Heaven's Fire (22 page)

Too bad she didn't collect men's clothing. He pulled on the smoky sweatpants he'd slept in, and borrowed back the T-shirt he'd given Jake. They would have do until he got to the office, where he kept a change of clothes.

Let's see, what was on the schedule today? Luckily his personal vehicle was safely parked in the structure at the office, or it would be under the pile of rubble formerly known as his garage.

So he just had to buy clothes and call his house insurance agent. Oh, and find a place to live. He wished that in the hurried note Jake had left, she'd said something akin to, "Hey, stay as long as you want."

Simon let the dog in and watched her nose around the kitchen floor. He couldn’t just leave her roaming Jake's house, but he couldn’t very well take her into the office with him either.

He sighed and picked up the phone to call Jake. He wanted to make sure she was okay, then he'd apologize, thank her, and ask yet another favor--or two. This didn’t seem to be the best way to start out a relationship: Temporary cohabitation and joint custody of a seventy-pound dog who shed.

By the time Jake hit the parking lot of the Y it was nine-forty-five. She'd only have time for a half-mile swim today--not even that, if she didn't get moving.

She ran for the door, gym bag thunkking her in the side, and then stepped back to let a woman with a pink baby in a carrier and a blue toddler on foot, enter ahead of her.

"C'mon, Billy," Mom said to the toddler. "Push the big silver button, and the door will open for Sarah and me!"

The big silver button was the automatic door opener, intended for people with disabilities. Kids love them. Parents love that their kids love them. For her part, Jack wondered whether tickets should be issued to people who pushed them and weren't disabled. Like when you park in a "Handicapped" space, and aren't.

Still, she waited patiently for the door to slowly open and then helped the mother wedge the baby carrier, diaper bag and toddler through. As Jake started in after them, she almost collided with a man who was playing the same waiting game on the other side of the door. He stepped back to let her through.

Jake smiled a thank you and barreled around the corner, nearly mowing down her fireman friend, Doug.

"Hey, Doug," she said, pulling out her membership card for the man at the front desk. "Don't tell me you're done already?"

"I only did three miles today," he said, "I have a doctor's appointment."

"Your ears?" Jake asked, worried.

He banged his right ear with the heel of his hand. "Yeah, we're trying a hearing aid for this one. See if that helps."

"It's not getting worse, is it?"

"Nah, it's okay."

Not that he would tell her if it wasn't, she thought as she changed into her suit in the locker room. Doug's off-hand way of dealing with his own physical problems was one of the reasons Jake felt so comfortable around him.

Jake had started swimming soon after her mastectomy, both because it was the perfect exercise for her chest and back muscles, and great therapy for her head. It had taken every ounce of courage for her to put on a suit--no fake foam boobs, they create drag when you swim--and walk into the pool area that first time, but it was one of the best decisions she'd ever made.

Doug had been there then, and a lot of the other people she still swam with. Even though they'd likely followed her treatment on TV along with the rest of the viewing area, no one at the pool had ever made her feel the least bit uncomfortable.

Until now.

Jake had finished her eighteenth lap and was walking to the showers when she heard it behind her.

Stroke/kersplat...stroke/kersplat...stroke/kersplat...

The Croc. Then it stopped.

She didn't have to turn to know he was watching her.

*****

Simon had reached Jake by cell phone, and she agreed both to Simon staying another night and to his leaving Irish in her fenced-in back yard, since he wasn’t sure how civilized the dog would be in a strange house. Jake even told him where to find old margarine containers as makeshift water and food dishes and a box of Cheerios that would substitute for kibbles until Simon was able to go shopping.

An unusual woman, Simon thought. Even more so, because she hadn't even mentioned nearly being burned to death, until he'd asked her how she was. Like the whole thing had slipped her mind somehow.

Not a bad model to follow, Simon thought. After getting the dog fed and watered, he walked down the driveway to his truck on the street. He'd left it in the driveway, but Jake apparently had moved it to get her Jag out.

The XK8 was quite a car: seventy-five grand, new. And this one was new. He had clearly smelled "showroom" when he walked by it last night in his post-disaster haze, though it had seemed inappropriate to comment on it at the time.

Simon wondered how well television stations paid. Maybe Jake had inherited money. It occurred to him that despite what had happened to them, and despite the fact he had slept in her bed and showered in her bathroom, he knew very little about Jake.

Simon had barely settled in the driver’s seat of the Explorer when his cell phone rang. He had left it in the cup holder overnight and when he picked it up to answer, he saw he had missed six calls.

"
Aamot.
"

"
Where the hell have you been?
"
The question was probably Collins’, but the voice was Kathy’s.

"
My house burned down last night.
"

"
No shit, Sherlock, the fire department has been calling all morning, looking for you. Something about accelerants in the basement. Are you okay?
"
The last was Kathy’s own question and sounded a little frantic.

Simon felt ashamed he hadn’t called her immediately to reassure her. He also felt more than a little stupid. Accelerants. Like paint, paint thinner, rags.
"
Fine, Kath, and it was my own damn fault. You know I've been working on the house. I had all sorts of shit down there.
"
Simon started the engine, shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb.

