Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
SMACK
“Listen, Daddy! I’m playing it again!”
“Great, honey bunny.” I worked at the enthusiasm in my voice.
That freaking trombone. Erin blew a note. Stopped as she faltered. Blew another, longer one. “How’s that?”
“Amazing. You’re getting better each day. Just keep practicing.”
“I will!” She belted out a series of short ones that resembled the sound of flatulence.
My smile stayed pasted on my face. I even tapped my feet as if there was a rhythm.
Although Erin excelled academically at school, her teachers were concerned about her small motor skills. Things like tying her shoes or working an umbrella did not come easily to her. She was all thumbs. Dan had been like that, too. The man couldn’t load a dishwasher to save his life.
The doctor had recommended sports or a musical instrument to help Erin. My mother had hoped to teach her the piano, having taught me years ago. But the day I took Erin to look at pianos, she somehow convinced me to get a trombone instead.
“Oh gosh, it’s bigger than her arms,” my mother exclaimed. Erin played it night and day. And with the way it brought her so much joy, I didn’t care if her motor skills were a little delayed.
“Daddy! Are you even listening? I asked how this sounded.” Erin’s voice jolted me out of the memory.
“Sorry. Can you play it again?”
“Uh-huh.” She took a deep breath, counting to three, and then played the note.
That one sounded like a loud, dying sheep.
“Wow.” I nodded. “That’s…something, isn’t it?”
Erin flashed me a toothy grin.
Earplugs were a no go. Erin waited for me to sit and hear her play, and I couldn’t hurt her feelings like that. Not when things were already hard for her. Not when Erin was still so affected by Dan’s death and angry at Mom for leaving and moving away.
“Hey, how about we give Grandma a call? I bet she’d love to hear your new trombone piece.”
I video-dialed my mom before Erin could answer.
“Mom, how are you? Erin and I wanted to say hi.”
I aimed the phone at Erin. My mom smiled at her.
“Hello, sweet girl. How is the playing going?”
Erin only gave a small wave, then turned her back a little. She began to play but ignored the FaceTime call.
My mom’s eyes turned sad. God, it was so hard when members of your family had hurt feelings. All I wanted was to fix it for them both.
“Sorry,” I muttered, walking into the other room as Erin played. “I put her on the spot. It’s my fault she’s annoyed.” I tucked the phone under my chin in order to bend down and scoop up some of Erin’s scattered clothes. A T-shirt, a lone sock, a skinny red belt Erin never wore. Laundry was endless in our house.
Mom sighed heavily. “I made the best decision I could.”
“Without consulting me.”
“Is Erin the child here or you?” Mom asked.
“Me? I’ve had to be the adult for a long time. Way before Erin came along,” I groused, folding a pair of underwear. Mom was silent; she knew it was true. I was born mature. Serious and driven, I rarely allowed myself to be a child, even when I was one. When my father died when I was still young, I took over a lot of the responsibilities. These qualities helped make me a good captain, maybe, but it came with a cost.
“Sean…” Mom said gently. “I’m upset this place is far from you, but it fit all of my needs, present and future. The best thing is for Erin not to witness my daily struggles. Or for you to have it all added to your shoulders.”
“My shoulders are fine,” I grumbled, patting them. “For a guy my age, I’ve got the shoulders of a twenty-year-old.”
“And those shoulders deserve a break. Maybe a night out. A new romance?”
“I’m too old for that stuff.”
“Nonsense. You’re only forty-two.” Mom snorted. “Give dating a chance. I am. I’ve met some lovely men.”
I winced, not wanting to hear about her senior citizen hookups. My mom getting more action than me was a weird enough idea.
“Just try dating?” she suggested. “You might find a wounded bird. That was always your type, at least with Dan. You do love a rescue.”
Wounded bird made me flash on an image of Caleb’s liquid-brown eyes and mop of shaggy, light brown hair that he was growing longer these days. To hide the scars?
I blinked the image away. I’d hardly rescued Dan in the end. He wasn’t here. And that was my fault. So, I didn’t deserve another chance. Maybe I never would. Mom always saw the best in me, like I did with Erin. But did seeing the best in somebody make it true?
