31. Mars
Mars
The next morning, I go outside the moment I’m awake to stare at the building that used to be my garage.
I can’t believe this happened. The house wasn’t touched, thank God, and we were able to sleep there last night, though none of us wanted to go to our rooms. We stayed up late talking about what had just happened–and doctoring Arden’s burns–and ended up sleeping in the living room, Arden on the couch and Orion and me in easy chairs.
I still don’t know how to feel about what Arden did. Orion told me when he found her she was gathering his things like a chipmunk collecting nuts, and she already had a box full of photographs she’d rescued from my room.
That crazy girl ran back into a burning building to save the things she thought Orion and I treasured most.
When I asked, she told me she didn’t take anything for herself because she already had exactly what she needed.
She evidently didn’t stop to consider that Orion and I did, too.
This morning, that move feels even more stupid. Because what’s the point in any of it if I don’t have the garage anymore? How am I going to support the house or the club? How are any of my men going to make money?
How long will I even be able to keep the club together without the garage that served as our hub of operations?
For the first time I can remember, I don’t have any ideas for how to fix this.
I can’t get my brain to wrap around the fire itself, or how it might have happened, and my thoughts are even less useful when it comes to how to fix it.
Insurance will pay for a lot of it, but that will take months, and I don’t have enough saved up to rebuild the whole place myself.
Arden appears at my side and hands me a cup of coffee, then slips her arm around my waist and looks at the garage. It’s not completely gone, but structurally, I’m guessing the remaining wall needs to come down so we can rebuild everything.
When I say as much, she tips her head.
“Do you have an architect in town? Because I’m not sure you’re right.”
I glance down at her. “And how would you know?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Did I or did I not tell you that my specialization is in engineering? I may not be a building engineer but I know how load-bearing walls works, and what fire can’t actually do to steel. If you have an architect in town, I bet we could get this figured out quickly.”
I don’t want to feel the hope surging through me at the thought.
I don’t want to think it might be that easy to fix this.
That sort of hope is how you end up disappointed.
“It’s Saturday. Even if we have an architect, what makes you think he’d help me on the weekend?”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, then turns her eyes on the garage, and when I follow her gaze, I realize that I wasn’t seeing the whole picture. I was staring at the walls and missing roof, and yet here on the ground...
People from town are walking into the garage and looking around, taking its measure. They’re starting to clean up the trash and clutter, and separating things into piles of still useful and completely burnt.
Penny has brought a load of blankets. Parker, not to be outdone by her pastry rival, has brought donuts.
“What makes you think he wouldn’t?” she whispers. “Everyone else is.”
And I stare for a moment... but then turn away.
This is easier for Arden because the garage wasn’t hers. She didn’t slave to build it and then sell her soul to keep it running until it started making money. She didn’t paint it by hand or train every last man who worked there.
She sees a project.
I see my entire life in that building.
And I’m not ready to contemplate any hope in it yet.
I head to the bakery, in need of sugary sustenance, and spend two hours staring out the window at the passing cars, trying to get my brain to turn back on.
I feel rudderless, like a ship who doesn’t even know where it’s going, without my usual instincts for planning.
I can always look at a problem and think quickly through all the options to come out to the best conclusion.
I’ve always had a knack for seeing right through the emotions and complications, and dealing only with the facts.
And yet I’m stuck in some sort of emotional quicksand here, incapable of seeing clearly or finding a way out.
The change is nearly as frustrating as the problem. I’ve evidently lost my garage and my instincts, all in one random fire.
By the time I walk back to the house, I’m starting to think I might have to tear my whole career down and start over.
Do something entirely different, so I don’t have to face the hassle of rebuilding the garage.
I’ve always wanted to go into law enforcement.
Maybe I should tell Gunner I want to try being sheriff.
Then I come to my driveway and stop, amazed.
I expected to see a black-out lot where my garage once sat.
Only it’s not there.
Instead, there are three trucks sitting out front, and men unloading lumber. Dutch is getting gallons of paint out of his truck and Casino, of all people, is unloading saws, shovels, hammers, and nails.
Penny is standing at a table full of food and canteens of coffee, and Parker is at the table next to her serving sandwiches to anyone who wants one. Bruce has a table with books that he has marked at half price.
He’s giving every dollar he makes to Rookie, who’s collecting cash like he’s starting a bank.
Sam Marino, our vet, is organizing volunteers into groups to do different tasks, and Shane is talking to Daniel Merrimen, pointing and asking questions and then gesturing to a set of blueprints in Daniel’s hands.
The architect.
Someone actually got the architect here. And he has blueprints.
And there’s lumber and paint and a cement truck and power tools. A line of people going in and out of the garage, in with empty bags and out with full ones as they clean up anything that’s been ruined. They’re covered in soot and coughing, but they’re my people.
My town has come to help.
Only I’m not the one who asked them.
When Taryn darts by me, heading for the table that holds the pastries, I put out a hand and stop her.
“What’s going on here?” I ask. “What is everyone doing here?”
She frowns, like I’ve lost the plot, and then laughs. “You should probably ask Arden.”
She’s gone a moment later, off to grab a donut, and I look past her, dazed and a bit confused. But now...
Now, I start to see Arden’s fingerprints all over everything.
She doesn’t know many people in town yet, but everyone she knows is here, and they’ve brought their families and friends.
She told me the architect should be here for a restoration, and there he is.
Bruce is selling books, Penny’s got pastries, and the volunteers are moving in and out of the building like they’re soldiers.
They each have a schedule in their hands.
Every supply we could need for rebuilding is already here, and I haven’t had to pay for any of it.
I stood there this morning telling her that it was impossible, and instead of agreeing with me, she just saw a problem she could fix. Fuck, she probably saw it as a challenge.
She looked around, took stock, and then went out and got the town to help me rebuild my shop. And it’s already working. The area is cleaned of debris, the inside of the shop is looking tidier, and Daniel and Shane are making plans.
And if I know Arden, she’s given them a deadline and probably told them exactly how to achieve it.
It looks like a miracle, but it’s not.
It’s just Arden.
Just the girl who ran into the house trying to save the things we own while failing to realize that she’s the best gift Orion and I could ever hope to receive.
I straighten my shoulders, grab a cinnamon roll from Penny’s table, and stride into what’s left of the garage. “Shane!” I shout. “I’m here and ready to work. Where do we need extra hands?’