Yellowstone Memories (31 page)

The entire crew halted as the mass of smoke quivered, mushrooming larger so that it covered the left slope of the plain.

Alicia nearly walked into Carlita’s side as she gawked. “That?” she yelped, standing on tiptoe to see around the corner of the hangar. “That’s our fire?”

“That’s the tip of our fire,” corrected the crew boss, worry lines creasing his tanned and fleshy brow. “Headquarters tells me they’ve made considerable progress this particular stretch.”

The other firefighters began to walk again, talking in low tones, and Alicia tagged along behind Carlita. “What do you think of that?” she asked, eyes glued on the horizon.

Carlita shuddered and crossed herself in reply.

A
licia Sanchez.” Somebody tapped her arm from three heads back in the chow line at base camp. “I can’t believe it. You’re here, too?”

“Thomas?” Alicia searched for a bottle of plain water in the slushy Styrofoam cooler, pushing aside frosty cans of Coke and Tab. “So they’re dragging you guys out of your beds in Arizona, too, huh?”

The makeshift tent at base camp inside Yellowstone housed lines of firefighters, all queued for lunch with paper plates. Outside the tarps, sun glimmered through a smoke-fogged haze—mingled now with scents of hamburgers and beanie-weenies. From the smells, Alicia might have thought herself at a Girl Scouts camp.

“Arizona’s nothing, Alicia. They’re pulling people from all over.” Thomas reached over the half-filled plates to shake her hand. He’d cut his hair short, making his almond-shaped eyes and humpback nose stand out against clay-brown skin. “This thing’s gonna be a bear, isn’t it?”

Alicia reached for a napkin and spoke over the laughter and noisy thrum of conversation. “I’ve never seen anything like it. There’ve been some close calls with firefighters already, and one guy died outside the park.”

Thomas shook his head, revealing a few threads of gray among the black. “It’s scary stuff.”

“Scary? Nah.” Alicia turned back to the chow-line servers and shook her head no at the proffered corn.

“C’mon, Sanchez. I’m shaking in my boots. And you’d better be careful, hear me? I know how you are.” Thomas picked up a shiny packet of Capri Sun fruit punch and tucked it under his arm as he accepted a paper plate. “So you still can’t give it up, can you?”

“Give up what?” Alicia grimaced and gestured for the server to scoop off most of the beans on her plate, and she grabbed a paper cup of coffee. Tucking her water bottle under her arm.

“Fighting fires. I thought you wanted to go back to school or. You told me you were saving money.”

“Oh, that.” Alicia shrugged, trying not to think of the hundreds of dollars she’d wasted on Miguel. Buying him drinks, giving him cash for the casinos—and extinguishing any hope she had of sending herself to night law school.
“I’ll pay you back when I get paid,”
he’d promised. But the paycheck never came.

At least she’d managed to hide the most important thing from him—right there under his nose, concealed beneath a little patch of tatty carpet.

“So how about you?” Alicia avoided Thomas’s question about school. “You gonna fight fires your whole life or what? Carlita tells me it’s dangerous work.” She bobbed her eyebrows. “She thinks you can’t value your life much if you’re nuts enough to like initial attack.”

“She’s probably right.” Thomas shrugged and flashed a friendly, white-toothed smile at the server, ducking his head in thanks. “Which is why I’m smart enough to stay off the crew when I’m out for smoke inhalation.” He poked her shoulder with a plastic spork. “Unlike some people.”

“Don’t you start. You forgot your nail clippers last time and were begging to use mine.”

“Me, begging?” Thomas grinned, a clean, salt-of-the-earth smile that made Alicia feel faint joy stir inside her. “You’re one to talk, always stealing my compass mirror to check your lipstick. You brought your own this time, didn’t you?”

“Why should I? So long as I have yours, there’s no need to weigh down my pack with mine.”

“Ha.” Thomas smiled again. “Lucky for you I brought two. One for you, one for me.” He slipped a little wrapped package from his back pocket and twirled it between two fingers. “You can thank me later.”

Alicia stared as Thomas tossed the package onto the corner of her tray. “You didn’t. Those things cost fifty bucks apiece.” The package looked too big for a compass though. “What else did you stick in here?”

“Be afraid. Be very afraid.”

Alicia put her tray and coffee down and tore at the tape. “You wrapped this in a McDonald’s hamburger wrapper, Thomas! Gross. Is that supposed to mean something?”

“That’s what I found on the floor of my Jeep this morning when I showed up at the airport.” He narrowed thick eyebrows. “Be glad I wrapped it at all.”