“How’s work?”
“Good. I’m getting the probies into shape.”
“Your father would be proud.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’d like to think so…” I smiled awkwardly. Unlike my mother, Dad had been disappointed in me as a young teenager. He’d loved me, but his silence over my sexuality had shamed me. We’d never discussed my coming out, and my mother failed to see how much my dad rejected me. He died on the job, a firefighter like me, and any chances for earning his trust were lost.
I frowned. “What Dad would’ve hated is my not taking care of you. That you’re in…that place.”
“It’s called assisted living, and I’m fine,” Mom said firmly. “And I’m fine living in the independent section here. It’s quite nice. The food is lovely. More than I can eat.” Mom paused with a small frown on her face. “Are you and Erin eating enough? I can send a package?—”
“We’re all good.”
“You’re looking a little thin, Sean.”
“I’m the same weight,” I said. Maybe I felt my age these days, but that was from being a single parent and captain, not from my lack of carbs. “I’ll have more time to eat this whole summer when Erin is with Dan’s folks.”
“When does she go?”
“Early Sunday morning. She’s excited.”
“And you?”
I shrugged.
“Well, I’d love to have you visit me this summer. And Erin, once she’s back.”
“I’ll do that once the wildfire is contained and I have some time,” I promised.
She blew me a quick kiss and ended the call.
A long, belching sound of a flailing trombone came from the other room. It sounded like my dad when he had a bad case of gas. My father would have been the first one to make that joke; he’d had no filter. He’d also be the first one to buy a ticket to any of Erin’s future concerts. I put down the folded clothes and went back into the room where Erin was still practicing, jerking the slide back and forth in her tiny arms.
Dan would have loved every note, too. Of that, at least, I was certain. Sadness flooded me and a little of the old, familiar anger. Most of my crew only knew me as a widower; that’s how long Dan had been gone. Only Kamira had met Dan a few times, our spouses and kids mingling outside of the station house. The rest of the crew might see me as grumpy, but back when Dan died, I’d been angry, too.
“Fuck you,” I’d whispered, standing over his freshly dug grave, the rage filling every corner of my being. The unfairness blasted through me like lightning fire. Dan was gone forever. A sharp sob caught in my throat. Dan’s face. The look in his eyes after the crash. Memories I could never share with anybody about those final hours. Shame mixed with the anger.
“Time to pack it up, kiddo,” I suggested, my ears having hit their limit.
“Okay, Daddy. Do you want to play Barbie?” she asked. “You can be Ken.”
As Erin packed the trombone into its case, I breathed out a silent thank-you. My ears were still ringing. How many years until she improved? God help me. But no matter how long it took, I wouldn’t deny her the pleasure of the trombone. Or anything.
She’d already opened the Barbie camper. All the dolls fell out. Some were missing shoes. One had no head. She picked up a Barbie in a hot pink dress and handed me a beachy-looking Ken.
We sat on the floor, playing with the dolls for the rest of the afternoon. I held it together all the way to Erin’s bedtime. After tucking her in, I went to my bedroom, opening the bottom drawer of my dresser, where I kept only a few of Dan’s old clothes. All the others I’d donated. I dropped to my knees, taking out one of his faded sweats. The guilt and loneliness felt unbearable. I held his sweats in my hands, rocking back and forth, my eyes filled with tears. Dan’s parents deserved to see Erin for the summer in Seattle, surrounded by his family. I owed it to Dan, if not to them.
I was glad to go help with the wildfire. I’d called the guys over at Cal Fire and asked if they needed more people on the Strike Team. They welcomed extra help, of course, but there were closer, more essential units also going. Nobody wanted a repeat of the awful Mendocino Fire Complex of 2018. I’d long ago learned the lesson to respect natural disasters and never assume. The sooner we all pitched in and contained the hotspots, the better. Besides, the idea of an empty house for weeks depressed me.
The only part bothering me was Caleb. I hated the ridiculous way Caleb made me feel. If I wasn’t careful…something in Caleb’s lopsided smile could burst my heart wide open.