Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [114]
Once in open air, Deering was able to see he’d been only a few hundred feet off the deck. He let out a shaky breath and wiped his sweating palms, one at a time, on his pant legs. Thank God, he wouldn’t have to tell Georgia he’d crashed twice in one summer. He thought of her arms around him, and found that the stinging in his eyes was not all from smoke.
As he headed toward the Firehole to pick up more water, along with the tattered remnants of his self-control, the radio crackled with a message from West Yellowstone Air Control. He was wanted to meet Garrett Anderson and fly recon.
All the way west, he kept expecting controller Jack Owen or Mark Liebman in the lead plane to ground everyone. For the first time in his life, he was ready.
Once on the West Yellowstone tarmac, Deering climbed out of the Huey and slammed the door.
“Hey,” Garrett called from beside the fence near the Smokejumpers’ Base.
Deering waved, but did not alter his course toward the charter trailer. Inside, Demetrios Karrabotsos sat at the Island Park desk with the phone against his salt-and-pepper head. Deering knew he’d be out flying later, for the cast had come off his foot the day before yesterday.
Down the narrow hall, Deering went into the office of Johnny Arvela of Eagle Air. He dialed, his hand trembling like it had on the collective when the C-130’s wake buffeted him.
On the third ring, Georgia said hello in a small voice that said she wasn’t smiling.
“Please,” Deering said, “don’t hang up.”
She didn’t, but neither did she speak.
“Babe, I’m sorry. Sorry for everything about this summer. That I . . . chased another woman. Jesus . . .” He gripped the edge of the metal desk. This was harder than he’d imagined. “I went after her . . . but nothing happened, not what you think, anyway.”
Still silence on her end.
“I’m begging you to forgive me.” He was sweating like a whore in church. “Let me come home. I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
“Did she throw you over?” Georgia dripped ice water.
“No! I’m the one who wants our life back together. Babe, I can’t do this anymore without knowing you’re there for me.”
The hum on the line underscored that she was far away. The trailer shook as someone came up the steps.
“When?” Her voice sounded small.
The pressure changed in his ears as the outer door opened, then slammed. “As soon as I can . . . “ From the front room, he heard Karrabotsos talking and Garrett’s deep baritone.
“What does ‘soon’ mean?” Georgia asked.
“Tonight,” Deering promised, “I’ll be there tonight.” He’d breathe the blessed smokeless air and listen to the Portneuf’s peaceful chatter.
Heavy footsteps came down the hall. “Deering?”
“A minute,” he called, and more softly, “I love you, hon. I’ll see you this evening.”
Garrett rapped on the door. “Where are you? I thought you were taking a leak.”
“Who’s there with you?” Georgia went suspicious.
Garrett opened the door and boomed, “We need to get in the air.”
“I see,” she said.
“See what?” Deering held up a hand at Garrett, who nodded and pulled the door closed.
“I have to go, Georgia. The North Fork is going to hit Old Faithful today and I have to fly Garrett Anderson . . . “
“It’s always the same, isn’t it? No matter what I need from you, there’s always a fire somewhere that’s more important.”
For a moment, Deering thought she’d hung up, but there was no dial tone. He heard muted strains of music from the little stereo he’d given her a few years ago to listen to while she quilted. There was a subtle change in the sound, as though she’d put the receiver down on the table and walked away. “Georgia!” Deering shouted.
She hadn’t hung up, but he did, slamming Johnny’s phone onto the cradle.
He sat for a long moment with his head in his hands. He had to fly. His livelihood depended on it, and whether Georgia liked it or not, hers did too. He’d make this one flight, he bargained, like he’d planned, and then go home to her. He’d made a promise.
When he came out,