Love, Special Delivery. Melinda Curtis
The drawer full of untouched scarves. “You know how Mom is. She comes for a very brief time and then goes away for a lot longer.”
Still, neither one of them moved toward their mother’s room. Neither one seemed to want to know how long it’d been since Teri Zapien had been here.
“I want to see her.” Olivia’s words sounded like they came from a young girl lost on a once-familiar playground.
“She might show up.” Mandy hoped not.
Their mother was no good at keeping secrets, especially ones that would hurt Olivia.
* * *
“KITTENS?” CAPTAIN BEN LIBBY drove Harmony Valley’s fire truck around the corner toward the crowded town square. “We’re taking the engine out for the first time for kittens?”
“It’s not just kittens.” From the passenger seat, his father, Fire Chief Keith Libby, pointed to the large, sweeping oak tree in the middle of the square and the gathering crowd. “There’s a boy up there, too.”
Sure enough. There was a flash of red hair and knobby knees between the branches.
Dad’s eyesight was still sharp even if the rest of his body wasn’t in its prime.
“Kids seldom need rescuing from trees.” Ben’s godchild came to mind. Seven-year-old stoic Hannah would never find herself in such a predicament.
Dad scoffed. “Need I remind you of a boy who fell out of a tree and broke both wrists?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Ten-year-old Ben had been pretending to battle a blazing high-rise. That’s what third-generation firefighters in the making did—pretend to battle blazes. Unfortunately, his feet had tangled in the garden hose and ladder rungs, sending him tumbling to the ground. He’d had a healthy dislike of ladders ever since.
“Give Harmony Valley a chance, son.” Dad laid his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t grow up here like I did, but I didn’t ask you to come with me.”
“No. That request came from Mom.”
Decades of sleep-depriving forty-eight-hour shifts and the inhalation of too much toxic smoke in the busy Oakland, California, fire department had taken their toll on his father. Dad’s weakened heart and lungs made the fifty-five-year-old move like the octogenarians who made up the majority of Harmony Valley’s population. Breathing had become a daily struggle. He’d be deadweight on a fire crew in a busy fire station, a danger to himself, those under his command and those in need of rescue. Ben had put his firefighting career on hold to help his father reopen the rural fire department for the ten months his old man had left until retirement. Reaching full retirement meant a 25 percent bigger stipend each month.
No. Dad hadn’t asked. Vanessa Libby had. And despite his father missing out on much of Ben’s childhood to pursue a career in fire, Ben couldn’t live with himself if he wasn’t here to watch over him. So he’d quit his job in the Oakland Fire Department, too, purposefully putting his career on hold.
“Let’s finish this quick and move on to fire inspections,” Ben said. There hadn’t been any fires in Harmony Valley in more than five years, and Ben wanted to keep it that way. He pulled to the curb and put the truck in Park. The engine shook, shuddered and shot out a gasping blast of black smoke. Not exactly the community entrance Ben had hoped for. “I guess we need one more tune-up.”
“Deploy the ladder,” Ben’s dad said in his best I’m-in-charge voice.
“Deploy the...” This was the fire truck’s maiden voyage after fifteen years in storage. They’d barely gotten the engine running and hadn’t had a chance to check the truck’s hydraulics before receiving this call. “Are you going in the bucket?”
“I will. If you don’t have the stomach for it.” A challenge if there ever was one.
“Stay right here.” Ben had a take-charge voice of his own. There was no chance he was allowing Dad to test the ladder. What if he couldn’t catch his breath? What if he got light-headed and tumbled to the ground? What if the town realized Keith’s health wasn’t 100 percent and that Ben was covering for him?
This last was almost as imperative as keeping Dad safe. If Ben’s complicity was exposed, he’d never work as a firefighter again.
Ben hopped out of the truck and headed toward the oak tree. He’d heard there was a farmers market today, but the farm part was hard to see for all the other offerings—quilts, afghans, paintings, metal sculpture. He crossed onto the grass, working his way through a maze of folding tables and elderly residents. Sprinkled through the crowd were a few babies, small children and people who looked to be about his age—early thirties.
More than a decade ago, the grain mill—once the largest employer in town—had exploded and most people in the workforce had moved away, leaving the town more like a retirement community. But now there was a new employer in Harmony Valley, a winery. And people of working age were returning to town, hence the two job openings for full-time firemen.
It was a clear day, and the summer sun beat down on Ben’s shoulders. Given the call had come with the detail that felines were at risk, he hadn’t put on his turnout gear or helmet.
“Look at that! A tall man in uniform.” An elderly woman with short, purplish-gray curls waved at Ben as if he was a returning veteran in a homecoming parade. She stood out from the crowd in her Easter-egg pink tracksuit. “A fireman! And a handsome fireman to boot.”
If there was a bright spot to working in Harmony Valley, it was that its residents were outgoing and welcoming. And yet, that little bright spot couldn’t make up for the fact that their first few calls weren’t exactly what Ben would classify as emergencies—lost house keys, a stuck spigot, a runaway dog. “Who called the fire department?”
“I did.” The mayor separated himself from the crowd. He had a thin face made thinner by a long gray ponytail. The yellow-and-black tie-dyed T-shirt he wore over black khaki shorts made him look like an aging psychedelic bee. “Those kittens have been up there for a good thirty minutes. Breaks my heart.” He leaned in closer to Ben and said in a low voice, “And I thought it’d be the perfect time to show the town we have emergency services again after so long going without.” The mayor craned his neck to see around Ben. “Where’s the chief?”
The truth pressed in on Ben. He couldn’t quite meet the mayor’s gaze. “He’s waiting on my assessment of the scene.”
Ben’s grandfather stood beneath the oak tree next to a folding table stacked with cans of cat food.
“Granddad.” Ben gave the empty cage near his grandfather a disapproving look.
“It’s not my fault.” Granddad brushed white cat hair from his navy T-shirt and looked like he wanted to slink away with his empty cat cage. Felix Libby was the retired fire chief and just as thickly muscled as he’d been when he was active. Now he ran a feline rescue. “Truman wanted a kitten and he got the cage open before I could stop him.”
There were two furry miscreants in the tree with the kid. One was black with white paws. The other was white with a black mask. They mewed from positions too far out on a branch to support a little boy and too far within the canopy for the ladder and bucket to be of any use.
“Granddad,” Ben said again.
“It’s not my fault,” the retired fireman repeated.
Truman, aka the ginger-haired boy in the tree, grinned down at Ben in a way that made it hard to be annoyed at him. “Whichever kitten comes to me first is the one going home with me.” His expression turned earnest. “Here, kitty-cat. Here, boy.”
“Those kittens are girls,” said a small, solemn voice at Ben’s side.
Ben smiled down at his godchild. Her fine blond hair was windblown, and the ankles of her socks were dirt-rimmed. “What are you doing here, Han?”
Hannah