Page 28 of On Fire

Chapter Seven

Nic Silvano

I wake to hear Keller’s steady, deep breathing next to me. It’s early but already the late summer sun sets the sky pink and blue with just a fingernail moon still hanging in the sky.

I roll out of bed quietly, easing myself from the memory foam so not to make a sound, under the assumption firemen are light sleepers. Mornings in Maine are cool. I slip on Keller’s bathrobe so I can go retrieve my overnight bag from his car. I’m due for a solid toothbrushing too.

The robe, a voluminous plaid thing of light cotton, smells like him: earthy and yet infused with limes. I hop-step it out to the car barefoot and grab my bag. I had fully intended to stay at The Inn in one of the rooms set aside for Colton Security.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath of the tangy air. As much as I love Boston, this scrubbed air along the coast is invigorating. I didn’t bring any running gear. Now I wish I had. I don’t want to go back to Boston. The only time I trained in Echo Bay was a couple of years ago when I was working on The Inn, helping Finn fix the roof after he fell through.

Seagulls wheel overhead, and I watch as they amass over the lobster and fishing boats heading out of the bay toward open water. The pink from the sky lays in strips across a very calm sea.

When I return and start poking around trying to find filters and coffee for the coffee maker, my phone goes off.

It’s a text from Finn:

Where are you? We need to talk.

We need to talk. This sounds personal. I immediately think of Claire. Taking the stairs two at a time is difficult as the risers are so shallow. This is a grandma home. Even the hand braided oval stair runners are individually tacked down and barely fit.

I lay the bathrobe on the bed.

Gathering my pants and shirt, I can’t help but watch Keller sleep for a few moments. He is such a bear of a man. I have never come with someone the way I did last night, without touching myself. Never. The man can follow directions.

Jesus Christ.

He bats at something invisible tickling his face, and I step into the small bathroom to brush my teeth and dress. When I’m done, I enter the room one more time to give him the faintest of kisses on his forehead. He’s due at the station at noon and needs to sleep.

I wish I could sleep. I only got about two hours last night. I kept thinking about the bombings. We’re supposed to go see the two sites in Portland this morning and my stomach is already in shutdown mode. I’m in shutdown mode. It’s how I handle anything in this part of my life.

The terrible doomed feeling I keep having is because I am going to be forced to deal with what happened, and work with people who might see the world and me differently. Keeping my mouth shut gets harder every year.

I check my watch. Seven fourteen. The text came in at seven. This means I will forego the coffee I started in the kitchen and grab a cup at The Inn. Chloe always opens the kitchen early.

Lifting the tie from the back of the sofa, I work it through the collar of my shirt and tie it securely in a tight knot. Slipping on the suit jacket, I take a quick look around and then leave. Pausing on the steps, I turn, go back inside and after fishing around in a few drawers, find a notepad and pen. I jot a quick note on a piece of paper next to Keller’s landline fire department phone, which is a dusty shade of red and sits on the back counter in the kitchen.

I don’t want him to think for a moment that I just left.

The walk is brisk. Just a couple of miles. Then I see Luke’s car and turn my head away. He blares the horn, disappearing around a curve in the road. He’s probably on his way to his brother’s.

For a moment, I regret the note—Luke night find it. Shouldn’t have left it. Then I shake myself. It’s why I chose practical words—so that little could be read into them—just in case someone else found it.

By the time I reach The Inn the sun has fully risen. I round the corner and head up the back porch. This faces the bay, and the wood railing is going warm to the touch. I open the small door right off the kitchen. Chloe is already there.

She smiles and hands me a large, brown, earthenware mug of coffee.

“Finn said you’d be along soon,” she says. The air is fragrant with the smell of baking. “Muffins will be out in ten minutes. Crystallized ginger with cream cheese frosting and your fave.”

I grin. “Perfect.”

“I’ll run some up when they are out.” My stomach is not ready for blueberry and almond muffins though.

Taking the stairs again two at a time, I land on the second floor and tap at the office door. But Finn’s not here.

A swift glance down the hall proves the point again.

Then a voice behind me on the staircase finds me. “Did you go back to Boston?”