Lingering fumes cover the ash-covered ground, my shoes now covered in ash. The smoke in the air leaves an acrid taste in my mouth, burning my throat.
Where my former house stood, now sits a pile of rubble. Rough and jagged edges of brick stick out from the rubble. A bathtub stands out, like the lead actor in a crowd, and my heart plummets into my chest. It isn’t just a bathtub, it was _my tub. The same tub I was showering in earlier that week._
My makeup palettes lay scattered amongst the rubble, all of them scorched and blackened. All except for one. Shoving it into my pocket, I head back to the parked car where Josie sits inside waiting for me.
According to the GPS, the return trip back to Josie’s apartment will take the better part of an hour, which gives me plenty of time to sit with my own thoughts. Josie’s silent as she drives, and it doesn’t occur to me that this kind of silence only comes from a friendship that’s had years to be formed. We’ve endured countless hardships through the years, when Josie got laid off because the startup company she worked for wasn’t ready for an Asian woman to be in charge, or the moves that pulled us to opposite ends of the country for months on end. Or the night we lost Hayley, who made our friendship trio perfect, to a drunk driver, shifting our lives in a direction that wouldn’t include her.
And now my dream home is nothing more than piles of ash. It’s just another loss on top of an already insurmountable pile. The mini dream catcher Hayley made last year hangs off the rear view mirror, swaying against the breeze from the air conditioner and the world suddenly feels too tight and small, like I’m choking and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get any air into my lungs.
“Too cold?” Josie asks, her fingers hovering over the dial.
I shake my head. _No? Yes? Maybe? Maybe this is all a horrible nightmare that I need to wake myself up from? Maybe I’m just dissociating and none of this is even real? I’ll wake up back and find myself nestled in my bed, my home still and quiet. _I’m gripping the edge of my door, my fingers only inches from the handle. Josie slides her fingers over to re-lock the doors, keeping her eyes on the road the whole time. But I notice. I don’t feel like a flight risk, but when someone expectantly loses their entire life in only minutes, maybe caution is warranted.
We haven’t spoken about the fire in any sort of depth. Every time I think I’m strong enough to talk about it, something inside stops me. Billy Joel’s “Lullaby” plays on the radio, and my hand instinctively reaches for the handle again. _I can’t do this. _
Josie side eyes me. “Mallory-“
“Can you pull over? I…I need some fresh air.”
“But we’re almost there.”
I don’t respond, and when Josie looks back over at me, my cheeks are stained with my tears and she immediately pulls up against the curb. I get out, promise to be back later, and Josie waves as she heads back down the road.
There are no clouds in the sky, and the heat from the sun hammers against my skin. The street is quiet, almost void of all noise, which feels like another metaphor for my life. My mind is a flurry of thoughts and it’s not until I see the newly constructed retirement apartment complex do I realize how long I’ve been in my head. I’ve walked to the other end of town. I reach for my phone, checking the time and expecting a flurry of text messages from Josie, and am relieved to have a notification-free home screen.
The property only grows in its size and complexity the closer I walk towards it. Each apartment structure has two stories, with the the second story patios screened in with railings, for safety purposes, I’m assuming. The lawn is manicured and beautiful elm trees line its edges. A man-made pond with a fountain shoots water up. _It’s magnificent._ Men and women are scattered across the property, some using walkers and wheelchairs, others carrying dumbbells as they walk the sidewalks.
A woman in a sun hat sits on her patio, enjoying a refreshing drink and waves to me. She looks so happy. I wave back, and a sudden ache twists on my heart.
There’s a gentleman sitting alone near the entrance staring at me. He’s too far away to know if he’s smiling at me, but he gives me a wave, and when I return it, he waves me over. He’s wearing a three piece suit, complete with those caps that are popular in Scotland. Upon closer inspection, I notice his bow tie has little beavers on it, and for some reason that makes me giggle, and suddenly his smile falters and I instantly feel guilty because he probably thinks I’m laughing _at_ him.
I gesture to his chest, and when he realizes what I’m actually laughing at, his smile returns and he extends his hand to me. “I’m Norman, and you don’t have to tell me your name, because whatever it is, I already like it.” His hand has a slight tremor in my grip, but his skin is soft and dry. “It’s hard finding others who share in my sense of humor,” he adds, chuckling to himself.
The chair beside him is empty and I pull it closer to him, and for a few minutes we stare out at the activity around us.
“It’s beautiful here,” I say, watching a man cruise around on a lawn mower.
“Lonely is what it is,” he replies, fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. “You probably can’t imagine being lonely in a place such as this, but it’s true. My son works here, but he’s always too busy to sit with his old man for an hour or two. So, here I sit, watching.”
