Bronx Read online

  "That's right, he did, didn't he?" King beamed with pride about it.

  "Anyhow, I missed lunch, and Harrison, jerk that he was, never asked if I got to eat. He sent me back to class. I ran three races at the track meet on an empty stomach and in a pair of shoes that were more air than shoe."

  "Ah, I see why this is a perfect moment. You got two first places and a second that day."

  I shook my head. "Nope, those ribbons didn't mean shit to me. I was so cold and hungry by the time the meet ended that I was pissed as hell."

  King snapped his fingers and pointed at me. "That's right. You got into a fight with that sixth grader, Chuck whatever the hell his name was. He was pissed cuz you left him in the dust on all three races."

  "Yep, took a punch to the stomach that knocked the wind right out of me. I couldn't wait to get out of school that day only I knew I was going home to an empty house . . . again . . . and an empty fridge."

  A tarantula crawled out from beneath some dead leaves. The two of us left our nostalgic memories a second to watch the monstrously big critter make its way across the trail.

  "Shit, that thing looks like it could carry off a squirrel or possum," King said. "So where does the crystal clear, perfect moment come into play? Cuz I've got to say—if this is one of your great memories, I don't want to hear about the bad ones."

  A lizard skittered out from under the fallen tree we were perched on. "Thought you checked this thing for reptiles before you sat down," King chided.

  "Yeah, the kind with diamonds printed along their backs. Those lizards are harmless."

  King rested back on his hands. "When does this moment get perfect?"

  "That's where Millie Price comes in. Robbie saw me sitting on the icy ground still trying to suck air back into my lungs. He offered me a hand and asked if I wanted to go to his house and hang out for awhile. I felt bad that we were always ignoring the guy, so I said yes. Wasn't like my mom was going to be waiting for me with a warm bath and a plate of cookies. We walked to his house—"

  "I only went inside his house once for a birthday party," King interrupted. "It was small but I remember there was a red and white checked table cloth on the kitchen table. I don't know why, but I thought that was cool. I even asked my mom if we could get one. She didn't even respond. I don't know why I liked it—guess it just showed Robbie's mom cared enough to put a nice cloth on the table."

  "Yeah, the same cloth was on the table. Along with those cookies I'd been dreaming about. Chocolate chip. Millie gave me some warm sweats to wear. She even stuck them in her dryer first to heat them up. Robbie didn't mind me wearing his sweats. In fact, I think he was kind of glad." I shook my head. "Why the hell were we such jerks to him?"

  King shrugged. "Maybe deep down we were jealous that he had a mom who baked cookies and put checked cloths on the table."

  I nodded. "You might be right about that. Especially after that day. I'd been freezing my ass off that whole, terrible day. Hunger had been gnawing a hole in my stomach from the second I stepped out of bed, and after running all those races, I could barely see straight. Millie sensed it too. She cooked up a can of tomato soup and tossed a cheese sandwich on a frying pan. It was only stale white bread and that weird sliced stuff we called cheese back then. It was the best fucking grilled cheese I ever ate. And I remember that hour in Millie's kitchen, with her clock that had a rooster painted in the center and her collection of tea cups, like it was yesterday. It was the best thing in the world after the nightmare of a day."

  "I'll bet." King leaned back and patted his stomach. "Speaking of a stomach gnawing itself with hunger. I think I'll head over to Steer Burger when we get back to the base. Wanna go?"

  "Yeah, maybe. Let's first get down from this mountain before we start thinking about burgers, otherwise these next few miles are going to be torture."

  "Let's move out," Mixx said as he heaved his backpack onto his shoulders.

  It was almost harder putting the pack back on after a short rest. I grunted as I yanked it on. King made the same sound, only louder.

  "Still don't get what made you think about Millie and her grilled cheese out here in the middle of a hot, dry trail," King said as we fell in line behind the others.

  "Not sure," I said quietly. But I knew. King had brought up the memorial and that had triggered another memory, one that was so perfect every detail remained crystal clear in my head. Only thing was—it had no right being so damn perfect.

