Page 8 of When the Smoke Clears

“Then why is he trolling me?” I look both ways and cross the street to my vehicle.

“Why does Fitz do anything?” She laughs.

“Well, I appreciate you taking Everleigh in. I felt bad for her.” I climb into my red Bronco, immediately rolling down my windows because it’s so hot.

“You did? Then why didn’t you suggest her staying at your place? After all, you were leaving for a month. You have two spare bedrooms and a she shed.”

“You know why I couldn’t offer her a place to stay.” I glance in my mirror and pull into traffic.

“I do?”

“Jamie . . .”

“If this is about your taking her virginity and then crushing her heart, that was years ago. I’m sure she’s moved on, and so have you.”

“Jaymes, she brought it up the night of the fire. That woman will never let it go. I hate talking about it. Everyone thinks it’s funny, but I saw my whole life flash before my eyes when I found out.”

“Will, that’s a little extreme.”

“It’s not. But whatever. Just drop it for good. Okay?”

“I’ll do my best. Just let me reiterate one last time: I really think she’s moved on. In fact, I think the two of you could be friends.”

I laugh. “Well, there’s no need for that, but I love that you’re a peacemaker. I’ve always said Fitz is one lucky bastard, and he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Aw, I love you. Don’t you ever forget that. Not now. Not when you get home.”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“I didn’t say it like anything. Love you. Gotta go. I have cookies in the oven for Fitz.”

“Is it wrong that I hope his parachute fails so that I can be there for you? Then you’ll make me cookies as a thank-you. If it turns into grief sex, so be it.”

“That’s probably why Fitz was reaching out to you. He wants to know you’re going to meet my sexual needs if he dies.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

Jamie giggles. “Bye, Will.”

I end the call with a big grin on my face. Why do I need a wife and children when I have friends like Jamie and Fitz?

Over the following weeks, my dad goes into skilled care, and I install grab bars in the bathrooms and a railing at the front door for if (when) he returns. Then we find a comfy leather lift chair for his room at the care facility. For now, I hope he’ll level out and be okay, but I haven’t ruled out moving closer, if he declines more and Mom needs me.

The drive back to Missoula is bittersweet. I’ve enjoyed spending time with my mom, even though she steered most of our conversations toward my love life. But I’m ready to return to work, my friends, and my house.

From the second I try to pull into the garage, the first red flag pops up. There must be ten thousand dollars’ worth of home gym equipment, including a machine cage, free weights, kettlebells, and medicine balls.

It’s nice. I wouldn’t mind using it, but it’s taking up my whole garage.

When I open the back door, I smell the mess before I see it. Pungent and foul. I search for the source of the rotten stench. Dirty dishes fill the sink. There’s an open bag of bread by the stove next to a bottle of ranch salad dressing and an empty plastic cheese bag.

Coffee grounds on the floor.

A pair of pink sneakers in front of the fridge.

A laptop on the kitchen table beside a plate with a half-eaten piece of toast and an abandoned cup of coffee.

“What. The. Fuck?” I set my bag on the wooden floor. “Hello?” I call.