Chapter 17 Joe
JOE
“Looks like things are finally starting to get back to normal,” Angelie remarks, a little wistful, as she gazes out over the expanse of Devin Ridge sitting below the forest before us.
“Looks like it,” I agree. But, like her, I can’t say I’m entirely happy about it—or that I know exactly where it leaves us, after what happened last night.
The fires have been officially dealt with now, the town declared safe for inhabitants to move back in again.
Which is a good thing, of course. That’s why we did all this in the first place, to make sure that the town wasn’t too badly ravaged by the fire and that the death and injury toll was kept as close to zero as it possibly could be.
And yet, now that we’re here, on the other side of it, I can’t stop thinking about what happens next.
Normally, we would just move on to the next place that needs our help, but no other towns have flagged up any kind of need for us at the moment.
Which means we’re free to stay in Devin Ridge for a while longer, if we want to.
A part of me, of course, does want to stay.
I heard the pain in Angelie’s voice yesterday, when she came clean about all the hurt she suffered as a result of coming back to Devin Ridge and finding us gone.
How she was out here on her own for so long, just trying to take care of the children, and how alone she felt—how she wished we were here, even if she didn’t know who among us was the father.
She still doesn’t know now, for that matter.
I can’t shake that question, but I’m not sure the answer would have that much of an impact on any of us.
We all want to be there for her, one way or another.
It’s just a question of whether she wants that.
There are dark rings under her eyes that I noticed the moment she got up today.
It’s clear she was tossing and turning all night, no doubt wondering what she’s going to do for work now that the school is down.
There are already crews moving in to clear away the wreckage, but I doubt it will be anything close to back to normal for a long time.
I guess they’re going to have to carry out classes from cabins or portable classrooms—a far cry from the old-fashioned schoolrooms she must be used to working out of.
I offered to bring her stuff back down to her house before her parents and sister drop off the quads later in the day.
She seemed reluctant at first, I guess because it meant that she would have to return to her real life and face the damage that’s been done to the town, but eventually she agreed, slipping into the truck with me so we could drive back into town.
She winces and draws her face from the window as she spots the school in the distance, and I frown, wishing I could comfort her.
I want to give her leg a squeeze, offer her some words of encouragement, anything.
But despite everything we did last night, I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Or if she’s willing to hear it from me.
We turn the corner that leads to the row of houses that contains her home, and she breathes a sigh of relief when she sees it standing there.
“I know it’s ridiculous,” she murmurs, shaking her head as I pull to a halt. “But I kept thinking of this place, you know, burned down. Like the school.”
“Still standing,” I assure her.
She nods. “Yeah, thank God. I don’t know what I would have done, if I had lost the school and…” She trails off, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear all of this.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
She manages to look me in the eye again. “Thanks, Joe. And thanks for bringing me down here. I want to get the place ready for the kids, you know, get it as close to back to normal as I can…”
“Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
“Hmm,” she remarks, tapping her finger against her chin. “Any good at meal prep? I could use a hand getting some meals made up before they arrive back.”
“I have no idea, but I’m willing to find out.”
She grins. “Alright, come on in, then,” she replies, jerking her head toward the door.
It’s not even locked—I guess there was no need for it, not with everyone out of town, but I’d bet it’s not the only time she’s left it like this.
It’s been so long since I lived in Devin Ridge, and the little details of day-to-day life here seem to have slipped away from me, but they’re all starting to fit back into place now that I’ve returned.
Inside, Angelie hums to herself as she heads to the kitchen, making short work of the dishes in the sink that were leftover from when she had to flee last week.
She nods to the stove, handing me a pot. “If you could get boiling some pasta, that would be a big help,” she tells me. “Do you know how to make a simple tomato sauce? You know what, I can just fill you in as you go—if you open the cupboard, there should be a few bags of pasta in there…”
She directs me around the kitchen and I do my best to keep up. I’m no chef, but I know when to shut up and let someone else call the shots, and I’m just glad that I can actually do something to help out before I leave.
“Oh, crap, sorry,” she mutters, as she goes to put away a dish and nearly clatters straight into me.
“It’s alright,” I reply, frowning. “Hard to avoid it, especially in this kitchen…”
I glance around, realizing for the first time just how small this place actually is. Not just the kitchen, but the whole house. And it’s not like it’s just Angelie here. It’s the quads too—five whole people living in this tiny space, and it’s only going to grow more cramped with every passing year.
