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“I give a crap about you,” Paul said, laughing. “As a matter of fact, I love you.”
“Go to hell.” But he laughed back.
At seven that morning, the next shift of firefighters had arrived, and since the fire was contained and the threat of spread diminished, the crew chief from #20 told his working men they could leave.
“Keep your phones on in case of a flare-up,” he said. “I know I don’t need to tell you that.”
They’d go back to the fire station and clean up the truck before leaving for home. Exhausted, at nine that morning with his backpack over his shoulder, Paul left the firehouse for his walk back to the cabin. It was easier to go out on the road than to hike through the brush that separated his place from the station, but it also meant he might run into his neighbors and have to explain anew to each one the fire story.
So he opted to hike through the field and sneak in the back door of the cabin, hoping Robin didn’t have the binoculars trained on his place.
He’d showered at the station, so after he threw his bag into the utility room, it was a few steps to his bed, where he climbed under the sheets and, in seconds, was fast asleep.
***
Back in town, Fallbrook Elementary School was in its final day before summer break. Kindergarten teacher Emily Porter washed down the chalkboard for the last time until fall.
“Goodbye, Miss Porter!”
The adorable little five-year-olds surrounded her, hugging her legs, telling her they loved her and would miss her so. It made the effort worthwhile. Teaching fulfilled so much for Emily, checking off most of the boxes she needed to say she had a satisfying career.
Exhausted in spite of the adulation, she’d been up during the night with a hose turned on her house. A fire in the canyon below her property had burned, and it wasn’t until nine that morning that she felt like it was safe enough that she could actually get ready to leave for work. Leaving all her important papers and jewelry box locked in the trunk of her car, just in case there was a flare-up, she stopped by her neighbor’s house first.
“Billy, will you keep an eye on things? I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“Sure, but aren’t you ready to drop?”
“You know it. After my classes today I have a few loose ends to tie up, and then I’m done for the summer! The glorious summer.”
“What are you going to do this year?”
In the past, she’d always had a full-time summer job, but this year, she’d saved and lived frugally so she could take part of the summer off. She had to find something to do part time, but that was it. No full-time summer job for her.
“I’ll get something local, maybe working at one of the ranches. If you hear of anything, let me know.”
“I’ll do that,” he said. “Don’t worry about the house.”
Driving down the mountain into town, she didn’t have to look in the mirror to see she was smiling. She loved her life. She understood the confusion moving up there alone had caused her family. Her father, Rob Porter, was a retired Marine colonel, and after they moved off base into an over-fifty-five place in San Marcos, she told everyone she was buying her first house and it wasn’t going to be in town.
“Where are you going?” her mother asked.
“Red Mountain Ranch,” she said.
“Red Mountain Ranch! Why?”
“I love it up there.”
After living on the Marine installation with her parents, she knew the area like the back of her hand. The remote ranges of the base bordered the small community, and after living at Red Mountain Ranch for a year, she knew that the pulse of the base was felt intimately by the people who lived on its borders.
If there was artillery testing, the neighborhood listened and commented at each blast. When the new howitzers were tested, the neighborhood applauded with each explosion, weary about their windows breaking, but excited that something positive was happening for the country, even if the few younger residents considered the cannons instruments of death.
Fires on base scared the residents of the ranch, the smoke rising into the sky, terrorizing for what it portended. An email alert announcing there was no risk didn’t always allay their fears.
When she had the discussion about moving to the rural area, her father expressed concern about the egress in case of a fire. “Make sure to find out how you escape,” he said. “If I remember correctly, you either go southwest to Fallbrook, or northeast to Temecula.”
“I think those two roads are the only way out, Colonel,” she’d replied. “I’ll be alert.”
She hoped he hadn’t read about the fire that was due to a Marine losing control of his car on the mountain road. Alcohol wasn’t a factor.
