Chapter Four
“Ugh!” Sloane cried, slamming the front door of her house shut. She plonked her handbag on the table in the foyer and rushed past the living room, ignoring Robbie, who had slipped out of work an hour before her. He was sprawled on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table.
Jogging up the staircase, Sloane was already peeling off her blouse, shrugging out of her pencil skirt before she even reached her bedroom.
Only comfortable clothes would do for whatever was coming.
No bikini with that new silky sarong she’d bought just last week.
No wide-brim sun hat she’d planned on using to cover her face when she took naps on the beach.
No cute little black number she’d planned on using to turn heads.
Sloane felt tears well up behind her eyes.
Angry tears. She was supposed to be on a beach tomorrow, recharging after months of nonstop work.
She was supposed to lose herself in margaritas and subsequently in the lovely legs of some blonde she’d met at the bar.
She was supposed to recharge, refresh, and rejuvenate, not spend who knew how long with that Kendall woman, shooting a documentary she hadn’t even had time to understand, to process, to believe in.
“Fuck you karma!” she shouted to the walls, grabbing the suitcase from beneath her bed. “Fuck you, Louise. This is all your fault,” she cried, rifling through her closet, slipping on jeans and a T-shirt, and tossing the rest in the bag.
Sloane then crossed the room to the closet at the other side and fetched her camera bag. She checked that everything was in its rightful place before she swung both straps over her shoulders and headed back downstairs.
“Are you off, Sloane?” Robbie asked, not moving even an inch from his sprawl on the couch. Instead, he stretched his arms behind his head, looking far too comfortable for someone crashing at a friend’s house.
Not only had she given him a job, but she’d also offered her house after his divorce—temporarily, of course. Yet, he didn’t seem to take that part seriously.
“I am,” she grumbled.
“Your life’s like a soap opera, Sloane,” Robbie muttered mid-yawn. “One minute you’re sleeping with your blind date, the next minute she’s showing up at your work.”
As if Sloane needed the reminder.
“You know, when I said you could move in, I thought you’d help talk me off the ledge, not leave me dangling from it.”
“Hey,” he pointed a finger in her direction. “I’ve talked you off that Louise ledge more times than I can count. Me and Pinot Grigio both. But we’re not talking about the Wicked Witch of the West now, are we? We’re talking about Kendall. Sweet, hot Kendall. Maybe you two will hook up again.”
“That’s the last thing I want.”
Robbie narrowed his eyes, not buying it, even though it was true.
The last thing Sloane really wanted was to sleep with Kendall again. That was a one-time thing. A mistake born from primal urges, from the pain still simmering, from all the hurt Louise had caused. A get-over-a heart-break fuck, if one could call it that.
“If you say so, Sloane. Just keep in mind, a healthy sex life makes for a healthy mind.” Robbie tapped his temple with his forefinger for emphasis. “I want nothing more than a healthy sex life for my favorite friend.”
Sloane groaned, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what it is about her. She’s… maddening, but also—”
“How?” Robbie interrupted, grinning. “Sloane, she’s like a flame you can’t put out. My advice: Don’t try. Just embrace the heat.”
She sent him a glower, grabbed her suitcase she’d dropped earlier from the floor, and huffed, “If you trash this house while I’m gone, I’m kicking you out.”
Robbie grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Good luck, love. Try not to kill the girl.”
~~
Kendall stood at the end of the driveway, a small bag on her back. Good. At least she knew how to pack light.
If Lisa wasn’t on her case, breathing down her neck and Sloane’s job wasn’t hanging in the balance if she failed to follow instructions, she would rather drive right past that familiar double-story with its stucco walls, red-tiled roof, and arched doorway. Right past Kendall.
Instead, she slowed down, pulled to the curb, and came to a stop.
“Hey,” Kendall greeted her when she opened the passenger door and climbed in.
She awkwardly squeezed into the seat with her bag still on her back, her shoulder bumping into the door frame as she twisted to get the thing off. Eventually—Sloane had counted five whole seconds—she had managed to yank it over her head and tossed it into the backseat with a huff.
Sloane had been too shocked to even laugh.
For someone who looked so nimble, Kendall was surprisingly clumsy. It was something Sloane hadn’t really noticed until now.
But then again, how could she have? Their first encounter at that restaurant hadn’t given much time for assessments, and the sex afterward, in the dimly lit room, gave even less opportunity for Sloane to focus on anything other than what was right in front of her—Kendall’s naked body splayed out on that king sized bed.
She shivered and waited until the door slammed shut before she peeled the car back onto the road.
“It’s about a two-hour drive,” Sloane said.
“For today, I was thinking we just grab some footage of the fires before it gets dark. We’ll handle the interviews tomorrow, depending on how things develop. ”
Kendall sucked in a breath, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, her posture as stiff as a statue.