“What are you watching for?”
He pauses for a beat. “Nothing. Everything.” He pulls out his pocket square, dabbing at his forehead. He waves away my concern before I even have a chance to voice it. “I’m not that hot.”
I nod, trusting he knows himself.
“But I used to be,” he adds.
“What?”
“Hot. I used to be.” He slaps his knee, amused with himself.
“Me too.” I say, a sigh escaping through my lips.
Norman’s brow furrows as he looks me over. “You look like a young woman who has her whole life ahead of her.”
“I don’t have anything in front of me,” I say. “Not anymore.” Norman listens patiently as I explain that my home is gone, and that I don’t know how I’m going to re-build my life from absolutely nothing. He doesn’t even seem to mind having his spare handkerchief ruined with my tears and snot, just shoving it back in his pocket.
“You’ll find a way. As long as you’re alive, you have to find a way to keep trudging forward. Look at me, I’m living proof.” His words feel too sharp and calloused and drive the ache in my heart that much deeper. But when he gives my hand a comforting squeeze, I know his words are coming from a good place and he’s offering his wisdom onto me, the next generation.
A short while later, I offer to get us each a cup of ice water from the bistro inside. When I return to the entrance, Norman is laying on the pavement, his arm outstretched.
“Norman!”I cry out, reaching for his wrists. There’s a pulse, but it’s faint.
“Someone please! Someone help us!” I scream out. A middle-aged woman in scrubs rushes out, and begins yelling in Spanish to someone inside.
“What happened?” She asks me.
I begin unbuttoning his jacket, shaking my head, my words coming out jumbled.
“I don’t know, he was just laying here!” The pavement scorches my skin, and I drag Norman more into the shade of the overhang.
The woman gets off her knees, running inside, leaving me alone. I pull the thin blanket off his wheelchair using it as a pillow for his head, while removing the rest of his layers, until his bare chest is exposed. The woman returns with a container of ice, and I begin bagging it and laying the bags all across his chest, his wrists, his ankles, and his forehead.
“I’m going to get Benjamin,” she says, and I can’t be for certain, but I think the earlier panic in her voice is gone, replaced with a knowing calm, as if this has happened before.
Placing my hand on his forehead, he gives a gentle moan, his eyes open, but only slivers.
“Dad!” A man kneels beside him, and Norman gives a weak smile. There’s momentary fear in his eyes, and as quickly as it arrives, it evaporates. He pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to the woman behind him.
“I have told you a countless times Maria, you cannot leave him out here alone! And look at this -“ he grabs all of the layers I left in a pile, tossing each garment towards her. “Three layers? In this heat?”
Maria’s eyes are covered in a glassy sheen, her bottom lip trembling.
“It was my fault.” Both turn their attention to me. Benjamin’s jaw is clenched tight and I pick each of my words carefully. “I left to get us some water. He was on the ground when I came back and so I started undressing him, trying to bring his body temperature down -“
Benjamin turns, seeing the giant container of ice, and all the bags of ice that were put all over his father. He’s about to speak, when a fourth voice speaks, silencing us all.
“Don’t blame the girl. It was me.” Norman sits up straighter, his arm resting on the edge of his wheelchair. Benjamin helps to lift Norman back into the chair, offering him some water.
“But if you were around more, maybe I wouldn’t feel so lonely all the time. This woman’s been the first real company I’ve had since I moved into this place.”
Benjamin rubs at his neck, leaning his head back, and I realize it’s a conversation these two have had on more than one occasion. Patches of blue pepper the skin under his eyes, and he has more than just a five o’ clock shadow on his jaw.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I’m swamped. Between meetings and conference calls -“
Norman silences him, and turns his attention to me. “I want her. I want this woman to work here…” he pauses and I realize he’s waiting for me to fill in the gap with my name.
“Mallory.”
He nods, “Mallory. I want Mallory to work here. As my personal aide.”
“Dad, you can’t just pick a random chick off the street and demand that I hire her in.”
“Don’t disrespect her like that. She’s out of a job, and a home, and we can offer her both here.”
Benjamin stands up, straightening his dress shirt, wiping the dust from his slacks before turning his attention to me. “Alright, Mallory. What’s your story?”
Norman gives me a reassuring nod and I straighten. “Benjamin, my name is Mallory Buttons. My home is burnt to the ground, I have nothing but the clothes on my back, and the stories of my life. I have nothing to offer you, except companionship for your father.”
Benjamin considers my words, when he looks to his father who gives him a look that says _what are you waiting for? _He runs his hand down his face, clearly feeling put upon. After what feels like forever, he extends out his hand. “Alright Mallory Buttons. The position is yours if you want it.”
