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Galen was down by the lake scrubbing algae off a canoe that he’d set up on sawhorses when he got an emergency call from his older brother. He ripped off one of his work gloves and put the call on speaker.
“There’s a fire at the nursing home,” Thomas said, skipping any “hello.” “We need extra hands to ferry displaced seniors around. Where’s your truck right now?”
Galen stashed his bristle-brush in a bucket and threw a tarp over his project. The day was calm, the sky a gentle blue, no wind in the forecast. That boded well for the firefighters too. “It’s behind the office. Do you need a driver for it too?”
“Do you have time?”
He was already heading up the beach toward his truck. In Lake Bittersweet, when disaster hit, everyone did what they could. “Things always slow down in September. Just tell me where to go. Is anyone hurt?”
“Don’t know yet. Jason’s in charge now, but it’s all hands on deck. I told him I’d line up some extra vehicles.”
Jason Mosedale was one of Galen’s closest friends, and now the current fire chief. Galen thought it was odd that both his brother and his best friend ended up being fire chiefs.
“Count me in. It’ll just take me a minute to clean out my truck.”
“No need…” Thomas paused, no doubt picturing Galen’s Chevy. “Yeah, good idea. You know where the nursing home is, right?”
“Yup, be there in ten.”
Galen tucked his phone into one of the many pockets of his work pants and dove into his truck to execute a whirlwind cleanup. Two-by-fours that he’d picked up at the dump, out. Big cooler, out. Little cooler filled with snacks, same. No, the seniors might be hungry. Back in came the little cooler. Case of maple syrup that he’d scored on sale at the farmer’s market, out. Hip waders, out.
Luckily, he didn’t use the crew cab for much besides stashes of dry clothing. He hauled everything into the storage shed behind the office, then hopped behind the wheel of his truck. Peering at himself in the rearview mirror, he decided he didn’t want to give any frightened elders a shock. There was a comb somewhere in this truck—the cupholder, maybe, in among the pens and interesting feathers and chopsticks and other random items he’d stuck in a plastic cup that was now permanently adhered to the cupholder.
Bingo!
He gave his hair and beard a quick tidy-up as he started the engine. Sadly, the comb broke halfway through. He tossed it in the side pocket of the door where all the trash went.
Maybe he should buy a metal comb, like the ones they used for lice, he mused as he put his truck in gear. Maybe he should get lice, then he’d have to shave his head for sure. He wouldn’t have a choice.
For months now, he’d tried to get a haircut. He’d booked a total of sixty-five appointments at various barber shops and salons, in Lake Bittersweet and beyond. He even showed up to most of those appointments. But he couldn’t bring himself to go through with any of them. He always paid for the time of the stylist, and left a hefty tip. But so far, not a single hair on his head had gotten snipped.
What was his problem? Recently, he’d been talking to a therapist about it. It didn’t seem normal to have that much trouble getting a simple haircut. The therapy sessions were interesting but hadn’t solved his problem. He’d learned that he wasn’t done being angry at his addict mother and his disappearing father. But how that connected to being unable to cut his damn hair, who the hell knew?
As he drew closer to the Lake Bittersweet Home for Seniors, he spotted the column of smoke rising into the bright blue September sky, and put his foot on the accelerator. He wasn’t the only one heading that way. A steady stream of traffic flowed toward the home. Lake Bittersweet, doing its thing. Coming together in a crisis, no matter what controversy or scandal was currently going on.
The scene outside the home was chaotic but somehow orderly at the same time. As the firefighters dealt with the flames and smoke, paramedics tended to the elders in a triage area on the lawn. Galen spotted wheelchairs, gurneys, oxygen tanks. For the most part, the residents were stoic, but a few were in tears as they watched the rear section of the home disintegrate.
“It’s just the kitchen,” he heard one of the firefighters say. “Could have been so much worse.”
That was a relief. But maybe not much comfort to the seniors who were going to be temporarily homeless. Galen spotted his brother and waved at him with a “where do you want me” gesture.
Thomas hurried over to him. Galen had always idolized his big brother, but they weren’t much alike, aside from their dark hair. Thomas cut an imposing, almost stern figure. He commanded respect. A natural leader. The only place Galen was a leader was on a mountain trail, when followed by clueless city folk.
“Thanks for coming, man,” said Thomas.
Galen gave a rude-ish gesture in response, as if to say, no need for thanks. “What do you want me to do?”
“Kendra’s coordinating places to stay and rides for all these good folks.” Thomas gestured at the elders in the triage area. “If you could just hang out here, we’ll wait for specific direction from her.”
From behind the orange cones, a slender white-haired woman waved a hand. “I could use a ride!” she called cheerfully.
“Sorry, ma’am, we don’t have all the accommodations set up yet,” Thomas told her politely.
“I have my own accommodations.” Her tart tone made Galen do a double-take. Old people could really surprise you sometimes. He’d never had a grandparent…or at least, he’d never known his grandparents. But he’d spent some time with Redbull’s extended tribal relations, and loved hearing their stories.
This elderly woman had prepared for this evacuation. A carpetbag sat on the grass next to her, and she’d remembered to grab a coat, an elegant wool cape with a broach pinned to the collar. On her feet, she also wore a pair of very practical thick-soled boots with a fur lining dyed purple. Galen liked her style.
“You have a place to go?” Thomas was asking her.
