Chapter 3
Fawnie
It’s been one full day.
One day that felt like a thousand years, just as I knew it would.
Thirty-four hours, or ten thousand years, I still haven’t processed any of this.
Not what Dad said when he came over yesterday afternoon after talking with the man who saved my life.
He tried to explain everything, but both of us are still in shock.
The fact that the man I’ve wanted to find so badly is living right here, and has been for five years.
That he’s as close to my dad as he can get because he’s a patched-in member of the same club.
My brain still traces over the connections, and it does make sense. I’m just struggling to get over that giant hurdle of disbelief.
Maybe Dad is right. I’ve made this man to be some kind of superhero and he’s just a regular guy. Just a scared person who was barely more than a teenager himself, who did something brave.
Dad made me promise that I would leave it at a phone call.
He tried to make me understand that some people value their privacy, and that Shadow—his club name, not his real name—isn’t a people person.
He likes being alone. Attention is the last thing he wants.
He doesn’t even want to meet me because any sort of hero worship is something he can’t deal with.
I tried to say that it wouldn’t go down that way, but Dad didn’t believe me.
Go figure. I didn’t believe me either.
My hands have been shaking, and I’ve been a total wreck since Dad dropped off the burner phone twenty minutes ago. He told me I had an hour window to call. It’s weird. Will the phone explode after sixty minutes? Will it turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight?
Wrong fairytale.
You’re not supposed to be living a fairytale at all. That’s the point.
Dad was probably the one who settled on an hour. He gave me the burner to respect this man’s privacy. I know that anyone from the club who could help me find his address probably won’t now, because Dad’s likely talked to them.
I’ve clung to the few pieces of information Dad gave me.
This man, Shadow, is five years older than me.
I know he went to counselling with Dad at church, but never attended the church.
He lived a few blocks from our house, so he was able to see the smoke the night of the fire.
He moved here because he needed more opportunities than Ohio offered, and it seemed a good place to start.
And he’s been here for the last few years, doing the club books and scheduling at one of their nightclubs.
That’s all Dad gave me.
Some of it makes sense.
Some of it doesn’t.
Dad made me promise that I’d respect Shadow’s wishes for privacy. He didn’t even tell my dad about the fire because he didn’t want him to feel like he owed him something.
That doesn’t make sense either.
I think something happened. From the fire. Something terrible. I think that Shadow was hurt and that neither of them wants me to know.
I can’t process that either.
I glance down at my phone and flick the screen so I can see the time. I have thirty minutes left to make this call. I wonder if Shadow is sitting waiting for the call. I know nothing about him.
But I want to.
I promised my dad I wouldn’t put all my considerable effort into finding him in a relatively small city, and pestering him with thanks and offers of friendship and undying loyalty and endless gushing hero worship.
God. I seriously need to get my shit together.
I crack open the phone and stare at the only number programmed into it.
My heart flutters at the thought of the other phone clutched in strong hands.
But maybe they’re not strong. Maybe they’re burned.
Maybe the man on the other end is disfigured because of me.
He’s a recluse because he’s afraid to go outside, or because he’s in too much pain.
Dad did warn me that Shadow has a wicked sense of humor. That he might say biting things to me, but he doesn’t mean them. That’s just his way.
Would that be his way if he was leading a happy, normal life? We only spoke briefly the night of the fire, and I was too traumatized to remember much. Why did he leave Ohio and come out here? I don’t buy the shit about there not being any opportunity. What really happened?
Bubby ambles across the kitchen right at the exact moment that my mind whirls and I think about the very second I begged Shadow to go back into the burning house and get her.
I couldn’t bear to lose her. My heart wrenches and tears spill down my cheeks.
I get up and pick her up, careful of her old, sore body.
She melts against me, purring madly, rubbing her wet nose against my cheek.
She meows when she sniffs the tears, and looks up at me with her huge yellow eyes.
“I’m okay,” I assure her. I kiss the top of her head.
She’s too old, really, but she’s hanging in there. She’s happy. She doesn’t appear to be in pain. She still loves her food, her treats, her naps, and her cuddles.
She’s my best friend in all the world. She always has been.
I stuff my fist into my mouth, so I don’t start sobbing.
I pepper her little ears with kisses one more time before I grab the burner and walk into the small bedroom.
