Chapter Ten
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Liv said, glancing back over her shoulder. Her expression was obscured by the reflective shield they all donned when fighting fire.
Not that Sydney needed to see Liv’s face to know that her brows were shoved together and that those freckles were bunching up on her forehead.
It wasn’t a frown over the unfortunate house of an elderly lady called Mrs. Johnson that was burning like a matchbox, or because Liv, who had taken charge of the hose, was struggling to get the water pressure to cooperate.
No, it was because Sydney had gone ahead and invited Morgan on their camping trip without asking permission.
Permission Sydney didn’t even know she needed, especially when the entire camping trip had been her idea.
Not to mention that Sydney had organized almost everything herself—from paying the park fees to choosing the best campsite, to creating the menu, designating the right food items for the right people.
She had even created the detailed itinerary: set up camp, explore the campsite, hike Pfeiffer falls trail.
It was all perfectly planned. Sydney might not look it, not with all the spontaneous tattoos she had accumulated over the years—none except for the pineapple on the back of her wrist was premeditated—but Sydney did love a good plan.
Just like she loved Excel spreadsheets and lists and ticking one task off after the other.
It gave her a satisfaction that she felt deep in her bones.
And sometimes, though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, it often felt like a very toned-down orgasm.
This conversation, however, was tedious and the complete opposite of an orgasm.
Sydney let out an exasperated sigh. “What isn’t a good idea?” Though she knew exactly what Liv was going to say, so much so that she could have said the words out loud herself… I don’t think it’s a good idea that you asked Morgan to come along on our camping trip.
“Bringing Morgan along.”
Close enough.
“That makes no sense,” Sydney grumbled.
“What doesn’t make sense? That I’ve got reservations about Morgan tagging along?
” Liv was yelling now, her voice losing to the loud hiss of the water as she set the hose on the fire’s latest conquest. She was spreading water on a beautiful floor-to-ceiling bookcase that reminded Sydney of her own grandmother’s cozy house up in Pacific Grove.
Except this was anything but cozy.
The entire bookcase was covered in ravenous flames, eating the hundreds of books like it hadn’t just snacked on the rest of the house.
All those lovely books and their lovely bindings were gone in a flash.
It was heartbreaking to witness homes destroyed by fire, especially since a house was more than wood and brick, more than a skeleton of beams and nails.
It was memories, experiences, laughs, cries, and everything in between.
Sydney’s heart ached for Mrs. Johnson, just like it ached for all those precious mementos now roasting like marshmallows in the flames.
Sometimes life just really wasn’t fair.
“Yes, exactly,” Sydney said tersely, feeling her temper, which rarely ever reached boiling point, start to simmer.
“Your reservations make no sense, Liv. I thought you liked Morgan. Just the other day, after wine tasting, you said she was beautiful, that you struggled to take your straight eyes off her. You even said she might be the most intellectual person you’ve ever met. ”
The redhead—though with her gear on, no one would ever know her hair was as red as the flames she was fighting—gave another glance back over her shoulder.
This time, Sydney could swear she saw Liv roll her eyes so hard she nearly lost control of the hose.
It was just about to slip from her grip when she caught it.
“I just think it’s a bad idea,” Liv said loudly, her voice somewhat shaky. “She doesn’t exactly look like someone who enjoys camping. She might hate it and make it unpleasant for the rest of us.”
The reason was both weak and not entirely honest. Sydney could always tell when Liv wasn’t saying what she really meant. Her voice would drop, like a rumble from deep in her stomach, as if she were trying to speak from her toes, hoping the truth would get lost somewhere along the way.
The real reason, probably just as ridiculous, was something Sydney didn’t feel like dealing with right now. Not while they were literally trying to extinguish the last embers of Mrs. Johnson’s life. Yet Sydney couldn’t seem to let it go.
“So, what?” Sydney said. “You didn’t like camping either when we first met. You literally brought along a blow-up mattress and spent most of that weekend up in Pinnacle pumping that thing up.”
“I was just a baby five years ago,” Liv replied. “There’s a saying, isn’t there, about not teaching an old dog new tricks? If Morgan doesn’t like camping by now, she probably never will.”
“Can you drop the age thing, for goodness’ sake?
” Sydney groaned, feeling a heat scouring her limbs that wasn’t coming from the fire hissing in front of her.
Never in their five years of friendship did she ever think Liv was an ageist. You’d think you’d know everything about your best friend by now: all those mole checks, the frequent dance parties in the kitchen after knocking back a few wine bottles, the tears that usually followed when they poured their hearts out, and even that one time when Liv had insisted Sydney give her a bikini wax right before her date with pro surfer Jordie Hills.
But apparently, that wasn’t the case.
“Fine,” Liv shouted while water sloshed and steamed as it hit the burning books.
A crunch of footsteps sounded behind them.
Sydney whipped her head back to the foyer and watched Andrew, their captain.
He was very much a badass given that he had completed four ironman races in the last year alone, finished two hundred miler ultramarathons in the year before, and had just welcomed his fourth baby three weeks ago.
