Page 4 of The Fireman and the Flirt

“Non-existent.”

I used to worry about Jolene being so cut off from family. She was a quiet toddler, didn’t speak until she was almost three. But she eventually came into her own, and now she was a thirteen-year-old with boundless energy. I had trouble keeping up. Curiosity fueled her, sending questions out of her mouth so fast the thick glasses perched on her nose would shake. I loved watching her develop into an interesting young woman.

“You and Jolene can stay here as long as you need, you know that. Don’t let Cal rush you out.”

Cal wanted me to meet with his friend about getting a house. The last thing I wanted to do was overstay my welcome. And as much as I loved Russ as a brother-in-law, the guy was a neat freak, which would get tiresome soon. I didn’t know how he and Cal, the sloppiest man on the planet, made it work. Love was truly a mystery.

Russ sat on the pullout beside me, the mattress squeaking under his weight. “And listen, if you ever need to talk about Paula…I know it’s been a few months, and it seems like life has gone back to normal, but that’s never the case.”

He patted my knee. Russ had lost his first husband in a car accident. He loved Cal dearly, but he would carry the memory of Malcolm forever. Cal, to his credit, tried to make Malcolm a member of their new family, giving Russ a card on his birthday and waving at Malcolm’s picture in the living room whenever he passed.

The initial shock over her death still weighed on me. One moment, she was informing me that I bought her the wrong kind of milk (oat milk, not almond); the next, her spirit had left her body, wine overflowing from her glass as she was mid-pour.

“She was a wonderful woman. She was an angel on earth, and now she’s an angel watching over us,” said Russ.

Six months later, there were still wounds that wouldn’t heal over Paula. She left us with so much unfinished business. I was devastated that Paula had died. My heart broke for Jolene. But it was hard to hear people talk about what an angel she was, and how we were such a great couple, knowing that she was on the verge of leaving me for another man. In those final weeks, things had been said that couldn’t be taken back. I was blindsided and hurt, but there was no chance to clear the air or talk through things. I didn’t want to tell people the truth and sully their memories of her. That didn’t seem fair to Paula.

And so I was left with a weird jumble of emotions. I loved her, I missed her, I was angry with her, I couldn’t understand how any of this had happened.

I couldn’t get into that with Russ, or anybody. People preferred the pitiful widower, not the confused, angry one.

I patted his leg back. “Thanks Russ.”

He waited on the pullout for an extra few seconds, likely waiting for me to open up. That wouldn’t be happening. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever.

“I’m making some of my homemade pizza for dinner.” He stood up.

I detected hints of basil and garlic wafting in the air. “Smells good. I’ll be down in a little bit.”

A little while later,I joined what had blossomed into a little party in the living room. Cal and Russ watched Jolene and their two sons Josh and Quentin play Mario Kart. According to Cal, Russ had been strictly anti-video games until Cal and the boys launched a “multi-pronged campaign” (Cal’s words, not mine) to change his mind. He did not elaborate on the prongs.

Jolene sat on the couch, long legs folded under her. Her face immediately brightened when she saw me. She had soulful blue eyes and an avalanche of red hair that could either be flowing waves or a frazzled mess depending on the day. I loved this girl more than words could ever describe. Thankfully, Paula and I had managed to keep our fighting contained between us, so Jolene hadn’t suspected anything was wrong. At least she got to believe that her parents had been in love until their final day together.

“There you are! You’re missing all the fun,” she said, thoughts of jet lag and living on a new side of the world not seeming to affect her. “Did you want to play?”

“I’ll pass,” I grumbled.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Ten more minutes,” Russ said.

“I’m starving!” Quentin protested.

“It will be ready when it’s ready.” Russ didn’t take any guff from his sons.

“It would’ve been ready now if you’d gotten the salad mix like I insisted,” Cal said. “I don’t see why you need to make your own croutons. People who make their own croutons are just showing off.”

“Uh oh. Cal’s hangry.” I knew that tone well from dinners as kids. Cal ate every meal like he’d been locked up starving for a month.

“I’m trying to be respectful of our guests.” Cal arched an eyebrow at me.

“You’re being a butthead,” I said, proud of myself for not cursing. “Don’t make me give you a noogie.”

“Wait.” Cal covered his head. “My hair is too beautiful to be messed up.”

“I’ve never had homemade croutons,” Jolene said. “Dad’s only dipped his toe into cooking.”

“I make a mean mac and cheese.”

Paula handled meals since most of my time was spent at work. One bright spot of all this was that I became a more hands-on dad. I did all the things I had been too busy to do, like cooking meals with her and going with her on stargazing adventures. I was relieved to leave the oil rig behind. It was an all-encompassing grind. I couldn’t even attend Russ and Cal’s wedding.

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