"
Piled next to the water heater, no doubt?
"
Kathy asked.
"
Simon, you know better.
"

"
I know, Mom. And now I’m suffering the 'consequences of my actions,' as my parents used say. Is Collins looking for me?
"

"
Of course. Where are you? Are you coming in?
"

"
Twenty minutes away. Be right there.
"

*****

Jake was already in her second planning meeting of the day--this one about the Fourth of July broadcast. Today was Monday, July 2, and on Wednesday she would be back at Shore Park, back in the production van, back producing a fireworks show.

Jake hoped the Fourth of July broadcast would prove to be one big snooze in comparison with Lake Days, but she felt alone in that hope. Everyone else at the station seemed to be banking on the fact that viewers would tune in
because
something could happen. That maybe lightning would strike twice in the same place and they would be watching to catch it.

"
’...safe from the comfort of your own homes?’
"
she read from the promo script.
"
Why don’t we just bill it as ‘Fireworks Island: Let‘s See Who Survives!'"

Bryan Williams, sitting across the table from her, laughed.
"
Actually, the shells are going to be fired from land this time, so the island theme won’t work.
"
He leaned across the table and put his hand on hers.
"
Not that I didn’t think of it.
"

Jake pulled her hand back and Neal, sitting next to her, gave her a friendly nudge.
"
C’mon, lighten up, Jake.
"

Weren't we all feeling good about ourselves this morning, Jake thought.

Gwen, a tiny brunette who nevertheless knew how to throw her weight around when she needed to, cleared her throat to get their attention. Neal, Jake, and Martha sat on one side of the table; George, Bryan and Luis across from them. The news director’s gaze landed on Bill Laverenz, the station manager, seated on the end opposite Gwen.

Laverenz stood up.
"
I need to get to another meeting, but I wanted to announce our team for this broadcast. We’re going to mix things up a bit."

"We've arranged to have a camera on the "Lake Mist," an excursion boat on Lake Michigan." He nodded toward Martha, but managed not to look at her.
"
Since Martha showed us how well she thinks on her feet after Friday’s explosion, she'll handle the coverage from there. In another change, Luis Burns will be in front of the camera for the first time, at least officially.
"

Laverenz smiled over at Luis, but Jake was busy watching Martha who sat next to her. The anchorwoman’s face was a calm, cool mask. Oooh, she’s ticked, Jake thought. She leaned ever so slightly away from Martha and waited.

Laverenz turned and nodded toward Neal.
"
Neal is going to be anchoring this time around, with George.
"
He held up his hands.
"
I know, I know. It’s unusual for us to pair two men, but I think this puts the strength where we need it. Neal, I understand that Angela Guida has agreed to be a guest, so I'm counting on you to get her to open up about her husband's disappearance. As for the rest, I’ll leave the details to all of you. Have a good show!
"

With that, the station manager picked up his yellow pad and left the room, not once having looked at Martha.

There was an apprehensive silence, the calm before the storm. In fact, Jake could have sworn the room took on that same eerie green cast that signals the approach of a Midwest thunderstorm.

Martha stood up.
"
What the hell is going on here, Gwen? I’m an anchor for God’s sake, not someone you stick on a boat in the middle of the lake, while you let a scrub reporter take over. Laverenz, the spineless fucker, didn’t have the courtesy to look me in the face when he stabbed me in the back.
"

*****

Sitting across from Martha, Luis was torn between wondering how you could stab someone in the back while looking them in the face, and if he was the
"
scrub reporter
"
Martha was talking about.

"
You’re calling me a 'scrub reporter?'
"
Neal Cravens yelled, answering one question.
"
I have as much as experience as you do, just not the legs. Maybe it will do you some good to put them to the use God intended, and do some actual reporting for once. You call
George
a talking head? You’re nothing but a talking ass with tits.
"

Whoa. Low blow.

Jake started coughing, and Luis slid his bottle of water across to her, a cartoon of a
"
talking head, ass and tits
"
playing in his mind. Might make a great animated short or maybe even a series. You know, sort of a SOUTH PARK meets SPORTS NIGHT thing.

"
Experience?
"
Martha screamed at Cravens, interrupting Luis’s creative flow.
"
At those podunk stations you worked at?
"

Gwen jumped up.
"
We’re all professionals here...
"

The guy across from Jake laughed for some reason, and Martha gave him a dirty look. Then she turned back to Gwen.
"
Yeah? Well, you can take your ‘professionals' and stick them up your ass.
"

Then she walked out.

Now Martha always wore these really high heels, so it was worth taking the time to watch her leave. By the time Luis swiveled back to the table, Gwen was already sitting down and waving Cravens and Eagleton to do likewise.
             

"
Should we get down to work?
"

God, Luis loved this business.

*****

"I think I've had enough asses, talking or otherwise, for a while," Jake muttered to Bryan as they left the room an hour later.

"Francis," he said.

She hesitated, then got it. "The talking mule?"

He just grinned, but Jake shook her head. "Sometimes, Bryan, you surprise me. You seem almost human."

"Almost," said Williams, as he opened the door into the production office for her, "is the operative word."

Amen to that, Jake thought, though the exchange did serve to remind her of what she had seen in him so many years back. She nodded toward Neal's back disappearing down the hall. "Neal really went off back there. I was prepared for Martha to throw a fit, since she was demoted, but Neal..."