Alicia pulled off the wrapper and made a show of wiping her hands on her napkin before reaching inside. There lay the compass, sure enough—he hadn’t lied. And underneath it?

“Freeze-dried Sea-Monkeys?” She held up the plastic packet. “Are you serious?”

But Thomas had already turned, slapping hands across the chow line with a big African American guy from another crew.

Weirdo
. Alicia smiled as she tucked the compass in her pocket. She marched through the rows of picnic tables, searching through the sea of yellow and olive green for a friendly face but wavered when she saw the back of Carlita’s ponytail next to a pair of too-big triangle earrings. Earrings owned by hateful Melissa Ramirez of the second Albuquerque crew.

The last time she saw those trademark hot-pink plastic triangles they’d been on the dashboard of Miguel’s car.

Alicia slipped behind a lanky fire captain, ignoring Jorge’s leering grin from across the crowded mess area—and searched for an empty space. She eased into a metal folding chair by a discarded paper plate and Mello Yello can, then set down her tray and steaming coffee, rubbing her tired eyes and trying not to smudge her eyeliner. She unwrapped a plastic fork and reluctantly poked at her beans, wishing for a second she’d stayed home.

Alicia had always loved the thrill of smoke and flame, the adrenaline rush that pushed her into the heat with nothing more than a few government-issued tools. Sweat, ash, and the dull roar of falling trees clouded her eyes, making her feel half delirious with fatigue and odd exhilaration. Exhilaration that she, a no-name Mexican American who didn’t even know her own parents’ names, could help stomp the angriest inferno into sullen soot and embers—reducing the mighty giant to its knees.

But this time even she felt outmatched as she stared at the smoke boiling up from the distant trees. Thick and sinister, as if it could swallow her alive.

Perhaps if it did, things would work out better anyhow.

Alicia played with the plastic top on her water bottle with her short fingernail, wondering what it would feel like to wilt in the white-hot heat, gasping lungfuls of smoky air. Burning branches raining down like hailstones, the forest exploding around her.

At least she’d left things ready just in case.

“So you ditched me, huh?” A familiar voice rang next to her ear.

Alicia twisted around to look up at Thomas. “You again?” She smiled and pushed the dirty paper plate next to her out of his way, shaking the empty Mello Yello can. “You that desperate for a free soda?”

“You know me well.”

Thomas pretended to reach for the can as he sat down, and Alicia whacked him with it. “You’re such a goofball, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, rubbing a brown hand over his face.

“Don’t you have anybody else to sit with?” Alicia tried to keep her mouth straight as she tore off a tiny bit of her roll.

“Me? Not really.” He unwrapped the plastic straw on his Capri Sun and punched it into the foil. “Nobody wants to hear about my French-speaking ferret or my rotten tomato collection. I dunno why.”

Alicia stared. “A ferret. That speaks French.”

“A cheap-o tape series I got at the library. Works like a charm. In fact, I’m gonna start paying him to give
me
lessons now.” Thomas bowed his head in a quick, silent prayer and then unwrapped his napkin and plastic utensils. “And the rotten tomatoes are for the seeds. I swear. Something about the acid eating away the seed casings so they sprout better.”

Thomas stuffed a big forkful of beanie-weenies in his mouth and closed his eyes. “Man, that’s good stuff. What’s the matter with you, Sanchez? Don’t you eat?”

“Gross. No.” Alicia sniffed the little piece of roll and grimaced before dropping it back on her plate. “Not on trips like these. Ugh.” She pushed her plate away and reached for her bottle of mineral water.

“Are you kidding? It’s a hot lunch. This is tons better than the premade MRE lunches we get out at the spike camp. Meals Ready to Eat.” His lips turned up in a grin. “Or, better, Meals Refused by Ethiopians.” He smeared butter on his roll and took a big bite. “After a few days on the fire line, even those Sea-Monkeys will start to look good.”

Alicia spluttered her water in an unexpected laugh. “Do I dare ask if they’re reconstituted the same way as our MREs?”

“Just add water.” He shook a forkful of beanie-weenies. “So enjoy this while it lasts.”

“No thanks.” Alicia poked her roll with her plastic fork. “This looks like it fell out of last decade’s army surplus. I’m not that hungry.”

Thomas reached over his tray and picked up her roll. “What’s wrong with it? It’s bread. Not as good as my fry bread back home, but it’s edible. I got an extra.” He hovered his hand over her tray. “If you’re not careful, I’ll swipe yours, too.”

