“No, because the inside is kickass and very you,” he contradicted.
I stared at him, feeling that compliment snuggle down deep.
He shoved couscous in his mouth.
“Well, you’re wrong,” I told him, spearing carrots. “This deck is everything, and your front porch isn’t far behind.”
“You dig what’s not yours,” he murmured.
No, I dug what was his.
What was him.
After downing my carrot, I tasted his chicken.
Succulent, the “parm” part was an oregano and garlic spiced panko/parmesan coating that was pressed into a thin layer of sour cream on top of the breasts. They’d then been roasted to juicy perfection.
I chewed and swallowed.
Delicious.
“We gotta get into the deep shit, babe. It’s time.”
My eyes lifted to his and the sharp-cheesy, juicy-chickeny taste turned to dust in my mouth.
“What deep shit?”
He didn’t lead into it.
He just went for it.
No warning, he gave it to me.
A precious gift.
And a gaping wound.
“Cellar Fire. Team was good. We were good. We’d been warned the weather might turn, trained, always, to know that was a possibility. Had a rookie scout. The man was an experienced firefighter, but new to the Hotshots. Somehow, he’d accidentally turned off his radio. So when the wind shifted, he didn’t get the call. Which meant he didn’t give us the call.”
I sat motionless.
Rix continued sharing.
“Still, we were good. We felt it, saw it, and we had an escape route. Fire came fast, though. Always does. Seemed like just a blink, we were in the thick of it. Saw the tree that had caught and knew it was gonna go down before it did. My buddy Rob was in front of me, and right under it. He didn’t see it. Ran to him, pushed him clear, thought I was good, I’d have time. Turns out, I was about four inches short of time. To this day, not sure what happened. How it hit both at the same time. Had therapy with a social worker through rehab, she thinks maybe it’s a block. Complete blank of maybe five, ten seconds. I remember seeing the tree. I remember running to Rob, pushing him. Then nothing. And then I remember when it hit. Calves, ankles, heels.”
Disturbing tingles shot up my own heels, ankles, and calves.
He took a breath.
I didn’t speak.
Then Rix kept going.
“From the way it felt, knew it crushed my feet. That tree had to be heavy, because the boots we wear are no joke. So from the get-go, my feet were toast. Tree was also ablaze. Had my gear on, which protected me from the fire, but that tree was fucking heavy, and fucking hot. Rob tried to drag me clear. Adrenaline rush amped his strength, he pulled me, and that fuckin’ tree came with me.”
“Rix,” I whispered, my entire body now tingling as what he endured came alive in my head.
“The entire team rushed back, crazy motherfuckers, felt like the whole world was on fire by then. But they got me out from under, carried me out of there. Damage was done, though. The whole thing probably lasted five minutes, but it felt like we were dealing with that tree for hours. Docs tried like fuck to save my feet. Multiple surgeries. Obviously, that miracle just wasn’t gonna happen.”
My plate held in front of me, I didn’t take my eyes from him, his face neutral, his tone matter of fact.
And I didn’t speak.
Though I knew one thing, it wasn’t discussing Peri that put him in a mood.
It was knowing he was going to give this to me, and relive it while he did, that put him in a mood.
“Rob quit,” he went on. “About a year later. Felt guilt he shouldn’t feel that it was me, not him. If he’d been behind me instead of the other way around, I knew it would have been him, not me. He’d have seen that tree, like I did. He would have done exactly what I did. He’s married, has three kids. So it fucking sucks it happened to me, but I’d rather it be the way it turned out. He lives in Florida now. No wildfires in Florida. He runs a car detailing service, and on the weekends, to get his rush, he jumps out of planes or goes paragliding.”
I remained silent.
Rix kept talking.
“Woke up once in the hospital, few days after they took my legs. Nic, Rob’s wife, was sitting beside me, face red, eyes a fucking mess. It was quiet, you couldn’t hear it at all, but still I knew she was sobbing. She didn’t say any words. Just bent over, kissed the back of my hand where it was lying on the bed. Then she stared at it. Stared at my hand like it was some marvel or something. Like the face of the Madonna was forming on it. She looked back at me, got up and walked out, like I said, through all of that, not a word. I was groggy, head not in a good place, but later, thinking about it, I knew…”