Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I get intel on the fire. It’s me and the rookie. As I survey the three thousand feet between me and the earth, I’m reminded that there’s no better view.
Jump—thousand.
Look—thousand.
Reach—thousand.
Wait—thousand.
Pull—thousand.
The green handle releases the drag canopy, and the weight frees the rest of the main canopy.
And again . . . I think of Jamie baking in the kitchen with flour on her face, folding laundry while humming, skateboarding like a child with the wind tangled in her hair.
First fire of the season. It’s going to be a long summer.
Over the next six weeks, I manage to stay alive, clock a shit ton of overtime, and avoid being alone with Jamie.
Tonight, however, my luck runs out. Will’s on shift. Maren’s in Arizona. And Jamie’s done with her job in Missoula with a week left before she moves to California.
“You feeling good, Fitz?” she asks after I give her a quick “hey” and head up the stairs.
Stopping in my tracks, I press my lips together and exhale through my nose. “Feeling fine.”
“Evette’s been kind enough to let me know where you’re at and when you leave a fire safely. It’s just stuff that I figured my person might share with me. But he hasn’t because he’s busy distancing himself from me. So my question is . . . are you feeling good about the distance? Is it enough?”
Enough? When she moves to California, it won’t be enough. If she moves back to Florida, it won’t be enough. As long as she’s on this earth, the distance between us will never be enough for me not to feel her, not to want her.
I take two more steps. There’s nothing I can say to make her understand. So, everything that might come out of my mouth will feel like a lie. Offering nothing would be better than a lie, right?
And yet, I turn around and head down the stairs because Jamie causes a disconnect between my body and mind. When I lean my shoulder on the side of the fridge, she turns from the sink and dries her hands.
“Hello, Calvin Fitzgerald. It’s lovely to see you.” She tucks her hair behind her ear before folding her hands in front of her. Relaxed. Nonconfrontational. Beautiful.
I can be a dick and say nothing. Or I can be a dick and vomit an exhausting list of things I’ve been doing. Or I can pretend to be the man she deserves, even though I’m not that man.
“Evette told me you narrowly escaped a fire. She said a tree fell on a rookie jumper, and you carried him miles to the helispot. Gary thought you weren’t going to make it.”
Okay, her tone is a little confrontational.
I return a slow nod. “Well, I made it.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’m good.”
“Fitz,” she whispers, blinking back the tears and clearing her throat.
I’m so fucking grateful that she’s doing everything she can to compose herself. There’s no need for tears. Nobody died. She’s living her dream, and I’m alive.
“I’ll check your Jeep’s oil and other fluid levels in the morning. I’ll check the tire pressure and tread and rotate them.”
“Fitz.” She shakes her head, eyes narrowed. “You can talk to me.”
“I’m single because I don’t want to check in with anyone. Will and Maren go about their lives without worrying about me, as I do with them. If one of us dies, it will feel tragic. It will be tragic. There will be mourning and a few tears. But then, life will go on as it should.”
Jamie’s face tenses, pink lips pressed together. “I lost my parents. It was tragic. There was mourning and tears. And heartbreak . . . so much heartbreak. At least for my mom. I don’t remember a lot about my dad.” Her eyes shift, her gaze finding mine as she slowly shakes her head. “But never did it occur to me that I shouldn’t love them wholeheartedly. Are you even alive if you don’t let your heart pursue its purpose in life?”
“What makes you think it’s not pursuing its purpose?”
Her shoulders curl inward, a slow wilting of her body. I have this special effect on people.
She slides both hands into the pockets of her denim shorts, pivots, and makes her way to the back door. “Thank you for your service, Smoke Jumper Calvin Fitzgerald. It’s been an honor knowing you.”
I swallow her name before my stubborn heart can hurl it from my chest.
She shuts the door behind her, and I let her have the last word.
The next morning, on my one day off, I wake early, work out, and return home just as Jamie rolls into the driveway on her skateboard. Days like this, I feel every one of the ten years between us. She’s youth personified.
A big dreamer.
Passionate.
Carefree.
I’ll miss living vicariously through her. I’ll miss watching her bake on Sundays, hearing her predictions of everyone’s week based on their signs, and admiring how she folds fitted sheets into perfect squares.