He stormed toward the hallway, followed closely by Bernard, whose only accolade was that he could bury forty-eight pieces of sushi in his soft, yet strong belly.
The two made a surprisingly mean team.
Sydney watched them disappear in the billow of smoke and then sent her attention back to the bookcase. That intense fiery orange glow was beginning to fade, the water hissing as the flames went up in smoke.
Sydney stepped back to give Liv space as she retreated with the hose and suddenly felt a crunch of glass beneath her foot.
Looking down, she spotted a photo frame.
The glass was cracked, but the photo was still intact.
A boy no older than ten with floppy blonde hair standing next to a man who looked just like him, only decades older, looked up at her.
A memory.
With everything else either charred or burnt to charcoal, at least Sydney could give the poor woman one last memory.
She bent down, scraped the bits of glass off the photo.
Whoever the people in the photo were, smiling happily, she was certain they were special to Mrs. Johnson.
There was no other reason to frame them in gold.
“What are you doing?” Liv asked, turning the valve handle clockwise to close the hose. The water cut off. “Is that a photo?”
“Yup,” Sydney muttered. She hadn’t yet forgiven Liv for being so ridiculous, so she slipped the photo into her pocket before Liv could catch a glimpse. Yes, Sydney knew she was being childish. She gave the room one last sweep before heading to the door.
Outside, a veil of smoke hugged the house, but as she stepped through it, she yanked off her helmet and breathed in deeply. The fresh air was delicious, but her lungs ached with the first few inhales. She gulped down a few more breaths and scanned the scene in front of her.
Through the chaos on the lawn—firefighters marching with stern expressions on their faces, curious neighbors, and news reporters buzzing around—Sydney spotted the old lady cradling a tabby cat to her chest. Her eyes were rimmed red, and her chin still wobbled as tears streaked down her cheeks.
Right then, something inside Sydney shattered, like a crystal glass dropped to the floor. If she could, if she had the means, she’d buy Mrs. Johnson a new house. She would give her back all her memories, promise her a lifetime of contentment, and somehow make everything right again.
Sydney wondered if Morgan ever felt the same way when she told a grieving family of the death of their child, mother, grandfather.
“All I’m trying to say is that Morgan might change the dynamic of the weekend,” Liv said, coming up behind her.
“It won’t,” Sydney grumbled, tugging the photo out of her pocket. She brushed a thumb across the print. It couldn’t possibly make up for all Mrs. Johnson had lost, but it might give the woman a semblance of hope.
“Come on, Sydney. Face it,” Liv continued, peering over Sydney’s shoulder at the photo. “You have a massive crush on her. You’ll end up spending the entire weekend either trying to impress her or beating yourself up if you don’t.”
“I’m not going to turn into some lovesick mess,” Sydney quipped. “That’s your job, Liv.” She left her friend standing there with her jaw dropped and spun toward the old lady, who was still holding on to the cat. What did you say to someone who lost everything because of a faulty extension cord?
She took a deep breath, held her helmet in the crook of her left arm, and then approached the elderly woman, giving her a smile that couldn’t reverse the damage done. Nothing could.
“I know it isn’t much,” said Sydney, holding out the photo. Apart from a slight kink in the paper, it still looked in good condition—unlike the rest of the house, which was a charred mess. “But it was the only thing I could find. I thought you might want it.”
Mrs. Johnson’s bright blue eyes, now a splotchy red, widened as she took the photo, her hands trembling.
She stared at it, the tears in her eyes building up again until one dropped on the photo.
“It’s my son and my grandson. They live overseas,” she said, her voice soft and croaky.
“Charlie’s eighteen now. He was nine in that photo, tall for his age. ”
“You have a beautiful family,” Sydney said.
“Thank you, dear.”
“I’m very sorry about your house.”
A red minivan pulled up on the sidewalk. Three kids spilled from the doors screaming “Grandma” followed by a woman who had the same chestnut hair as Mrs. Johnson and a man wearing a suit and tie, clearly a businessman.
Sydney walked away, letting the woman get wrapped up in her family’s arms.
“Are you angry at me?” Liv asked when Sydney reached the fire truck. “Because you know I can’t take it when you’re angry at me. Look, I’m a mess already.” She pointed at her crumpled face.
“Of course not,” Sydney relented. “But I will be if you act like an ungracious camping host this weekend. I think it took a lot for Morgan to even agree to join us, alright? So, stop with this nonsense.”
“Fine,” Liv grunted. “I’ll be perfectly pleasant.”
“And?” Sydney waited for more.
Liv flung her head back, jaw dropping open in a far too dramatic way, and when she tipped her head back, she rolled her head. “And I won’t bring up that Morgan is like fifty years older than you.”
Sydney pulled a face but knew she wouldn’t get much more out of Liv. “And don’t forget to pack the first aid kit.”
“It’s on the list,” Liv said and then grumbled under her breath. “Your very long and unnecessary list.”