  3

  Two years earlier

  I pulled my jeep into one of the last parking spots at the Morgan Lake Recreation Center. The early September sun pierced through the front windshield like a laser. It was going to be another flaming hot day. The first week of September had brought some unusual and unexpected rain, a reprieve for those of us who fought wilderness fires. The wet weather prompted the idea of having our end of summer party a little early. Our luck could change at any minute, with a long bout of hot, dry weather like this afternoon. The moisture that gave the hillsides a nice drink for several days would evaporate soon enough, and we'd be back in our Kevlar suits with our parachutes and our axes.

  I wasn't one to dislike parties, but this afternoon, I couldn't have been in less of a mood to celebrate. And that mood was only darkened by the next few minutes and a string of shitty texts and phone calls.

  "I've moved the last of my stuff out. Stay safe." Carly added a heart emoji at the end of the text. It seemed a little cheesy considering how much fighting we had done at the end. The rough patches in our two year relationship turned to jagged ditches and finally a bottomless pit of anger. We both knew it was over six months earlier, but for some dumb reason we kept trying to make it work. In between the occasional nice dinner and always great sex, we were picking at each other, wearing down each other's souls by staying together.

  "You too." I texted back. No heart emoji.

  The lake and beach were behind an opaque set of oak trees but the thick canopy didn't block the music. A base beat thrummed against the sides of the jeep, causing the whole car to vibrate.

  "Where are you at?" Kingston texted. "This is our party, remember? Goodbye rookie-hood."

  Kingston and I were officially done being the rookies on the team. It felt good to know we'd pulled it off. When we left our hot shot crews to try out for two of the coveted spots on the smokejumping crew, neither of us were sure we'd make it. The process was grueling, both physically and mentally. And, even after all the training, nothing prepared you for your first moment staring out the open side of a plane as you're about to jump into a burning hillside. It was a rush and scary as fuck, but we loved it. No regrets. No turning back.

  "I'm just parking," I lied. It would give me a few quiet minutes to myself. The quiet was shorter than I'd hoped. My phone rang the second I sent the text.

  "Hey, David, what's up?"

  "Hey, Jack. Just checking in on my little bro. Heard Vick's surgery went all right."

  "Not sure how any surgery that took out half your guts could be all right, but you know Vick. He's tough as nails." I stared out the window and watched as two kids dragged an inflatable raft, unwieldy and fighting them all the way, to the rinse off showers. They were giggling as the raft fought them at every turn and wind gust. Those kid days were far behind now, but I sure as hell missed them. Sometimes, it felt as if adulthood was just one smack down after another.

  "What did the doctor say about his prognosis?" David's voice pulled me back to the conversation. "I didn't ask Mom cause you know how she gets, all teary and sniffly. Just can't deal with that emotional stuff right now. I've got problems of my own."

  With my older brother, it was almost always about his problems. So much so that he couldn't even find the time to visit Vick after his cancer diagnosis. The man had been the only real father either of us ever had, but David couldn't make the effort.

  The music was loud enough that David could hear it through my phone. "Where are you at? A party? Oh wait, that's right. Mom told
me it was to celebrate that you and King are no longer rookie smokejumpers. Congratulations. I wasn't sure you had it in you. Guess I underestimated my little brother."

  Just like I overestimated my big brother was what I wanted to say to him, but I muttered thanks instead.

  "Hey listen, Jack, I'll let you go. I just had a little request." And here it came, his usual motive for calling. I knew it wasn't just to shoot the breeze or congratulate me on surpassing his expectations as a firefighter. "I'm coming up short this month, and I've got to pay my rent. Suzy lost her job at the bank, big layoffs everywhere. Do you think you could shoot a few hundred bucks my way? I'll pay you back." He had borrowed money for the past four years. He hadn't paid back a dime, but I didn't care. He was my brother. What the hell else was I supposed to do?

  "Yeah, how much? Three hundred?"

  "Actually, if you could spare five hundred that would be awesome. I'll get it back to you just as soon as I can."