It’s just big enough for a bed and a dresser, but it has good windows, and I don’t mind.
The apartment above the tattoo parlor might be small, but it’s cozy.
I like the chatter of voices downstairs during the day.
Even the thump of angry metal music that sometimes goes for hours is comforting.
I set Bubby down on the bed and curl up around her on my side. I pet her back in long strokes until she lets out a big cat yawn and falls asleep.
To the world, I know she’s nothing special. Just another tabby cat who was rescued as a kitten. But to me, she’s the world. If something happened to him when he rescued her, will he be angry with me that I chose an animal’s life over his? That he’s paying the price for my request every single day?
You don’t know that.
I know what I saw that night. He’d wrapped his t-shirt around Bubby and had nothing to protect him other than that bloody wetness.
His t-shirt was soaked in it. It saved Bubby from getting burned, I’m sure.
Would someone’s skin be steaming if they weren’t touched by the fire?
His back. His legs and arms. His hands. His face. How much smoke did he inhale?
I can’t even begin to comprehend the suffering.
I’ve been clutching the burner all this time. I unfurl my fingers and find it wet. I quickly wipe it on the floral quilt. I flip it open and it still lights up with that one number.
I check my phone. I’m down to fourteen minutes.
I close my eyes and before my doubts can force me to waste the one opportunity I might have, I bring up the number and hit the little green call button on the keypad.
It rings and rings. And rings. My heart is locked in my chest. My breath remains trapped in my lungs. My body is soaked with sweat.
A deep voice comes over the line. “Fawnie.” My name. Not hello.
I gasp and nearly drop the phone. This is probably what Dad warned me about. Not in a bad way. Just that Shadow isn’t like other people.
“Hi. Yes.” It’s a stupid thing to say. My whole body burns with mortification.
I should have written down what I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t want it to feel scripted.
I wanted to be able to say the words that are carved into my soul, but what if I can’t get them out?
“I- I wanted to call you. You know that. Uh- god. I’m sorry.
Can you give me a minute? This is a lot.
Please don’t hang up. I really do want to talk to you. ”
I wince and sit upright, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arm around them while I hold the phone to my ear.
Shadow takes deep breaths on the other end. Tears flow down my cheeks. I don’t want to cry, but I can’t stop them. I’m afraid he’ll hear.
I blurt out the one thing I shouldn’t. Not if I want him to stay on the line and hear me out.
“If you got hurt because of me, I’m so sorry.
I- I’m… I’m alive because of you. Bubby too.
There aren’t words to tell you what that means.
” The line is silent. Ominously so, but I can still hear his heavy breathing. “I know you’re still there.”
“If I saved your life, then don’t ruin mine.”
I nearly drop the phone at his cold words. People can be mean, but this is something else. He didn’t have to dig far to find those words. It’s like he dipped a cup into a river of ice flowing through himself and poured it right over me.
“I did this for your dad. I don’t need your gratitude and I don’t want your pity.” He swallows audibly. His voice doesn’t soften, but his tone isn’t nearly so frigid. “I’m glad you’re fine, but I’m fine too. You have your life and I have mine. That’s the way it needs to stay.”
The line goes dead.
No.
I study the phone until my eyes cross and my vision goes blurry.
I want to call the number back. Immediately.
Keep calling until he answers again. The only thing that stops me is imagining how hurt Dad would be.
He made me promise that one call would be it, and, well, even though I wasn’t the one to hang up, it was one call and it’s over.
I was able to say thank you. Not the way I wanted. Not nearly enough. Would it ever be enough?
I have to do something more than this. I can’t let this be it. It’s been five years, this man saved my life, and now I know for certain that it cost him. I don’t know the what of it yet, but I know I have to do something.
I have to find him and- and—
I don’t know what.
I just know that I can’t let this be.
I owe this man my life. I can’t pay that debt back, but I can’t live the rest of my life knowing that I never did one thing other than give him a feeble, token, bland, cliché thank you.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip. I can’t go to the club for help, but Loreena isn’t technically part of the club. If she asked Maverick for an address, would it really be coming from me? Okay. I know that the answer to that. It’s not good.
I gave my word, and I do believe that your word is your bond, but there are more important things, and this is beyond my own honor.
It doesn’t stop my hands from trembling or my heart from hitting the bottom of my feet when I pick up my phone and hit call.