No Ordinary Day (28 page)

A historic and beautiful tree, a Northern Red Oak.

Blackened, but not broken, no longer alive.

But not really dead either.

In a way, some people would say in later weeks, it was actually a blessing that the fire came when it did, roaring through streets and buildings that had already been abandoned. The death toll from the massive blaze was minimal, the same people with heart disease or breathing difficulties that always die in fires.

A lot of silly tongues spoke of acts of God, wondering what Obergrande had done to make Him mad. People whispered words like
terrorism
or
incompetence
, blaming the reason for the blaze on the flood, or shoddy building standards, or the dust in the sawmills.

Largely because they did not have any reason to know that it was nothing like that at all.

But on that day, in the shadow of the mystic Adirondack Mountains, the Hudson River, though having receded somewhat, was still rushing south over its banks to bigger, more important places than this tiny little town, a town that was once an outpost of early settlers, long before America was born, people who staked out territory and made treaties among themselves and those who had lived here first, a town of loggers and miners, furniture craftsmen and silversmiths, and later artists and hoteliers and people who just wanted to live in one of the most beautiful places in America.

While the rest of the citizens were wandering around, lost and vacant with shock, one person stood apart, musing about all that had happened, a tragedy that was part Act of God, part bad luck.

And partly intentional.

Obergrande,
that person thought sympathetically.
Truly, you are suffering so damned unfairly
.

But you will be rebuilt, and one day, you will be vastly better than you were before
.

Like birth, rebirth was painful, but worth it.

At noon, three
of the same four men that had attempted to comfort the town the day before summitted Tree Hill again.

Every one of them wide-eyed with shock, trembling, but maintaining a respectful attitude.

Rabbi Feist had returned to Lake Placid the evening before, prior to the fire breaking out, and the Obergranders who had invited him initially to come and speak did not have the heart to try to contact him again.

Pastor Fuller and Father Minor climbed Tree Hill together with the mayor, trying to breathe in the low-hanging smoke that was everywhere in the town. It had even moved west, against the currents of the wind, until it came through the window screens of West Obergrande, causing the residents to slam their windows shut and breathe through wet tea towels.

Ray Tibedeau’s eyes were hollow, but his jaw was set. He stood with the two pastors and stared solemnly down at the townsfolk who had come to the park again, looking for comfort, or meaning, or answers, or aid—whatever they were looking for, there was little to none to be had.

Mayor Tibedeau began speaking exactly at noon, cued by his wristwatch, because the carillon of Our Mother of Sorrows was silent.

He did not have any particularly inspirational words; he had only spoken the day before, as he had nervously admitted, because the real leader of the town, Bob Lundford, was recovering from his flood injuries. The mayor limited his comments to the aid plans that had been put together by the Red Cross, the food and water deliveries and other items of information that needed to be shared.

Then he looked out over the blackened town square again for the second time in that place in twenty-four hours.

“I believe we will return, bigger and better from this,” he said gravely. “I also believe it will be the hardest comeback I will have ever seen in my lifetime. Good luck, everyone.”

The pastors offered prayers, but had nothing else to say.

‡

THREE MONTHS LATER, August

Ginny’s Sleep-Easy, Danville, southern Virginia

J
eremy was dozing
on-and-off in front of the TV in the bedroom area of the unit he and Sam were renting by the month in the one-floor motel at the edge of town.

In spite of having moved into a somewhat more comfortable place in life, Jeremy still had trouble sleeping, so any opportunity to doze was a blessing.

Sam was out at the moment, picking up groceries for the weekend. She had landed a part-time job as a cashier and waitress at the diner nearby, and was a lot easier to deal with, now that she wasn’t trapped inside, twitching like a nervous cat, waiting for him to get home every day. She also had some money of her own, which helped make life even better.

Her absence provided a little down-time, time when he could let go of the invisible net of anxiety and regret that he was still entangled in, even after all this time.

Jeremy was growing to love the town of Danville. It had beautiful hills, reminiscent of the tree-covered splendor of the Adirondacks, with the added glory of six different speedways and raceways, places for him to let go of his worries in the scream of NASCAR engines and motorcycle rallies.

He had found work with a road-crew, a non-union job that didn’t pay him half as well as the lazy guys with the highway flags, but still a damn sight better than he had been making in New York, all under the table, of course. Now there was food in the kitchen cabinets and the fridge, cold beer and nachos on Friday nights, like this one.

And Sam seemed happy, which was a plus. The sex had never been better.

Best of all, the reports about the flooding and fire that took out a serious piece of Obergrande, New York, had ceased being featured on the national news for the most part.

The first night they had checked into the motel months ago was the day after the flood. Even as he dozed now, Jeremy still remembered his first sight of the disaster, which had appeared, coincidentally, on the TV screen the moment he snapped it on. He had frantically grabbed the remote and tried to change the channel, but had to flip through five others to get to one on which the news report was not playing.

Then, feeling guilty, he turned back to the first news station and watched the whole thing, Sam sitting on the bed beside him, both of their faces reflecting the pale light and colored graphics on the TV.

Both of them sick to their stomachs.

In the back of his mind, exhausted from the long motorcycle ride and the fumes, Jeremy was convinced then that he could hear the devil laughing at his distress.

That same devil laughed in his dreams still.

He was mostly asleep, his head jerking back and forth nervously, when the door opened and Sam came in, carrying two brown paper bags.

“You OK, babe?” she called from the tiny hallway in their unit.

“Hmmmpf? Yeah.” He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and quickly rose to a stand, shaking off the nightmares. “Yeah.”

