sky. I don’t see flames, but judging from where the smoke is, the fire seems close.
It’s hard to tell how close because our land is so flat. It’s deceptive to see something in the distance. It could be a few dozen acres away or a few miles away.
The sirens get louder, joined by a few more. Good that they’re on the move, but I hope it’s not a sign of how big the fire is.
“We should stay put until we know where it is and how it’s moving. I remember that from the big fire,” Mallory says.
We’re both instantly on alert, all sleepiness gone. I put an arm around her shoulders and pull her close, protectively. “Hey, sorry I fell asleep before you got home.” She stiffens in my hold, and I assume it’s out of fear of the fire.
“Oh. It’s fine.”
“I want to hear. Everything good with the lawyer?”
“Um, yeah.” She wrestles out of my grip and lets out a long breath. “All fine.”
I want to ask if she’s okay, but my phone starts pinging as my siblings respond.
Beatrix: I heard it’s centered near the grove
She’s talking about a wooded area that abuts the corner of our property.
Archer: I heard that too from a buddy at dispatch
Jax: Moving toward our property?
Archer: Winds are blowing away from us, but it could shift
Beatrix: Fire trucks pulled onto the fire road behind us
She’s the only one who can see that part of Buttercup Hill from where she lives. I read all the texts to Mallory as they come in.
“Wait, how close is that grove to your property line?”
“It’s right up against it. Part of the grove is actually on our property.”
“Jesus. What do we do? Do we evacuate?” Mallory looks in the direction of the smoke, which still seems far away.
“Not if the wind is still headed that way. I think we just sit tight for right now.”
The plume of smoke is growing as we watch it. “If it shifts, it’ll move fast.”
“Maybe it’s still small, and they can put it out quickly.”
I hate not knowing. My phone starts blowing up with texts again, each sibling reporting what they can glean from neighbors.
PJ: I just heard from Graham.
Archer: Fuck him. What’s he want?
Archer will never forgive our dad for having a kid he never told us about, and I’m pretty sure he plans to take his anger out on Graham for good measure.
PJ: Fire’s burning his property. He’s telling us to evacuate to be safe
Jax: Guess that’s decent of him
So far, PJ and I have the best relationship with our half brother of any of our siblings because we met him first and became the unofficial liaisons between us all. I fire off a text to him.
Me: Hey. You okay?
Dots bounce on my phone immediately.
Graham: Yeah. Fire was burning through my vines when I left.
Me: Where are you now?
Graham: Driving
Me: Driving where?
Graham: Around. Not sure where to go
I don’t think twice before responding.
Me: Come here. Not that it’s the safest if the wind shifts, but at least we can figure shit out together
The dots appear again. Then they disappear. Again, it seems like he’s typing. Then nothing.
Me: Quit deliberating. Just come
Graham: Fine
Five minutes later, Graham’s green truck rattles up the drive. He looks shell-shocked as he walks over to us. His dark hair sticks out in all different directions like he was having a terrible night’s sleep long before his property went up in flames.
I still have very mixed feelings about having a half brother, but the dude is clearly in a bad way.
“You okay?” I ask. I feel like offering him a stiff drink, though it’s the last thing anyone needs in the middle of the night when a shifting wind could send flames off in a new direction despite the best efforts of the fire crew.
Slowly, he shakes his head. “I hope I never see anything like that again.”
“What does it look like?” Mallory asks.
“Just…fire. Everywhere I looked. Burning down the vines like a spreading ball of flames. Then there was so much smoke I couldn’t even see that, but I could hear it. I don’t think I’ll ever unhear the crackling sound of plants dying.”
“How close were you?” I ask, shivering at the image he’s painting.
“Close.” He points across the drive to where a stand of oak trees shades the path between the main road on the property and my front door. It’s a hundred feet, max. “Here to there. Initially, I tried to fight it with a hose, but I’ve lived here long enough to know that’s how people die trying to save a house. I heard the sirens heading my way, so I got the hell out before the winds shifted.”
“Graham, I’m so sorry,” Mallory says, reaching for his hands. I watch her interact with him, just pure concern like one human should have for another human who may have lost his home in a fire.
I can’t say that all my frustrations about Graham’s very existence evaporate on the breeze. It’s not that easy. I’m still plenty pissed at my dad, and it’s hard to like a guy who appeared out of nowhere with a gift that put Buttercup Hill into turmoil.
On the other hand, it’s not his fucking fault that our dad chose to knock up his mom. It’s also not our fault that he was raised by a single mother and could never tell anyone he was related to the great Kingston Corbett.
There, standing on my driveway with a guy I barely know, I decide that maybe I can mend fences a little bit. Maybe that’s more important than holding on to a grudge I did nothing to create. My siblings may have other ideas, but I feel good about where I stand.
“I’m sorry too,” I say, extending my hand. It’s not the first time we’ve shaken hands, but it feels different. Graham looks at my outstretched palm as though he knows something is different too.
He takes my hand in a strong grip and looks me in the eye when he does it. I meet his gaze, the same blue eyes staring back at me as I see when I look at my siblings. Only in his eyes, there’s a different kind of ruggedness and a little bit of pain. I don’t know where it comes from yet, but I decide I want to find out.
Mallory watches this silent interchange between two dudes with her lips pressed together to suppress a smile.
My phone pings with another text from Beatrix, who lives closest to the area where Buttercup Hill abuts Graham’s property.
Beatrix: Fire trucks at my house. Set up a perimeter to keep the fire from moving closer to BH
A barrage of texts from our siblings fire off at once. Smiling emoji and thumbs.
“Sounds like they’re controlling it from this direction,” I say, knowing that’s little comfort to Graham.
He nods. “Yeah. Makes sense. They’ll want to contain it, keep it away from your vineyards.” He exhales and snaps his lips shut. I feel like he’s not saying something.
“D’you think they won’t try to save yours?” I ask. It’s no secret that Graham is the new owner in the neighborhood, and folks do tend to take care of their own. But I doubt that extends to letting a fire ravage a person’s property when there’s a chance of saving it.
He crosses his arms and says nothing. Then he rolls his eyes. “I dunno. Guess I wouldn’t be shocked if they worked a little slower than usual, is all.”
I shake my head. “Fuck that. Better not be the case.”
Graham’s phone rings with what sounds like a mariachi celebration, and he shoves his hand deep into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve it. “Yeah,” he says into it, stepping away from us to take the call. I watch him pace in circles on the driveway as he finishes the conversation.
A minute later, he shoves the phone back into his pocket and walks back over to us. “They’ve contained it. Still some hot spots, and the winds could pick up, so we’re not in the clear, but it’s something.”
I look at Mallory, not wanting to ask Graham what I want to ask him. She puts a hand on his shoulder sympathetically.
“Any word on the damage?”
He runs a hand over his jaw and nods. “A lot of the vineyards burned, but I’ll know more when it’s light out, and when they’re done.”
I think about the amount of money my dad took out of Buttercup Hill to buy the property Graham now owns, and I can’t help but shake my head.
For a guy like Graham, who grew up as the son of a seasonal worker and single mother, the chance to have a small vineyard like Duck Feather must have felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
And as much as I still don’t like the guy, I hope he doesn’t lose everything in the fire. If that makes me a sucker, so be it.