Page 3 of When the Smoke Clears

“I don’t have to. The sarcasm in your voice is unmistakable.”

“I have to go. Oh, tell Jamie that Maren is fielding all inquiries for the rental, so she doesn’t have to mess with it.”

“You’re renting rooms again?”

“Just the shed in the backyard. I listed it on a few online groups for first responders in the area. We know the pay is shit and the hours are long, so I thought it might be nice to offer a cheaper alternative. And to be honest, I wouldn’t mind having someone around here again.”

“I get it. And I love that she shed,” he says.

“You love the girl who lived in it.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. That. Let us know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, man. Bye.”

“Later.”

I toss my phone onto the bed and blow out a long breath. I’ve never taken this much time off from my job all at once, and I feel guilty for leaving my crew with a temporary replacement. But what choice do I have?

Last year, my parents bought a cottage in Somers, an older three-bedroom A-frame home with recent renovations, established fruit trees, and a detached shed for my dad’s junk. I wish I had spent more time last summer fishing on the lake with my dad. It’s easy to assume there will be time—until there’s not.

After a two-hour drive in the rain, I find my mom on her covered deck overlooking Flathead Lake. She’s always loved watching the rain and inhaling its earthy scent. My parents are nature enthusiasts. No wonder I’ve never met a national park I haven’t loved.

“My boy is home.” Mom springs from her glider chair, tugging on the waist of her yoga pants and adjusting her sports bra. Steffi Landry, mother extraordinaire, world’s best wife, is sixty-two going on forty—a workout queen who used to love snowboarding and waterskiing until she wiped out and her breast implant got displaced under her armpit. She had to live with it for three weeks until her plastic surgeon returned from Europe.

Six months later, she nearly died (her words) when she and a friend were in a small plane that had to make an emergency landing. A storm forced the pilot to divert to another airport for fuel.

Smooth landing on a runway.

No injuries.

I’m pretty sure snacks were served.

Anyway, she hasn’t flown on a plane since then, and she pops pills for anxiety like they’re peanuts at a baseball game.

I hug her. “I didn’t know if you’d be here or at the hospital. How’s Dad?”

She releases me and frowns, then tucks a leg beneath her as she plops into her chair, curling her long, brown-dyed hair behind her ears. “He thinks we have a cherry orchard and I’m pregnant with a third baby. And he’s pissed off because he doesn’t want another child. When I try to tell him I had my uterus removed fifteen years ago, he scoffs like I’m lying. The doctor said his dementia and loopy behavior could be from the bladder infection or high calcium. All I know is he’s been a real asshole to me for the past week, and when he fell so close to the stairs, I thought I was an instant widow. He’s . . .” She pinches the bridge of her nose as her words catch in her throat.

“Hey.” I squat in front of her, resting one hand on her knee and the other on the arm of the chair. “I’m sorry Dad has been an asshole. I bet you wish you didn’t love him so much.”

She laughs despite the tears, blinking them away while glancing at the ceiling. “Ugh! I do love him. But I need a break. It’s just a lot to handle.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I couldn’t get here sooner. And in his defense, you do have two cherry and one plum tree.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Why does he have high calcium?”

“I’m not sure. Listen, baby boy.” She smiles, resting her hand on my cheek and teasing her thumb along the edge of what she calls my Tom Selleck mustache. “You didn’t have to come at all. I know you’re a hero who runs into burning buildings to save people. That’s more important than old-people issues.”

I roll my eyes at her “old-people” reference. “You make me sound more heroic than I am.” I shift my body to sit in the chair next to her.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Have you ever saved anyone from a burning building?”

I shake my head, giving her a half grin. “Stop.”

“William Thatcher Landry, you, my boy, are a hero. Your dad and I tell everyone. When are you going to learn to smile and just say ‘thank you’ when someone pays you a compliment? Maybe if you’d lift your chin with pride for what you do, you’d have a special young lady in your life.”