He could hear her puttering about in the one-butt kitchen area, unpacking bags, opening and closing the three cabinets over and around the small sink and the efficiency stove. Jeremy rubbed his head, trying to dispel the bad thoughts, and wandered out into the front part of the unit.

Sam was buzzing around, as he had heard, humming an unfamiliar tune. On the kitchenette’s table were two extra-large cupcakes, one with a grotesque amount of brown frosting, one with the same amount of white.

Each with a candle in it.

“What’s this?” he asked, his brow furrowing deeply.

Sam smiled, her luxurious dark hair pulled up in a high ponytail. She came over to the table, snapped the wheel of a lighter and put the flame to the wicks of the two candles.

“Happy anniversary, Germ,” she said, her face reflecting the glow of the tiny fires. “It was two years ago today that you snuck me out of that bachelor party after I finished the groom’s lap dance and drove me away on your motorcycle—in nothing but a feathered thong, I might add.”

“That guy was a putz,” Jeremy said, walking closer to her and taking hold of the empty belt loops on her jeans. “I didn’t like seein’ his hands on you, especially since he was gettin’ married the next day. An’ I gave you my jacket, so you weren’t topless for long.”

She took hold of one of his hands, freed it from the belt loop, brought it to her lips and kissed it. “Well, for two years exactly, this has been one of only two hands on me.”

He turned her hand over and returned the favor.

“I’m surprised you were able to walk out of there,” Sam said, chuckling. “You were so drunk I thought you told me your name was ‘Germ’ when I asked who the hell you thought you were.”

“It was a bachelor party—duh.”

“Come over here and help me blow the candles out,” she said, pulling him to the cupcakes. “Make a wish.”

She was surprised when he followed her willingly, closed his eyes and blew when she did. Under normal circumstances, she would have expected him to get grumpy and refuse to do something so dumb.

But he had changed since Obergrande.

At least tonight, she thought it was in a good way.

Maybe he felt he needed a wish.

“Which one do you want?” she asked, pulling out a chair from the table.

Jeremy shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Be a sport. Pick a cupcake.”

He sighed. “Fine. Chocolate.”

“Great.” She snatched the vanilla one, then led him to the chair and pushed him down in it.

“What are you
doin’?”
he asked, whining a little.

“You can be a putz, too, ya know, Germ. Shut up.”

Sam set the cupcake on the table’s edge, then seized the top of Jeremy’s jeans and unsnapped them.

Slowly, like the lap dancer she once was, she slithered to the floor between his knees, dragging his zipper down with her.

Then slid up his calves until she was leaning her chest on his thighs. She put her arms around him.

“Arch your back,” she said huskily.

Jeremy closed his eyes and followed her directions as she pulled his jeans down to his ankles.

He could hear her inhale, as she often did at moments like these, as if she was impressed.

That little inhalation of breath always did wonders for what she was watching and breathing about, making it, and him, more eager.

“Open your mouth,” she whispered. “Your eyes, too, if you want.”

Puzzled, Jeremy opened his eyes.

Sam was close to his face, her own eyes shining. “You wanna pull my hair down?” she asked, taking his hand.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, his voice wavering.

“Do it,” Sam commanded, guiding his hand toward the ponytail. “But then put your hands on the sides of the seat. No touching ’til it’s your turn.”

Trembling, Jeremy reached over and wound his fingers through the scrunchie that held her pretty hair back from her pretty face. He slid it down the thick ponytail and dropped it beside the chair, inhaling a little himself as her hair cascaded around her shoulders and chest, which was still clad in the camisole she had worn under her waitress uniform.

Sam shook her head slowly from side to side, loosing her hair even more, making Jeremy’s groin feel like it was on fire. She closed her eyes and ran her hand erotically through her hair, making the fire rise higher.

Then, still smiling, she turned to the cupcake on the table’s edge, and, with her index finger, scooped a lane of the frosting off it.

With her other hand, she took a small dollop onto her finger, and stuck it suggestively into her mouth.

Her smile grew wider.

“Mmmmmmm,” she said. It was more of a groan than anything else.

Jeremy swallowed hard, trying to remain still.

“Wanna taste?” she asked in mock innocence, holding out another dollop of the frosting near his mouth.

“Yeah,” Jeremy muttered. He was having trouble concentrating.

Sam looked displeased.

“Try again, Germ,” she said, a rough edge in her voice that she knew he liked. “Say ‘yes, please,’ or I’ll go back to making nachos.”

“Yes, please,” he whispered. His throat was getting tighter as he strained to stay in the chair, his hands gripping the sides of the seat.

“Open up,” Sam directed, holding the fingerful of frosting near his mouth. “Lick it off.”

Jeremy obeyed.

Slowly, carefully, she slid the tip of her finger just past his lips, then allowed him to wrap his tongue around it. He inhaled as he did, sucking the frosting off it, making her blink as her own face grew warmer.

“I thought I picked chocolate,” he said.

“You did,” Sam said smugly. “You’ll get it when it’s your turn to be in charge of the chair.”

“Ahhhhh,” Jeremy said. It was the only sound he could make now, because Sam had quickly returned to the cupcake, scooped more of the frosting off it, and began painting him with it, opening his shirt and swirling a little on his pecs, which she inhaled immediately, then went back to the area she had laid bare a few moments before.

Jeremy closed his eyes again and gritted his teeth as she took her time, applying the frosting liberally to everything that was exposed.

By the time she set to removing it, he was almost out of control already.