  "Yep. Well, I need to get to this party, guest of honor and all that. I'll send the money over right now."

  "Thanks, bro, I really appreciate it." He hung up. That was the extent of the conversation, a short greeting and a few statements that made him feel good because he was asking about the rest of us even though he couldn't give a damn, then straight to the money. I opened my bank account. The transfer to his bank account was all set up because it was easier that way. I sent off five hundred bucks just as the phone rang again. It seemed I was in especially high demand this morning. This time it was Mom, so I answered fast.

  "Hey, Mom, everything all right?"

  "Yes, everything is fine." Her voice sounded as if nothing was fine and as if nothing would ever be fine again. Vick Devlin had saved all our lives, and now we were watching the once vital, strong man, a guy who could handle a bucking bronco like it was a helpless puppy, wither away as a rotten disease got the best of him.

  "I just got to the lake. What's up?"

  "I hate to keep you from your little party—" To my mom, a party still meant a bunch of us hanging out together, listening to the radio, sipping that horrid red punch and eating cupcakes. I hadn't stepped through the trees but considering the slamming music and the loud voices thundering across the parking lot, I was pretty sure punch and cupcakes weren't on the menu. "Vick is up. He's a little groggy," she whispered loudly, as an afterthought. "He'd like to speak to you. Do you have time?"

  "Sure. Put him on." I'd spent the night in the chair at the hospital. My neck and back reminded me of that every time I moved even the slightest bit. I'd hoped to talk to Vick when he was more awake and lucid, but he was so out of it he thought we were standing out in his barn. He kept reminding me that Arrow needed new shoes and that Rebel needed to be turned out because he was getting antsy in his stall.

  "Hey, Bronx." Vick had been the first to start using my nickname. He told me I'd earned it for breaking more colts than any cowboy he ever rode with. He was always good about recognizing my accomplishments. He was also just as good at letting me know when I'd done something wrong. He had far greater influence on my character than anyone else. I was sure if David hadn't already been off on his own by the time we moved to Vick's ranch, he would have turned out differently. At least, that was the younger brother in me still holding on to that big brother pedestal David had fallen off of long ago.

  "Hey, Dad, how are you feeling? Those docs gave it to you good, huh? I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up."

  "Nah, nah, that's all right." It was impossible to believe the thin, reedy voice coming through the phone was the man who raised me. Back on the ranch, he could bellow my name, and I could hear it no matter what corner of the thirty acres I was standing on. A groan of pain rolled through the phone. "Boy oh boy, don't think the doctors left much inside of me. Guess I've lived a good life, so what the hell."

  "No, don't say that. You're sticking around for a lot longer." Even as I said it my gut twisted with the reality that his prospects weren't good.

  "Hey, Bronx, kiddo, I need to ask a favor. Looks like I'll be back in this hellhole next month for a second surgery." He chuckled but it was weak and pained. "Guess they didn't take enough of me yet. I've got Rick watching the horses while I'm off my feet, but he's got to head across the country to a wedding next month. Do you think you could take some time off and keep an eye on the horses?"

  "You know what? I've got some time coming up. I'm sure I could swing it. Don't worry about the horses. I'll take care of them. I look forward to some time at the ranch. Might be just what I need."

  "Thanks, buddy, I knew I could count on you." I'd heard the same words from him many times, but this time they hit me like a punch in the chest. Wasn't fair that such a good guy had to suffer and leave this world so early.

  I heard my mom's admonishment in the background about him using up all his energy to talk about horses.

  "Got to go. Your mom is giving me an earful. See you soon?" he asked, hopefully.

  "Yep, as long as those hillsides aren't burning just try keeping me away."

  "Bye, son," he said quietly. It was rare for him to call me son, but I always felt it in everything he said and did.

  I hung up and rested back, only to discover the seat was already getting too hot to sit against. Even though the last few minutes on my phone, starting with the short, cold text from Carly and ending with Vick's heartbreakingly unfamiliar voice, had left me feeling less like a party and more like a bottle of whiskey, I opened the door and climbed out.