“Yeah, I know, it’s pretty small,” she admits, sounding slightly sheepish. “I’m sorry I don’t have anywhere bigger for us to—”
“No need to apologize,” I reply at once, turning back to the stove to stir the sauce that she’s been directing me through as the pasta boils in a pot beside it. “You never thought about getting somewhere bigger? One of the houses in town, I mean…?”
She laughs, planting her hands on her hips. “Oh, I’ve thought about it,” she replies. “But it’s not like it’s easy to afford a bigger pace, at least on a teacher’s salary. And my parents, they’ve done their best, but they don’t have a whole lot of money to spare either.”
“Right, right,” I mutter, feeling a little stupid for even broaching the topic.
Of course this isn’t what she’s chosen for herself.
She said it yesterday—she’s been fighting just to get by all this time, and I would do well to remember it.
She’s living off a single salary, trying to provide for four children.
Not exactly an easy feat, even if her family are around to lend a hand when they can.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” she replies, her brows digging together with concern.
I shake my head. “You didn’t.”
“But you know how it is here,” she remarks, as she continues to stack the plates away, grabbing the spoon I’m using to stir and tasting a little of the sauce. “The people with money keep it all to themselves, and the rest of us just have to hope we find a way to keep up.”
“You mean like Carlisle’s family?”
“Not just them,” she replies, pulling a face. “But yeah, not as though his father was ever the most generous when it came to keeping the people of this town in employment…”
“Yeah, I don’t think Carlisle ever stops beating himself up about it either,” I remark, shaking my head. “Acts like he’s personally responsible for fixing up everything his father did, you know?”
“Yeah, he talked to me about it a bit,” she agrees.
“I mean, I don’t blame him, exactly. Not that I think he should feel that way, but I think I would, if I were in his position.
All that money, knowing where it came from, it would be hard not to see it as some kind of…
I don’t know, as something I needed to make penance with. ”
“He already funds us,” I remark, and she raises her eyebrows.
“Oh, really?”
“How do you think we afford all of this?” I ask with a slight laugh, gesturing outside to where the van is parked.
“Don’t get me wrong, the military pension isn’t awful, but it’s hardly enough to live in an apartment, let alone buy up cabins all over the state so we can keep an eye on fires springing up all over the place.
Not to mention how much it costs to keep the equipment up-to-date. ”
“He didn’t mention that he was the one funding all of that…”
“He wouldn’t,” I reply. “He never likes to make a big deal of it. That’s just how he is.”
She sighs, running a hand through her hair.
“God, there’s still so much I need to do before they get here,” she remarks, and her voice suddenly sounds like it’s edging on total overwhelm.
I wonder how many times over the years she’s found herself faced with a huge pile of stuff that needs to be done, but without the help she actually requires to make it happen.
My chest aches for her, thinking of her in her early twenties, having to navigate her way through all of this alone.
But I can’t get caught up in the past. No, what matters is that I help her now, no matter how tempting it might be to turn this around into something to beat myself up with. She doesn’t need any of that. She needs me to keep my gaze fixed to the future, and that is precisely what I intend to do.
“Okay, what needs to be done?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “Where can I get started?”
“Oh, don’t do something as useful as actually offering to help,” she replies with a slight smile. “I just wanted someone to complain to.”
“Well, I can be that too, if you want.”
She pauses for a moment in the doorway of the kitchen, her eyes lingering on mine. “Thanks for doing this, by the way. I’m sure you guys have plenty better things to be worried about than what’s going on with me, but—”
“We haven’t had another call,” I reply bluntly. “No reason for us to be anywhere other than here.”
Her face drops slightly, and I realize how it must sound to her—as though I’m waiting for the first chance to get out of here, the first chance to leave this place behind just like I did all those years ago.
I want to take the words back as soon as I’ve said them, but the ache in her eyes won’t go away that easily.
“Right, of course,” she murmurs, doing her best to keep her voice neutral.
“Well, I guess I should make the most of it while I still have you then, right?” She offers me a broad grin, but I can see that I’ve stung her, and I curse myself internally for making it sound like I can’t wait to get out of this town.
It reminds me, all too clearly, of how it felt when my father had to take off to another call, brushing my mother and me off like he hardly had time for us.
I promise myself that I’m going to do everything I can to prove that I want to be here.
I don’t even know what that looks like, not when none of us seem able to put into words the fact of the matter of our children.
But as Angelie and I work in the kitchen together in companionable silence, I know that there’s nowhere else I would rather be.
Even if I seem to have a hard time convincing her of that.