Chapter Seventeen We Were Twenty-Seven
Chapter Seventeen
We Were Twenty-Seven
Within three weeks, more wildfires were raging through Canada than in the last twenty years combined.
And George was in the middle of all of it, reporting from the front lines for the CBC. His byline was on the home page almost daily.
I texted him at odd hours to make sure he was safe, to make sure he was alive.
I slept with my phone on my pillow so I wouldn’t miss a call.
We spoke almost every day. He told me what he’d witnessed.
Flames that rose one hundred meters in the air.
Homes turned to cinders. Exhausted, soot-covered firefighters, pushing on despite their aching bodies.
Sometimes he was too tired to say much, so I gave him my own news reports.
Darwin’s wife, Anh, was now in her third trimester.
Moby had put a down payment on a house in Ottawa.
Aurora and Betty were moving in together.
My college friend Brie had signed a development deal with one of the streamers.
And me? I’d been working in kitchens for the last seven years, and I was tired.
I spent my meager downtime too depleted to do more than lie on the couch, watching Love Island.
Brie wanted me to come work with her, but the idea of making such a drastic change felt like giving up and admitting my mom had been right.
Even though he was so far away, I felt close to George that summer.
I was his lifeline, but he felt like mine, too.
It was almost like the old days. I knew his schedule, his routines, and the way his voice sounded in the morning and at the end of a brutal day.
I knew when he was somewhere long enough to cook himself a tofu scramble for breakfast, and I knew he was reading books about dragons as an escape. I knew him.
Then one day, he texted me to tune in to The National, the CBC’s nightly news program.
I was at work, but by ten the rush was over, so I crept out back with my phone.
And there was George, hair neatly combed, microphone in hand, speaking to the entire country.
Over his shoulder in the distance, a fire turned the night orange, a terrible beauty.
I didn’t pay attention to what he was saying—it was the calm authority in his voice that captivated me.
He stared directly at me through the screen, his eyes steady, his jaw stern, unbothered by the danger that had my stomach twisting with worry.
It struck me in a way it never had before: George was no longer the boy I grew up with.
During the last seven years, he’d changed.
I texted him immediately after the segment aired.
Me: You’re a natural! How was that your first time on TV? Were you nervous?
George: Super nervous beforehand, but once I got going, I was okay. The producer wants to make it a regular thing.
Me: Wow. That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.
Me: I guess this means you’ll be following the fires for a while, huh?
George: Yeah. They want me up in Yellowknife.
Me: Yellowknife? So far! You’ll be safe?
George: Of course. You have nothing to worry about.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.