41. Chapter 41
forty-one
Inever imagined waking up this way—the sky a nasty burnt orange, the morning sun clouded by ash.
We eat breakfast watching the news—local stations broadcasting live with the fire behind them—and I know he’s out there. Fighting it with everything in him.
“Those boys better be careful,” Dad grumbles over his coffee, eyes glued to the TV.
I don’t need to be reminded.
“Families are being evacuated into the Ladera High School gymnasium,” the TV anchor says over video of a fire raging across the screen.
“Won’t be much teaching today,” Mom says.
“They’ll still need us.”
I drop to my knees beside Bowie in his booster chair, kiss his cheek, smooth his hair. “You mind Grammy today. I may not be able to make it home for lunch.”
He blinks up at me. “Okay.”
“Mom, I’ll check in and keep you updated. Daddy? Is the town in danger?”
“They’ll tell us if we are,” he says. “We’ll be ready.”
The parking lot is crowded when I pull up.
By late morning, we’ve got families in the gym, cafeteria, library—anywhere we can put them. The school is chaos, the air hazy with smoke.
I can’t imagine what Calder and Tanner are going through, and I’m praying constantly that they’re safe. Deputies keep coming in with updates that don’t make anyone feel better.
Mercy’s been at my side since she woke up, hair pulled back, her face drawn but steady. Her eyes tell me she cried all night, and my heart aches for her. I know that feeling—losing what you want to hold onto with everything in you.
She hasn’t said a word about leaving. Or Tanner. She just works—checking on people, comforting kids, offering soft reassurances. “This’ll pass. I remember one like this when I was a kid. Everything’s going to be alright.”
It’s the most Mercy thing she could do, but I think she’s making that up. I don’t remember one like this.
I’ve been running back and forth to class. I’ve got the juniors reading today, and they’re surprisingly well-behaved. Teenagers know the seriousness of the situation. Everybody knows everybody in Ladera. Someone they know has been evacuated. Their homes could be next.
“Can you sit with the class a bit?” I ask her, rubbing smoke out of my eyes. “They’re reading ‘The Lottery.’ They’re supposed to write a one-page synopsis when they finish. I think they’ll be quiet. I need to help touch base and see what they want me to do.”
“Of course,” Mercy says immediately. No hesitation. No edge. Just tired kindness. “We’ll be fine.”
She’s hurting. I can see it in the tightness around her eyes, the way her smile doesn’t quite reach. But she still shows up. Still takes care of everyone else first. That’s Mercy—bleeding quietly while she bandages everyone else.
And I hate that Tanner is doing this to her.
But I also know him. I know the way he looks at her. I know the way he softens around her, the way he tries without even realizing he’s trying. He cares so deeply for her it scares him.
This is a misunderstanding. A painful one. And all I want to do is help them repair this bridge before it burns down completely.
The fire isn’t in town yet, but deputies told us to be “ready to move if needed,” which is the kind of phrase that makes your stomach drop even if you pretend it doesn’t.
After checking in with the office for direction—when I return to class to relieve Mercy, I glance out the windows and see Calder’s pickup pull up to the curb. Relief overwhelms me watching Calder and Tanner climb out.
He’s here to let me know he’s safe.
They look like hell. Exhausted, sooty black both of them—faces, hair, and clothes.
My heart stutters, then steadies when Calder’s gaze finds mine through the glass. He smiles—tired, worn down.
But he’s alive. He’s upright. That’s enough.
Mercy, standing beside me, sees Tanner—looking every bit as dirty and exhausted as Calder—and her face softens. Just a flicker. Just enough to show she hasn’t stopped caring, no matter what she told herself last night.
And then it happens.
Out of nowhere, a woman breaks from the evacuees on the lawn and runs straight to Tanner. She throws her arms around his neck like she’s been waiting for him her whole life.
Tanner freezes.
Not hugging her back. Not stepping away. Just… stunned. His arms at his sides—his eyes on Mercy’s.
Mercy goes still.
Her face empties out, like someone blew out a candle behind her eyes. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t cry. She just watches Tanner stand there with another woman clinging to him while my whole class looks on.
“Wow,” a girl whispers. “She must love him.”
I take a step toward Mercy, instinct more than thought.
“Mercy… he’s not hugging her back.”
She shakes her head once, her eyes still glued to the spectacle. Her face has turned to stone. “Doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t be doing it if something wasn’t there.”
And the way she says it—flat, resigned, like she’s already decided what they had wasn’t real—like she misread everything—it guts me.
Mercy, who loves with her whole heart, who believes in people even when they don’t deserve it. Mercy, who has always been the brave one.
She’s always been my bright spot, my steady warmth—and now, as sudden and devastating as this wildfire, my best friend is like the ash-darkened sky outside, all her light smothered by heartache.
She turns slowly and walks away—something Tanner sees—her turning her back to him.
His whole face crumples.
He drops his head, grabs the woman by the shoulders, and says something low to her. Then he breaks away and heads straight for Calder’s truck, climbing inside like he can’t stand to be seen anymore.
Me?
I turn to my class. “I’ll be right back.” And then I’m running out the door, down the hall, across the lawn, straight into Calder’s arms. He catches me, pulling me off my feet.
“You and Bowie made me promise I’d check in. We’re okay,” he says into my hair, his voice rough with smoke and exhaustion. “You need to have your family ready to evacuate. This thing is out of control until the wind dies down.”
“You’re exhausted,” I whisper. “You can’t go back out there in this condition.”
“We’re headed to the fire department for a break. Then we’ll go back.” He cups my face, thumb brushing soot from my cheek and depositing more on it. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”
“Make me the same promise.”
He gives me that tired, crooked smile that always undoes me. His fingers stroke my jaw, gentle in a way that contradicts everything about the hell he just walked through. “I can’t make you that promise,” he says softly. “But I promise I’ll do my best.”
He turns like he’s about to go—then stops, pivots back, eyes finding mine again. “Laurel,” he says quietly, “you tell Mercy that woman doesn’t mean anything to Tanner. He was caught off guard. He’s flat-ass exhausted. Tell her that. Please.”
I nod.
God answers our prayers.
The wind stills not long after they drive off.
By the time school’s out, they broadcast that the fire is under control. I’m not sure if Calder and Tanner had to go back out or not—but I haven’t heard from him.
No luck getting Mercy to talk to me like he asked.
She just… won’t.
Instead, she turns to one of her greatest strengths. Humor. She cracks jokes with the students, who are reading “The Lottery.”
“Trust me,” she tells them. “This is a lottery you don’t want to win. Nobody’s walking away with a million dollars.”
“I hate this story,” one student mutters.
“Me, too,” Mercy says, forcing a smile. “I don’t know why they make us read it.”
I know her heart is breaking.
“Mercy.” I pull her aside, back to the windows, but she holds up her hand.
“I love you. But I don’t want to hear it.”
“Calder says—”
“Nope. Like you said, a picture’s worth a thousand words.”
I sigh in defeat. She won’t listen. Maybe she will tomorrow.
When I pull up at the house, there’s a car I don’t recognize. Stepping inside—
“Mommy! Daddy’s home!”