Leaving Normal (18 page)

Blame It on Squirrels

This wasn't Fred Miller's neighborhood Target store and he felt discombobulated by aisles that weren't where he expected them to be.

"Where in the hell is the squirrel food?" he muttered to himself while pushing the red plastic cart. He rolled past laundry-detergent shelves, the smell of lemons and perfumes pressing in on him, making a sneeze tickle his nose. The cart's rear wheel rattled unless he pushed while applying pressure on the handle.

He was used to the Milwaukee location, the "old" Target. Against his better judgment, he'd come to the Eagle Road location after his dental visit on Chinden. He thought he'd check out the new store, assuming it would be a carbon copy of the one he always shopped at.

As soon as he stepped inside he realized the snack bar was in the wrong spot. And they didn't sell white-cherry slushies. This one had cola and wild berry. He disliked both. Whoever invented the cola slushy was a moron. It never tasted like cola.

The popcorn was the same and he bought a small bag along with a Dr Pepper. Roaming through the store, he took a sip through the straw, paused at the picture frames and picked one up. It was a double frame. He thought about the two photos he had of his daughters. Natalie and Sarah had given him five-by-seven pictures of themselves for Christmas and he'd yet to find a frame for them.

This one sort of appealed to him. It was black, about a half-inch all the way around with hinges in the middle. A little gilt sheen to it. Maybe he'd come back and get it after he found the damn squirrel food.

Pushing through the aisles, with different items stocked on either side of him, he realized how different his life was these days. He enjoyed it, but there was something missing.

He'd been thinking about that ever since he'd been at that veterans' home talking with Maynard. Maynard might have been an old fart, but he offered a perspective that Fred had never taken the time to think about in the last few years. Now he did.

He wasn't getting any younger and didn't want to die by himself.

His sweet wife had passed on twelve years ago after a battle with breast cancer, and he hadn't really taken great care of himself. Healthwise he was fine, but the house wasn't all that clean most often, and he didn't like to scrub his shower real good but once a month. He usually shot some of that contact-spray cleaner in there each week, but aside from that, he wasn't much into housework.

Speaking of which…he needed more of that cleaner.

He reached for his wallet in his back pocket and produced his shopping list. Then he ate some popcorn and stood in an aisle intersection of towels to the north, bowls to the east, electrical to the west and electronics to the south. It was as if he were in a foreign land. This was supposed to be something else entirely. He should have been standing in the music department looking for the latest Johnny Cash greatest hits.

"Well, hell." An oath was muttered once more, spoken to himself. A customer who happened to be walking past ignored him. "Where's the damn squirrel food?"

He caught a flash of red smock. A clerk. Rolling ahead, he wobbled after her to get directions. Unlike most men, he wasn't about to waste all day looking for something when he wanted it right now.

"Ah, miss," he called after her retreating back. "Lady…ah, I'm lost."

She turned around and recognition hit him immediately—as if he could forget a face like hers.

Fred's eyes dropped to the clerk's name badge^just to make sure.

Iris.

He knew it! Irises for Iris. He'd delivered them to her himself.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

She obviously didn't remember him.

"I'm looking for the, ah…" He lost his damn train of thought when she gazed into his eyes. Not to mention, she wore red lipstick that drew his attention.

"Yes?"

"The, ah…" He couldn't form the sentence. Then, unexpectedly, he asked, "What department do you work in?"

"Housewares—kitchen appliances and gadgets."

"Oh." Fred drank a slow sip of Dr Pepper, the wheels in his head spinning like an old Ford pickup in overdrive. "I'm looking for a gadget."

Now, that was the furthest thing from the truth that Fred Miller had said today, aside from a slight fib to the dentist about using dental floss every night. Sometimes he skipped a night if he fell asleep before Leno came on.

"What kind of gadget?" she asked.

"Just a…ah…gadget. I'll know it when I see it." He set his soda pop cup down on the basket seat. "Maybe you can show me where they all are and I'll recognize it."

"I'd be happy to."

She was making him happy just by standing there.

Blame it on the squirrels, but Fred felt himself go a little nutty over a clerk named Iris.

Cats and Frogs

"Who's the smart-ass?" Walcroft growled, yanking the highlighted newspaper off his bunk.

Tony went on making his bed, pretending he didn't know what Walcroft was talking about.

The captain walked by, stopped in the doorway and couldn't hold back a laugh.

Walcroft wadded the newspaper and pitched it at Captain Palladino. "If you weren't the captain, I'd tell you where to shove that."

Unable to keep his humor in check, Tony busted up laughing. He and Rob had taken this morning's personal section of the newspaper and highlighted the men-seek-ing-men gay ads and left them on Walcroft's bed. It was juvenile, but damn funny watching his reaction.

"Shut up, Cruz." Walcroft got bent out of shape, but a smirk landed on his mouth as he snorted out a half laugh. "You guys are a bunch of pussies. You were looking at those ads for yourselves."

