Allie Pleiter - The Fireman's Homecoming

Melba started to decline, and then decided a wise mama bearing chocolate cake was no gift horse to look in the mouth. Not today. “Just get some skim milk to go with it?”

Barney scowled a bit, obviously thinking anything “reduced fat” was an abomination of nature. The woman put whipping cream in her coffee, and was probably the reason Dad managed to keep most of his weight on when so many other of Dr. Nichols’s patients dropped pounds. “And yogurt, if you don’t mind,” Melba added, remembering the full bag of fries she’d put away with glee last night. “Anything with ‘light’ on the label will do.” She needed to get running again or her waistline would soon succumb to the ravages of the Barney Meal Plan.

“Call my cell when you know what time you’ll be coming home. I’ll make sure Jake swings by in case we need some of my son’s manpower to get your dad up the steps.”

Dad unable to get himself up his own front steps. The thought struck a cold note under her ribs. She grabbed the keys to her Prius and applied a smile to her face. “It’ll be okay, Barney, I’m sure it will.”

“Well, you know what they say.”

Melba stopped with the door half-open. “What do they say?”

“It’ll all be okay in the end. And if it ain’t okay yet, well, then it ain’t the end yet either.”

Oh, no, Melba thought, it’s just the beginning.

* * *

Clark caught sight of Melba as she walked down Tyler Avenue, Gordon Falls’s main street, toward the corner that housed Karl’s Koffee. He was glad she looked a bit stronger. He rushed across the street to tap her shoulder. “Hey, Melba, hi. Look, I’m really sorry about last night.”

“You shouldn’t apologize—you didn’t do anything other than bring me dinner. I’m sorry Dad hauled off at you like that. I think maybe he thought you were someone else.”

“I knew it wasn’t about me. But being an hour late with your food? That was all me.”

“Yeah, but you already apologized for that.”

There was still so much weariness in her eyes. “That’s some tough going with your dad. Is he coming home anytime soon?”

“I’m heading over there in a bit. Yesterday afternoon Dr. Nichols said he would probably come home today, but...” She shrugged while he pulled open the door to Karl’s for her. “It’s so up-and-down, you know?”

No, he didn’t know. Pop was still as sharp as a tack and going strong at fifty-four, and while Mom’s diabetes had taken her life too soon, it had never been the sort of drawn-out trauma Melba had ahead of her. “That memory-loss stuff seems so hard to handle.”

“Most times it’s not so bad but you...well...” She blinked, and took a deep breath. “You caught him at his worst.”

Clark felt an unwanted tug toward Melba and the huge burden she carried. He was always a softie for a damsel in distress, only now was absolutely not the time. Now was supposed to be all about his new job at the department, about making things right with Pop. Still, every lecture he’d given himself about professional focus couldn’t stop the invitation from coming out of his mouth. “Buy you a cup of coffee?”

She looked up at him as if the thought of someone doing something nice for her were a foreign custom. “You don’t owe me.”

“I know.” Now it was he who shrugged. “But if you were heading for Karl’s I’m guessing you could use one.”

She gave him a slip of a smile, just enough of a hint to let him know her full-blown grin would have distracted him for hours. Cut that out, Bradens. You promised no female distractions. You get sidetracked and stupid when a woman enters the picture, and too much is on the line here. She ordered a scone and some odd chai thing—soy milk and other strange ingredients—and surprised him by asking for a china mug instead of a to-go cup which made him feel obligated to do the same. It felt like cheating on his “no female distractions” policy when he slipped into the booth by the window—she obviously thought he’d meant a visit when he offered to buy her a drink, not just the purchase of a beverage. And it’d be rude to refuse, right? Sitting down for coffee. A friendly cup of coffee. Between friends. When was the last time he’d done that? He didn’t even know Karl’s would serve in actual mugs, and he lived here.

And now, so did she. Distractions...

“Extra time.” She sighed, looking around the folksy little coffeehouse. “I’d forgotten it existed. I’d also forgotten it only takes two seconds to get anywhere in Gordon Falls. I’m so used to leaving time for traffic.”

“We don’t really get Chicago-brand traffic in Gordon Falls. You can count the streetlights on one hand. Ah, but come some of the holiday weekends, just watch how the locals grumble that you can’t park within a block of Tyler Avenue.”

She gave a small laugh as she wrapped her hands around the large blue stoneware mug. She wore a dark purple nail polish and all those rings he’d noticed the other night. He couldn’t tell if the exotic spicy scent that wafted toward him was from her hair or the tea, but its uniqueness intrigued him. And that hair, that mass of dark curls tumbling around her shoulders—how had he not remembered Melba Wingate and that hair? “You were a freshman when I was a junior, weren’t you?” Clark had absolutely no remembrance of the teenage Melba. Sure, he knew her name—Wingate’s Log Cabin Resort had been a Gordon Falls staple for years before they’d finally closed up shop after Mrs. Wingate died—but nothing else about her. “What did you do after school?”

Melba sipped her tea. “I went to design school in Chicago, and then got a job at a textile import house. I figured import-export was the perfect way to see the world. I got to do a few trips and was getting ready to go on a large-scale overseas buying expedition when things got...” Her eyes flashed up at him, then back into the mug. “...complicated. Work’s been really nice about the whole thing, shifting me to handle their online catalogue while I’m here dealing with...Dad.” She used a knife to cut her scone in half. A perfect, thoughtful cut. Artistic. “You?”

Clark thumbed the name badge on his shirt pocket. “Two years of criminal justice at the local community college, but I was never the kind of guy to finish things, so I went into firefighting pretty much after that. I worked in Detroit for seven years until I came back here.”

“The big-city fireman.”

“Well, Detroit. Maybe not as big as Chicago, but it makes up for it in intensity.”

She sized him up as she ate a bite of her scone. “I never pegged you for the kind to come back home.”

It had to come up sooner or later. Clark sighed. He still hadn’t come up with a graceful way to answer comments like that. “It’s not a new story. Bad boy goes off to the big city to find new ways to be bad, hits bottom, comes home a changed man.” Clark pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking that sounded arrogant. “Or hopes he comes home a changed man. I’m still ironing out the kinks, as you already know.”

She leaned back in the booth, finger running around the rim of her mug. “I think I remember hearing something about an accident. Was that the bottom you hit?”

Calling that night an accident was like calling an earthquake a bump in the road. Talking about that point in his life was a four-hour conversation, not something for a quick morning coffee. It wasn’t the kind of thing Clark could share with just anyone, despite the warm look in Melba’s eyes. She was dealing with her life tilting in a different direction, and he knew what that felt like. Maybe that was why he felt so drawn to her. But she had enough trouble on her plate. Digging into his own mess with Melba Wingate was not on today’s menu—on this year’s menu—of good ideas. He drank down the last of his coffee and made a show of checking his watch—the only way he could think of to slip out of the oncoming conversation. “Yeah, well, that’s a story needing way more time than you or I have.”