“A danger junkie.”
“I used to think I was.”
“And now?”
In mulling over her question, I was surprised it was difficult to answer. Hell, I’d just accepted a job as a smokejumper, and they jumped out of perfectly good planes. “I’m still that way.”
“My father would have loved to sit and talk to you about war stories. After my uncle was killed in the line of duty, he believed that he should continue telling them so we would never forget his sacrifice. After a while, Mom and I had heard them all ten times over. It was easier for him to talk about the horrors of a war he didn’t serve in than the war he did.”
“I don’t understand.”
Every time her face clouded over, all I wanted to do was to take her into my arms and tell her everything was going to be alright. That wasn’t anything like the man I knew myself to be. In truth, no other woman had caused such a powerful reaction.
“He was a firefighter in New York when the planes hit the Twin Towers that horrible September morning. I was just a baby so I don’t remember anything and it was a subject my father couldn’t talk about. But my mom and my godfather shared the horrors of what my father went through. The vacant eyes and loved ones begging for the rescue teams to find their mother or wife, brother or son alive. The cadaver dogs searching for bodies. Firefighters everywhere, so many succumbing to cancer later.” She shuddered visibly and my entire body stiffened.
“I can’t imagine what he went through. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, at least as much as it could be. He had nightmares for years and my mother used to worry about him committing suicide. She was his rock.”
No one in my life had trusted me with something so personal. And so painful. When I touched her hand, she lifted her eyes, searching mine until a smile finally claimed her face.
“Obviously, he didn’t. Dad finally quit his job and decided to change course, becoming a veterinarian. The love of animals saved his life.”
I looked back at the two sleeping dogs. “I can understand why.”
“When you talk about what happened in the war, do your stories become bigger and badder?” The way she presented herself as a hulking mass of muscle with her tiny hands fisted and her expression stern brought a smile.
And a reminder that I had to get the hell away. If I didn’t, there would be no way I could pull myself away.
“Nah. I don’t talk about the time I served much.”
Her loopy smile failed as before. “I didn’t mean to bring up difficult memories. Even without telling the stories, my dad had them too. There were days that he’d sit in his favorite chair, the one still in the corner of the living room, and he’d do nothing but watch television. Although he wasn’t comprehending anything. He was just… existing, fighting so many demons that I created names for them.” She peered into the night, another visible shudder drifting through her body.
With her being lost in her own mental demons, I was free to enjoy studying her face. Every contour. Every smooth curve. The way her mouth’s corners turned up when she was frustrated. She was so pensive, as if a lost little girl.
“Anyway, for anyone who knew my dad, he wasn’t the sedentary type. He used to drive my mother insane because he wouldn’t stay still. He’d want to go on hikes or head to the river. He knew Missoula and the surrounding area like the back of his hand. Sometimes I think he was fighting death.”
“I understand that too, a need furrowing so deep inside that you can’t breathe when sitting still.”
“Exactly,” she murmured. “When he wasn’t helping animals, he was exploring. His idea of a vacation was rock climbing, which I loved. But when I was a teenager, a mild heart attack forced him to slow down. Ha. That lasted for two weeks.”
“More rock climbing?”
“No. That’s when he decided the rest of the ranch had to be put to use. Being on desk duty with the rangers didn’t do him any favors. While I’d always thought there wasn’t anything my father couldn’t do, when he was determined to fix the place up, building a garden shed then the chicken coop, determined to update the barn his way, I realized he wasn’t a contractor.” She laughed, the sound so light and joyful that every muscle in my body stiffened.
Because I wanted to share in the joy of having similar moments.
They were few and so far between almost every one had been clouded over by the shit my little family had gone through.
“No, he wasn’t.”
At least she didn’t bark at me, offering a smile instead. “No, but the sanctuary was really his idea. I’ll never forget the day he took the phone from my mother’s hand, which he never did. He spent fifteen full minutes telling me about his ideas. I couldn’t get in a word edgewise, but that was the first time since I’d left Missoula I was homesick. Chicago just isn’t the same.”
“I can see that,” I told her. “The chicken coop needs to go.”
“You obviously didn’t do an inspection of the barn. My father was notorious for crazy ideas.” She continued laughing yet seconds later, her smile began to fade. “My mother didn’t care. She always made him a big thick steak when he worked on a project. It was her way of making sure he knew how loved he was.”
“Oh, really?” I teased.
