Hearts on Fire

It had been four and a half years since I’d lost my best friend, but I still expected him to greet me every time I pulled up to his house at the base of the Rocky Mountains. Instead, his old Bronco sat in the driveway.

Dove had her head buried under the hood.

My tires crunched on the gravel as I pulled up next to her. I’d been coming out to their place every Sunday since John died to check on her. Some days I’d stick around just long enough to make sure she had what she needed. Other times I’d spend hours doing the few chores she hadn’t figured out how to complete on her own.

Like today.

“Battery giving you trouble again?” I stood next to her and leaned over the engine of John’s pride and joy. He’d rebuilt the vintage Bronco from a chassis we found in a scrapyard, but Dove didn’t have the patience for it like he had.

“I don’t know what it is this time. I keep thinking I should just get rid of it.” She clamped her hands to her hips and looked up at me, her gray eyes flashing with annoyance.

Dove was what John used to call a modern-day hippie. She’d been born and raised at the base of the Rocky Mountains. Grew up running barefoot through the creeks and chaining herself to trees so they wouldn’t be cut down. She didn’t shy away from much when it came to loving the land, but keeping up with the house, the vehicles, and the acreage they bought right after they got married was wearing on her.

“You know he’d be okay with you selling it.” I was surprised she hadn’t already, since she always complained about what a gas guzzler it was.
She tilted her head back and looked up at the bright blue Colorado sky. The forecast predicted a storm heading our way that would dump a few inches of snow, but for now the temperature hovered in the mid-forties and there wasn’t a single cloud in the late March sky.

“Every time I get rid of something of his, I feel like I’m letting go of another piece of him.” Her jaw clenched tight, and she lowered her head to look me straight in the eye. “Maybe you should take it.”

My heart squeezed tight at the pain in her voice, and I shook my head. “I’ve got to have something reliable to respond to calls. The way things have been going, sometimes I’m the only one who can get to the station.”

She looked away at the reference to my position as a volunteer firefighter. “Have you given any more thought to stepping down?”

“Dove.” I put a hand on her shoulder. We’d talked about it before. Countless numbers of times. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t quit. I’d tried to explain but couldn’t make her understand.

“I know.” She turned toward me. The sadness in her eyes almost knocked me to my knees. She didn’t deserve the hand she’d been dealt. None of us did. It had been four and a half years and folks around here were still reeling from the fire that had swept through Crystal Canyon and taken fourteen of our own.

“I bet the battery just needs a charge. Let me take a look, and I’ll see if I can get it started for you.”
“Thanks.” She gestured toward the house. “I’m going to toss a roast in the slow cooker. Want to stick around for dinner tonight?”

“Sure.” I didn’t have anything else going on. Besides, it had been weeks since I’d had a home cooked meal—probably the last time I’d been out here on a Sunday and stayed until dinner time. I watched her head back to the house and disappear through the doorway.

John had been on my mind a lot these past couple of weeks, which was understandable since the fire department had been promoting an upcoming fundraiser. The money raised would go toward personal protective equipment and breathing apparatuses. With state funding shrinking, the local departments had to do what they could to take care of their own. All of us around here knew firsthand how important it was to have the right equipment in an emergency.

For the millionth time, I couldn’t help but wish it had been me who’d been trapped. Me, who didn’t survive. John had a wife, a good-paying job, and a huge family that felt his loss like a gaping wound that would never heal. All I had going for me was a family who didn’t love me enough to stick around and a foster mother who’d tried to do her best. It wasn’t fair that fate had taken him instead of me.

At least I could get the Bronco started. Focusing on that goal, I headed back to my truck to get my cables. As I leaned over the engine and connected the clamps to the terminals, something nudged against my leg.

“Hey, there, Ike.” I reached down and ran my hand over the head of Dove’s giant mutt. Part Irish Wolfhound, part Great Dane, and part Saint Bernard, Ike had inherited the worst characteristics of all three breeds. He stood tall at the shoulders with a deep barrel chest and a tapered back end. His head was massive like a Saint Bernard’s, but with a pointed snout.

I’d given him to Dove shortly after we lost John. I thought he might provide some sort of protection, since she was out in the country all by herself. The damn dog looked fierce but was scared to death of everything. He’d be more likely to die of a heart attack than get hurt trying to defend his turf.

He raised up on his hind legs, put his front paws on my chest, and swiped a giant pink tongue across my chin. I rubbed away the slobber.

“Maybe you should take Ike as your date to the fundraiser,” Dove shouted from the front porch.

She’d been harping on me to ask someone to go as my date. Hell, maybe I would take Ike. It’s not like I had many other options. One of the new clerks at the county admin building had been dropping hints she wouldn’t say no if I wanted to ask her out, but I wasn’t interested. I was too busy feeling guilty for not dying.

Every time I came out to John’s old place and saw the pain in his widow’s eyes, I felt the crushing guilt. It should have been me.

To make matters even worse, I think Dove felt it too.