"Not me," the captain denied. "Tony."

"Bullshit," Tony countered, grinning. "If anyone's gay, it's Gable."

"What's the latest on that?" Walcroft asked. "Who's got the score?"

"I'm up one."

Tony and Gable had been playing tag ever since the omelet incident. The last prank Tony pulled off on Gable had been sneaking over to Station 3 and sabotaging the shower stall.

"I put a chicken bouillon cube in Gable's shower-head."

Walcroft grinned. "Now,
that's
fowl."

Captain Palladino shook his head with a grin. "Hey, let's get to daily duties. Grocery-store trip about three this afternoon? What do you guys feel like for supper? I'll cook."

"Chicken up the butt," Walcroft said. "Get a can of beer for it."

"Okay. I brought some new seasoning in. I'm not buying any rice or potatoes. I'm still on Atkins."

"Me, too," Walcroft said.

"Hell, I'm not." Tony was getting tired of no starch with his protein.

"Yeah, Rocky mentioned you guys drinking down some beers at that charity event. Major carbs." Wally finished with his bed and threw his duffel bag on top. "So did you get lucky that night?"

Tony kept closemouthed. He grinned and let Walcroft think what he wanted.

The truth was, he and Sophia had parted company after the dancing had finished. She gave him her number and they'd gone on the obligatory "date" she'd bought—a candlelight dinner at the Cottonwood Grill, but he wasn't interested in having sex with her as his dessert. He'd made up his mind to take things slow after his divorce. It was too easy to get caught up in a new relationship in order to forget the last one.

The morning progressed with firehouse chores, not giving Tony any time to think about his love life—or rather, lack of one.

A Shift at Station 13 had just finished lunch, and Captain Palladino was in his office doing paperwork while Tony and Walcroft spent time in the garage checking over the chassis of the engine.

The day was marginally warm for March, a high in the mid-forties. Tony and Walcroft were listening to the radio, the hood up on the engine as they did routine maintenance.

It had been a quiet morning. Only one call—a non-injury traffic accident in the commuter rush. Tony hoped they wouldn't be too busy tonight, although if it was quiet during the day, that usually meant they would be up all night. He wanted to get in a good workout, then watch
The Apprentice
.

Usually, evening television wasn't the high point of Tony's day, but he was keeping a low profile, staying in most every night. He wanted to form a new daily pattern with just himself, nobody else involved. But it was hard. He missed having company.

On more than one occasion, he'd thought about inviting Natalie over for dinner, but he cut off that idea and didn't go through with it. Seeing her dressed up at the charity event and dancing with her had revealed too much about how she affected him. He didn't want to admit to himself that he could fall out of love with his wife one month, and be attracted to another woman in the next. It felt too soon. But then again, his divorce had been a long time in the making.

A song came on the radio that Tony liked and he sang along.

"I think in a former life, you were a rock-and-roll singer 'cause you've always got to sing with the tunes, Cruz," Wally observed, squeezing a hose line.

"Because I sing good," Tony said matter-of-factly.

"And you sure aren't full of shit about anything, either."

Tony simply smiled.

Traffic moved past the fire station at a leisurely pace. They were situated near a residential area and a stop sign was just a block away.

A car sped through the intersection, causing both Walcroft and Tony to look up at the same time as skid marks shrieked from the vehicle's tires.

"Jesus Christ," Wally exclaimed, dropping his tools and running into the street.

Tony was on his heels.

At first, he wondered if the car had hit a child. Going round to the front of the red sedan and dropping to his knees, he didn't see a body.

"No kid," he shouted to Captain Palladino who'd come running out of the station to investigate.

The low moan of a wounded animal caught Tony's attention and he took a second look beneath the car.

A tabby cat laid on the blacktop beneath the driver's front tire.

"I didn't see the cat until it was too late!" the teenage driver cried, running to Tony's side and peering beneath the car. "Is it…?"

The young girl began to sob.

Walcroft hunkered down and took the injured cat out, cradling it in his arms. His hand felt along the cat's spine and limp legs. Then his gaze met Tony's. "She's busted up. Won't make it."

"Ohmygod, I feel like crap," the teenage girl cried into her hands. "I didn't see the stop sign. Ohmygod."

Walcroft's hand stilled. "She's pregnant."

"I am not," the girl gasped, lifting her head.

"The cat."

Captain Palladino took command as if the cat were a patient. "Bring her into the garage, Wally. Cruz, get out the medic kit." The captain was running. "We'll do a C-section on her and get the kittens out."

They delivered four kittens from the mother cat who didn't make it. At no time did they think about what they were doing; it just seemed to be the right thing to do.

The teenage girl had called her parents and they showed up at the station to find out what had happened. Captain Palladino spoke to them while Tony and Wal-croft made sure the kittens were kept warm as they monitored their vitals.