“Will the documentary just be based on this fire?” she asked.
“No,” Sloane shook her head. “To make it meaningful, to get it to resonate with the viewers, we’ll need to cover more than just this one incident.
We want to highlight the broader impact of wildfires.
Not just showing the immediate dangers, but also the long-term effects on the community, and on the women who brave the flames.
Since it’s wildfire season in California, I’m sure we’ll get what we need. ”
They needed weeks, if not months, of footage.
Hours of interviews. They needed compelling stories that wove together the experiences: the fear, the bravery, the heartbreak, and the healing that followed in the aftermath.
Each frame would need to reflect the human spirit’s determination to rise from the ashes, reminding the viewers that beyond the smoke were real people, real lives forever altered.
Sloane swallowed the lump in her throat when the blue of the Pacific Ocean disappeared in her rearview mirror.
Goodbye holiday, she thought, then stole a quick glance at Kendall.
She was fumbling with the lanyard attached to her phone.
Sunlight danced on her cheekbones and on those long lashes.
For a second, Sloane’s breath caught in her chest. It was as if the sun had cast a spotlight on the very features of the woman she was trying her best to ignore.
The women she had been trying to forget.
Although, it was entirely impossible to forget Kendall when she was sitting right next to Sloane. Less than an arm’s length away.
“How long do you think that will take?” Kendall asked, her voice like a hand bringing Sloane back from her spiraling thoughts.
It took Sloane a good minute to reply, mostly because she was still catching her breath, and had to do it inconspicuously. And also, because the answer was something she still had to wrap her head around. To do the documentary justice, they needed time. Lots of it.
That was the problem.
“I hope your chief doesn’t mind you taking a chunk of time off work. This project won’t take less than a few weeks.”
“A few weeks,” Kendall choked. “Are you serious?”
“Like a heart attack.”
Kendall’s shock was enough to create silence in the car while Sloane weaved through the traffic, wondering how her life had taken such a curveball.
It had to be karma. Certainly, it was a cosmic payback for her reckless decisions.
If only she hadn’t keyed Louise’s car with a screwdriver. If only she hadn’t written the word CHEATER in capital letters across the left side of the car… and the right. If only she had walked away from the blind date alone.
They passed through towns, their streets lined with neatly manicured lawns and flowers spilling over their borders, while families enjoyed the afternoon sun.
As they continued on, the towns blended into one another.
Before they knew it, the buildings were thinning, the urban landscape giving way to snaking roads flanked with tall Jeffrey pines and cedars while the occasional black oak made an appearance.
“How long have you been in the documentary business?” Kendall asked when the road began to wind upward.
“Fifteen years, give or take,” Sloane replied, her eyes fixed ahead, not daring to glance to her right. Yet, out of the corner of her eye, she could sense Kendall watching her, her body angled in a way that half-faced Sloane. “But it feels much longer.”
“Why?”
Sloane shrugged. “I don’t really know.” It was true.
She didn’t really know the answer. She loved her job more than anything, but there were days that were trying.
“I guess it’s just the nature of the job.
It can be intense, always running after something, always wanting more detail, more information, and more people to interview.
The stories… well, they can stick with you, you know? ”
“I do,” Kendall said. “In the beginning, I tried to remember every person I saved… or lost. The only way to get through it is to grow thick skin.”
“And? Do you have thick skin?” Sloane was surprised at herself for wanting to know more. She found herself wanting to ask more about Kendall and her job when she had expected herself to remain completely silent.
Kendall snorted a laugh. “Not as thick as I would like.” She drummed the fingers of her right hand across her knee while a song played softly on the radio. “By the way, how old are you?”
The question came out of nowhere, like a sudden gust of wind. Sloane was momentarily caught off guard and had to take a breath to compose herself before answering. “Forty-five.”
Kendall seemed to consider this, mulling the number over in her head, her brows slightly furrowed. For the first time ever, Sloane felt strangely aware of her age, the years weighing on her like a thick quilt on a humid summer day. It was unsettling.
“How old are you?” she shot back before the woman could make some nonsensical comment about the age of technology and how funny it was that Sloane grew up without a computer, a phone, and easy access to the internet.
“Thirty,” Kendall replied, smiling. “But I feel much older, like I’ve already lived an entire lifetime in those years.”
“Is there a reason for that?”
Kendall had just opened her mouth to speak when she suddenly clamped her jaw shut, pointing ahead with wide, fearful eyes. “Shit!”
Ahead of them, smoke rose up, twisting and curling into the sky. The bright summer blue was now marred with ominous shades of gray. Sloane felt the knot in her stomach clench tighter and by the look of what they were heading into, it wasn’t going to ease up anytime soon.
“And so, our work begins,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady even though her insides felt like a roller-coaster.