  4

  Over everyone else and the thunderous tunes, I could hear Bulldozer's loud, booming voice. The guy, like his nickname, rolled over everything in his wake. Adam Rafferty had been on the crew for six years. He'd started the gig at twenty-one, younger than most, but he had proven himself physically, outrunning every new recruit, not just by seconds but minutes. Mentally, he could get distracted, mostly due to a bad temper, but he was definitely someone you wanted on your side when facing down ten foot tall flames. We didn't always get along. He was one of those guys who could just rub me the wrong way, but I rubbed him wrong too. It was a mutual put up with each other for the team kind of relationship.

  I walked past the kids who had finally managed to clean off their raft, only to have it get dirty again as they dragged it across the gritty parking lot to a blue truck. I followed the sandy path past the copse of trees and stepped into the chaos I was expecting.

  Three shade tents with the base camp logo Fire Warriors of the West were set up along the narrow white beach. Towels, umbrellas, beach chairs and ice chests dotted the sand from one end to the other. Gideon Underhill, or, Topper as we called him for his propensity to land on tree tops, had delivered on his promise to bring out his ski boat. Topper was one of the old-timers, which in smokejumping years meant thirty plus. He was fast in the rough terrain, like a mountain goat—even at his ripe old age. As agile as he was on steep hillsides, he usually hesitated at the jump, the remnants of a fear of heights he'd had to overcome to get the position. Bulldozer and Angus were sitting on the bow of Topper's boat with two women, both slick with suntan oil. I had yet to meet Bulldozer's wife but could only assume that the blonde sitting nearly in his lap was Layla Rafferty.

  Axel, the spotter for the crew, was the first to spot me. "Woohee! The last of the rookies has arrived. Hey, Bronx, get yourself a drink." He held up a beer can. "We need to loosen you up for the hazing."

  I glanced over to the tent where Kingston was getting mighty familiar with a curvy brunette. King raised his beer and shrugged. "No idea what he means by hazing. No one else seems to know either."

  I turned back to Axel. He laughed. "I'm just messing with you. Grab a beer but don't drink too much. Topper's about to take the boat out if you're interested in some wakeboard action." Axel had been a jumper early on, but a motocross accident had shattered his femur. He was so dedicated to smokejumping, he retrained to be a spotter, the person who checks wind velocity and the general direction of the fire. It was a job tha
t meant life and death to the crew, and he was damn good at it.

  I nodded. "I could get into some wakeboarding, but first I'm going to take a swim. I need to cool off."

  "That's right. We've got a near Olympic swimmer in our midst," Jane said from her chair under a giant umbrella. Two of her kids were busy burying her feet and legs in the sand. Jane was our pilot and the queen of the whole fucking operation.

  "I don't think winning medals in high school is the automatic precursor for the Olympics, Jane, but thanks for the ego boost anyhow."

  "There you go again, selling yourself short, Bronx." She reached into her beach bag and tossed me a cellophane bag with a big cookie. It was cut into the shape of a parachute and had the words Rookie No More painted across in hard icing.

  I lifted it up. "Thanks, Malibu." Jane grew up surfing on a beach in Malibu, and she was tougher than anyone I knew. She was brusque and never held back. When one of us needed to hear shit we didn't want to hear, then Jane had no problem stepping up to plate to deliver it. She'd been married to another pilot, but he cheated on her. She sent him packing before he could even stutter out an apology. She just as quickly changed the tattoo of her husband's face into a pirate by adding an eye patch and a rose between his teeth. She said it was the most therapeutic tattoo session she'd ever sat through.

  I headed over to Kingston. He'd conveniently parked himself in front of the ice chests.

  "Didn't think you were going to show. How's Vick?" he asked, hesitantly. Vick had always been cool about letting Kingston stay at the ranch, especially as we grew into our teens and King started butting heads with his dad. He loved Vick too.

  I shook my head as I searched through the ice chunks for a cola. "They had to take even more than they thought. Cancer was farther than they expected."

  "Shit, that sucks," King said, and he meant every word.