Chapter 5 #2
We move farther down the trail together.
The storm scattered fallen trees through this stretch of woods like someone knocked them over in a careless line.
Clearing them has turned into a proper morning’s work.
The path dips between two slabs of granite before climbing toward the ridge where the harbor flashes silver through the trees.
Tom crouches beside the next trunk and works with the quiet confidence of someone who has spent a lifetime trusting tools and the muscle memory that comes with them.
While he trims away the branches, I drag the upper section of the log off the path and roll it into the brush.
Sawdust dusts his forearms and sticks to the sweat there.
He wipes it away with a swipe of his hand.
“You didn’t grow up in the city,” I say, nodding toward the saw.
A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Boston.”
“That explains the attitude, but not the way you have with power tools.”
The laugh he lets out is quiet but genuine. He stretches his back before adding, “Firefighter.”
I glance over. “Yeah?”
“Thirty-two years.”
A low whistle escapes me before I can stop it. “That’ll leave a mark.”
Tom shrugs, the movement small but heavy with things he doesn’t bother explaining. “Some of them.”
We finish clearing the trunk and shove the last section into the underbrush. It lands with a muffled thud that startles a squirrel into a tirade above us. Tom brushes his hands together and grabs his water bottle.
“And you. Military, right?” he asks, studying me over the rim as he drinks.
I nod once. “Army.”
He lowers the bottle slowly and cocks his head but doesn’t make any stupid remarks. People who have spent long enough around violence tend to spot it in others the same way mechanics recognize the sound of a bad engine.
We start down the trail again. Sunlight flickers between the branches overhead, breaking across the dirt path in patches of gold.
“You miss it?” Tom asks after a while.
“The Army?”
He nods.
I step over a tangle of exposed roots before answering. “Some parts.”
Tom doesn’t rush to fill the silence, like he understands that answers sometimes take a minute to surface.
“I miss knowing what the day is for,” I say finally.
He nods once, as if that makes perfect sense. “That part never leaves.”
The last fallen tree waits just before the ridge, a thick spruce laid across the trail like a barricade. Tom stretches his shoulders before getting to work again, muscles shifting beneath the sweat-darkened fabric of his shirt.
“You retire,” he says while he positions himself for the cut, “or did they push you out?”
The tone is casual. The look he gives me isn’t.
“Body slowed down,” I answer.
“That happens,” he says simply.
The next trunk gives in to our combined efforts with a hollow crack and splits apart under the pressure. When the noise fades and the woods settle again, he stands there for a moment staring at the fallen pieces like he is remembering something else entirely.
“What about you?”
Tom sets his left foot onto the fallen log and leans his elbow on his knee.
“Department had gear that should’ve been replaced years earlier.
Masks that didn’t seal right. Hose couplings that leaked pressure.
” He says it like he’s listing parts from a machine.
“I filed reports. Did my due diligence.”
“Let me guess.” Anger simmers in my lower belly.
“They didn’t appreciate it.” A thin smile crosses his face that holds no humor at all. Warehouse fire,” he says finally. “Big one. Old industrial place full of junk nobody had bothered to clear out.”
He braces his gloved hands on his hips and looks past the trees for a moment.
“We went in with gear that should’ve been replaced years earlier. Masks that didn’t seal right. Hose couplings that had been failing inspections for months.” His jaw tightens.
The breeze stirs the branches overhead. Far below, a gull cries somewhere out on the harbor.
“Two of my guys didn’t make it out,” he finishes.
I lean against the trunk, letting the weight settle into my boots. “Funny how the system always needs someone to blame.”
Tom glances sideways at me. “Yeah.”
The quiet stretches between us again before he asks the next question.
“You ever kill someone?”
There is nothing dramatic about the way he says it. No accusation. No curiosity. Just the blunt honesty that sometimes follows shared work and open air.
For a moment the trail in front of me isn’t the trail anymore.
Dust.
Heat.
A figure stepping into the road with something dark in his hands.
Too fast. Too close.
My finger tightening before my brain catches up.
I blink and the forest returns. “Yeah.”
Tom nods once and leaves it there.
For a while we work without talking. The trail still needs clearing and the storm didn’t do the woods any favors. Branches snap under our boots as we drag them off the path. The burn pile grows steadily beside the trees while the afternoon sun filters through the canopy overhead.
Eventually we reach the last stretch of the trail before the ridge. Two trunks lie tangled together across the path, roots twisted up like someone dropped a barricade in the middle of the woods.
Tom studies the mess for a moment.
“Well,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders, “that’s going to be fun.”
I step around the branches and grab hold of one end while he starts cutting through the smaller limbs. The wood cracks and shifts as the pressure changes.
“You and Melanie been here long?”
“Twenty-five years.”
“Kids?”
“Two boys.”
“Both gone now?”
I nod. “Out of the house.”
Tom’s expression softens in a way that suggests he expected that answer.
“Empty nest.”
“That obvious?”
“You two have the look,” he says.
“What look?”
“The kind people get after thirty years of raising a family when the house suddenly goes quiet.” I lean beside him and watch a sailboat tack slowly across the bay.
“She keeps busy,” I say. “Clinic. Garden. Volunteering.”
“And you?”
I consider that for a moment. “Turns out peace takes getting used to.”
Tom studies the trail we’ve cleared for a long moment. “You ever notice something about this place?”
“Like?”
“People here don’t seem too worried about doing things the normal way.”
I chuckle softly. “That’s one way to describe Northwick Cove.”
His gaze back to me. “I’ve noticed a few relationships that aren’t exactly traditional.”
“Yeah.”