Right. Alicia smiled, remembering how he’d voluntarily skipped lunch twice last year when the supply truck broke down—so the rest of the crew could eat. “Take my roll. I don’t eat white flour anyway.”

“Huh?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Not at all? A dinner roll never killed anybody.” He shook it for emphasis: a shapeless round blob of pasty white.

“You’re wrong.” Alicia wrinkled her nose. “That stuff’s terrible for you. Makes you fat.”

“If you’re worried about health, quit using that chemical-saturated Equal stuff.” He nodded to her artificial sweetener packets. “It’s creepy.” Thomas narrowed black eyes at her. “Fat? Don’t tell me you’re on some crazy diet or something again. You’re all skin and bones, Alicia.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I’m serious.” The mirth fizzled for a minute, and he put the roll down and dug in his jacket pocket. “Here, then, if you’re so all-fired hippie. Eat this.” And he tossed her a package of whole-wheat peanut butter crackers. “Eat something, for goodness’ sake, before you start sprouting Q-tips out your ears like that kid in
ET
.”

Alicia blinked. “Elliot didn’t put Q-tips in his ears. That was in
Better Off Dead
—the John Cusack film.” She raised an eyebrow. “And that analogy made no sense anyway, regardless of which movie you’re talking about.”

“Aw, no.” Thomas dug into his beans again with gusto. “You’re wrong about the movies. It’s right after the part where the creepy alien asks to phone home, and Elliot sticks his ears full of Q-tips. Haven’t you seen it?”

“What? You’re totally wrong.” Alicia put down her water bottle. “You’re getting the movies mixed up again, just like you always do. That was
Better Off Dead
. The movie where the kid on the bike keeps saying, ‘I want my two dollars!’ ”

“You’re making this up.” Thomas wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I told you, that’s
ET
, not
Better Off Dead
. I remember that kid on the bike riding through the mist. Think about it—after the Q-tips, they dress the alien in some kind of homemade pink New Wave frock for prom.”

“No!” Alicia pounded the table. “That was Molly Ringwald in
Pretty in Pink
! Andie makes the dress and goes to prom with Duckie. Don’t you remember anything you see in the theater?”

“You poor misguided soul.” Thomas gave her a pitying look as he scooped up his beans. “You must have gone a few years between viewings. How old are you again? Forty-six?”

“Forty-six?” Alicia yelped, causing a wiry, white-haired crew boss to jerk his head in her direction. Thomas’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “I’m twenty-nine, you freak-o.” She reached out and slugged his shoulder. “Not as old as you, you old goat.”

“Try again, chica.” Thomas winked as he bit into his roll. “Twenty-eight, baby.”

“What?” Alicia’s eyes bugged out. “You’ve got white hair! You’re lying. You can’t be twenty-eight.”

“Blame bad genetics for my white hairs.” Thomas reached into his vest pocket and tossed his driver’s license on the table without flinching. “Read it and weep.”

Alicia glared at him then sneaked a peek at the license. “Right. Like that thing’s legit.” She shoved it back across the table. “Where’d you get it, a Cracker Jack box?”

“Sore loser, aren’t we?” Thomas stuck his license back in his vest pocket then leaned back in his chair and stretched in victory. “So what was that about an old goat? I’d like to hear it again, if you don’t mind.”

“Shut up.” Alicia crossed her arms.

Thomas snickered and poked the packet of crackers across the table at her. “I win. Eat.”

“I don’t eat peanuts.”

“What?” Thomas threw up his arms. “What do you eat, woman?
Frijoles
?”

“Beans? Don’t be disgusting.”

“You’re Mexican, for Pete’s sake.” Thomas scowled.

“So? I hate all that stuff. It’s full of carbs.”

“Rice?”

“No.”

“Rutabagas?”

“Be serious.”

Thomas rubbed his forehead. “Come on. There must be something you like. Tell me. Your favorite food in the world.” He lowered his voice as if telling a secret. “Your last meal. What would it be?”

Alicia studied him a second, thinking, then leaned across her tray.

“I’m listening.”

“Butter on Velvet Gold graham crackers.” She shook one of her Equal packets, avoiding his eyes. “My favorite foster mom used to make it. It sounds silly, I know. But when I’d had a rough day at school, she’d sit at the kitchen table with me and spread graham crackers with butter. They were wonderful. Crisp and sweet, with a little spread of creamy stuff across the top.” Alicia tried to laugh. “Disgusting, right?”