Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [25]
“Stink after three days.” She didn’t need to check her watch to know that she and Constance had exceeded the three hours they usually required. “Devon needs a relationship with her father,” she parroted, from years of repeating the mantra.
Her mother’s mouth made a line. “You ask me, you should have sole custody, after he . . .”
Clare had emphatically not asked, but every time Devon left for visitation, she stifled the same thought. “You know that in family law court, you get all the justice you can afford.”
Beaten back on the new front, Constance returned to the West. “This Wyoming . . .” She gave another of her signature pauses and smoothed the skirt of her yellow-flowered house-dress. “You know they have bears up there.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I’m serious.” Constance’s hands fluttered, a sure sign that she had found something to worry about. Her vigilance was steadfast, such that she fretted over everything from refusing to get onto an airplane to shredding magazine covers marked with her name before putting them in the garbage.
Clare had learned to live with it, but the familiar charade rankled. It had gotten worse in the seven years since her parents divorced. Her father kept busy with his new wife and twin baby sons, reminding her too painfully of losing Jay to ten-years-younger Elyssa Hendron.
Looking at a mass of greenery topped by spiky red flowers, Clare tried, “Your cannas are doing well this year.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Constance persisted. “You were too young to know your Grandfather Cordon before he died, but he told me they broke ice in the water buckets in June. The homestead was in Jackson Hole, just by the Snake River.”
“With the drought and the fires, I hardly think I’ll get cold.”
In the back of the truck, Clare had time to regret her smug assurance, pulling on rough gloves and flexing stiff fingers to soften the leather. The cotton bandanna issued with the fire uniform did not keep her ears or neck warm beneath her hard hat.
The truck jerked and swayed on the rutted track. It was strange to be on the way to a fire at such a slow speed, without the strident sirens and the klaxon of the air horn parting traffic.
Clare clamped her teeth against the opening of the instant replay of Frank’s death. Reliving the experience did no earthly good. Both the psychologist and the guys at the station had made that clear. She focused instead on what she’d seen the day before yesterday at Grant Village. For sheer force and power, no fire she’d ever seen compared to the Shoshone.
As her chest stayed tight, Clare reminded herself that despite Garrett Anderson’s pessimism, this unusual fire behavior and weather weren’t likely to last. According to historic data, it usually rained more in late July and August.
The truck rounded a bend and braked.
“Deer,” someone said. A dozen soft-eyed does stared at the intruders from the dappled shade. One leapt high, and like the quick communal reaction of a school of fish, the others exploded and shot across the track in pursuit. Clare thought of Bambi, how at five she’d cried in the theatre when the forest fire sent the animals fleeing.
The truck moved on, rocking, as the track grew fainter.
A young man who appeared no older than Devon studied Clare. Probably a college linebacker, his broad shoulders pressed against the boards. Like many of the fire crew who eschewed shaving during the season, he sported a shaggy brown beard. A faint smile played at Clare’s lips. Back in Houston, her routine was set in a way that did not include meeting new men. Here the faces were as fresh and different as the land.
Last night she had enjoyed talking with Deering. He seemed friendly and open, although she’d detected complexity below the surface. He had promised to leave a message for her at Fire Command, so they could have dinner when she had the chance to be in West Yellowstone.
As the truck negotiated the broad expanse of Little Fire-hole Meadow, Clare started to feel warmer. Dry golden grasses stirred in the vehicle’s wake. Ahead, a gray shroud hugged the ground, and in another