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The fire had been contained relatively quickly, all things considered, but not before burning a swath through the valley. Two other vineyards had sustained structural damage, and an entire mobile home park had been destroyed.
Frankie was helping with a volunteer effort to pick through properties for anything salvageable. She had the required safety gear, so she and a few of the guys from her crew had gone down to help. First stop was the mobile home site to sift through the wrecked remains of people’s lives. Thank God everyone had made it out alive.
Water-damaged albums and books, closet safes too hot to touch, melted bicycles…entire lives worth of possessions reduced to rubble and ash.
The emotional toll of this work was more than she’d expected, but there was nowhere else she’d rather be. As she piled anything of value on the concrete pad that had been the driveway, she gave thanks again that no one had died.
But these families were going to be starting over from scratch.
These families who could least afford it.
The enormity of starting over from nothing made her looming hundred-grand debt feel paltry. How did one replace a lifetime of memories?
As soon as the firefighters had given the county the all clear, she and a few of her guys had put on their steel toed boots and safety masks and waded in. It would take more than her little crew to clean up this mess, but it felt good to do something, no matter how small.
Her impulse to help was strong. It was practically ingrained in her DNA. Hell, the family motto was do good work, on time, under budget. This was good work.
How had they strayed so far from their original mission? If they’d kept it simple, they wouldn’t have lost so much. She wouldn’t be staring down a one-hundred-thousand-dollar debt she had no idea how to pay and a job that was still not finished. Then again, if she’d listened to Fi and clad the barn in stone… No, it still wouldn’t have survived the fire unscathed, and they’d still have lost money and time.
She picked up a white album and flipped through someone's wedding photos. Some pictures would be salvageable, she hoped.
But Sofia wouldn't get the wedding she'd dreamed of. There was no way they could afford to redo all the work they'd already done on the barn.
No, she couldn't go back and wish things different. It was what it was. She had to stay grounded in the now, or she'd be lost to regrets. She had to move forward from here.
And forward meant working off the debt to her dad, while getting back to basics. She would do what Valenti Brothers did best. Good work, on time, under budget, for people who couldn't afford chandeliers and wine cellars. She would keep her promise to Gabe. No more TV shows.
This thought did not buoy her like she'd hoped. It felt…empty.
She would just have to fill it up. She could work on projects for Adrian and Fi when the new season started, and try to convince her dad to give her another shot at running her own projects, this time off-camera and minus a saboteur. And she would donate her free time to helping rebuild down here.
That should keep her busy enough to forget about her failure.
Picking through the remains of a kitchen, Frankie set aside a cast iron skillet that had survived. The sound of weeping pulled her attention to the roadside where a woman had collapsed against her teenaged son.
She crossed to them and yanked off her mask. “Ma’am, you shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe to breathe the air.”
“It’s gone. It’s all gone.” Tears left bright streaks down her dirty cheeks.
“Mom, come on. You’ve seen it now. Let’s go.” Her son tried to turn her back to their idling truck, but she pulled her spine straight and stood on her own.
“No. I’m not leaving without them.” With wild eyes she scanned the wreckage that Frankie had been clearing.
“Ma’am, was this your home?” Frankie stepped between the woman and the smoking rubble, forcing her to make eye contact. She nodded. “Are you looking for something in particular? I’ve got the gear. I can look for you.”
The woman gripped Frankie’s hand with a strength that surprised her. “My rings. I took them off while I was washing the dishes after dinner. Mine and my husband’s.” She was worrying the bare spot on her left ring finger with her thumb repetitively. “I have to find them. They’re all I have left of him.”
“Ma’am, what’s your name?”
Her son chimed in. “I’m Tyler, and this is my mom, Sylvia. My dad died last year. I told her we couldn’t come down here, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“It’s okay.” She turned back to Sylvia and gripped her shoulders. “Listen, it’s not safe for you to go through the pile right now. You could get hurt, and Tyler needs you. Tell me exactly where you left them. What do they look like?”
“They are gold. Mine had a diamond. I put them in the little blue bowl on the shelf by the sink. I…I can’t see it.” Sylvia was still craning her neck, trying to see past Frankie.
“I’ll go look. Here’s the stuff I did find." She handed the woman the photo album of her wedding and pointed to the small pile of items on the slab. "Why don’t you go through it and see if you want to keep any of it? Hey, Rico, can you grab two N95 masks from the truck?”
Frankie got them sorted with the masks and gave Tyler a stern look. He nodded, but his mother seemed subdued, flipping through the ruined pictures.
